To think that in such a place, I led such a life.

Those words, by Winston Churchill recalling his days as a student, are inscribed on a sculpture at the Hub of Miami University.  I spent five years there in Oxford, earning my undergrad and graduate degrees in accounting.  I learned even more outside of the classroom, meeting friends that have already lasted me over a decade.  While my days there lived up to the idea of such a life, my days since have been even more cherished. 

I never spent my days dreaming of children like some women do.  I wasn't into babysitting and baby dolls and baby anything.  I spent my days dreaming about my success as an accountant.  Even though I assumed children would be part of my life, part of my family (with the standard husband, kids, house, dog and white picket fence) I also assumed I'd be a working mom, dropping off at daycare each morning on the way to my wildly successful corporate career. 

I started off on the way to my dream, moving to Boston, settling into my career as a CPA, meeting an amazing man and buying a cute little house.  We even added two dogs to complete the American Dream.  Then the kids arrived and threw me for a loop.  The logistics of my career require long hours, which daycare doesn't cover.  The logistics of Ryan's career require months out to sea, which daycare also doesn't cover.  I couldn't quite get the hang of finishing my work by the time I had to leave to pick up Pete from daycare and I couldn't quite figure out how we would ever have time together as a family. I was working a tax season while Ryan was in port and then I had time off in the summer while he was out to sea.  So I quit to stay home with my first baby when he was about nine months old.  I assumed this would be a break for three to four years until he entered pre-school and I could get my "life" back.

After getting over the bored to death feeling, and learning to cook and bake from scratch- it's easier on the budget of a single income family, I decided that if I were going to be a stay-at-home-mom, I was going to REALLY be a stay-at-home-mom.  So we had two more boys, all three of them in under four years.  And now, I can honestly say I'm having fun.  Of course there are many challenges like frustrating days and sleepless nights, but I can actually say the satisfaction I get when Chester pees in the potty is equal to the joy I used to feel when I tied out a FAS 109 footnote.  I really never thought I would feel this way, but I do, and if I can enjoy motherhood, I'm pretty sure anyone can.   

Recently I considered ordering a hand-crafted sign common in military families- "Home is where the Coast Guard sends us" followed by a listing of all the places Ryan has been stationed.  But now that I think about it, I'd rather have a sign that says "To think that in such a place, I led such a life". 

The snuggles keep me from going bat shit crazy.

Despite any (okay, a lot) of frustration with the pre-schooler recently, he really is my sweet little guy.  Pete will be four in April, and he's finally giving up naps.  I'm a little sad, because it means I'm losing about two hours of my day where I could also lay down for a break.  Realistically, adding in the third baby next month meant I was going to lose that two hours anyway, so now is a good time to accept the new routine.   But the consequence of an overtired pre-schooler around here means he can dissolve into a fit of tears over the slightest provocation that wouldn't normally phase him.  It also means he is quite hyper, literally running into the walls, the couch, the chair over and over while screaming made up songs in an effort to fight the sleep.

Pete is now typically able to make it all day with just a quiet time after lunch while Chester sleeps, but occasionally he just can't take it anymore.  Here's what happened while I cooked dinner earlier this week:

Tonight I could see that Pete was having a rough afternoon, barely keeping it together while I made dinner (a failed attempt at General Tso's but that's a whole other blog).  We pushed up the time for jammies, cleaning the toys and 30 minutes of a special show (the current favorite is the DVR of Ice Age Christmas) and by 7pm we sat down to read a book in our rocking chair.  I snuggled him up on my lap and read the Lion King book.  And then he fell asleep in my arms as we rocked.  It's been years since Pete has fallen asleep in my arms and it's one of the sweetest things in life.  It's enough to give me the strength for tomorrow, and one day at a time is all you can ask for with soon to be three boys under four. 

Dum Dum awards

At our MOPS group, every other Thursday morning, we take a moment to share our "dumb" parenting moments.  You get a dum dum lollipop to celebrate your folly, and we all share a good laugh.  It's a reminder that we ALL have those moments in parenting, and the only way to move forward is to laugh it off. 

A few weeks ago, I shared the story of my super-productive day.  I was showered, with my hair styled and make-up on when we left the house for pre-school at 7:30am.  This alone, is a miracle!  I dropped off Pete, attended a great MOPS meeting, went grocery shopping, went to the bank, picked up Pete, had a meeting with our insurance agent to finalize a few documents, cooked a healthy and balanced dinner and I was ready to head out to my "Meet the pre-school parents" night when my friend arrived to babysit.  It was one of those days you feel like you've got your sh*t together and you are on top of the world!  Then I looked in the mirror to check my makeup before heading to the pre-school night, and realized the shirt I'd been wearing all day was see-through.  I had been wearing something else when I first got dressed, but during breakfast, the boys or I must have spilled something, so I just grabbed another t-shirt  and topped it with a little cardigan.  Unfortunately, I had selected an old and very thin t-shirt, and looking in the mirror now at 7pm, it was glaringly obvious that my bra had a lovely flower and lace pattern under the t-shirt.  All day I had been flashing people, though my friend swears up and down she assumed it was a camisole and not just my bra, so I can only hope others thought that as well. 

How did I get through an entire day without looking in the mirror?  I must have used the bathroom that day, didn't I take two seconds to check my outfit or look for a smudge in my makeup or a flyaway hair?  I guess I must have been so busy being productive that I was completely un-self-conscious.  Coming from a person who does my very best to look presentable in all situations, I'm shocked that it was an entire day I didn't look in the mirror, but I guess that's what motherhood does to you.

This blog is like those dum-dum awards, because really, my life is constantly one mishap after another.  I think it's important, though that I've accomplished the laughing part.  When your husband shatters two Christmas ornaments crashing them together to demonstrate that they're plastic and not glass, you have to laugh or you'll cry.  When your children refuse to share any of their toys during a playdate and the other children at the playdate are also throwing a tantrum, looking for barbies to play with and the whole situation is just so ridiculous you must laugh together because sharing that laugh meant you weren't alone today.  When haul out the presents and wrapping paper to start wrapping your Christmas present during naptime, only to find that you're completely out of scotch tape after just three presents, there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, so you might as well put them all back in the bags, then have a cookie and go lay down next to your sleeping toddler.   

My life, and my blog are our own little world of dum-dum awards and I wouldn't have it any other way.  We're too busy having fun to get everything right, and sometimes getting it all wrong is the most fun anyway.   

I could get used to this.

Six years ago, I spent my first Thanksgiving as a newlywed baking with a girlfriend in the first tiny apartment that my husband and I rented. 

Pretty sure we didn't make a turkey, so I'm not sure what she's carving!

Then I spent my first Christmas as a newlywed back in Ohio with my parents, with only a brief phone call from my husband who was floating somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean.  I enjoyed an email on New Year's eve, but I made big plans to celebrate our first Valentine's day together when he finally returned.  It's been hit or miss, in the six years since that first Christmas, if he's home for any particular holiday or family celebration.  I knew, or at least I thought I understood, what I was getting myself into when I married a man in the Coast Guard.  I've shared holidays with friends, taken in stray non-rates for holidays, moved 600 miles on Christmas Eve, but thankfully I've never been alone.  It's been an adventure for sure!

This past summer, Ryan transferred to a land-based billet where he doesn't stand duty.  This is a first for us, a first for him, and quite a treat, after 10 years of boats and standing watch, sometimes every other day/night.  He's been home for birthdays and holidays, and barring some sort of national disaster, he should be home for all the holidays for the next thee years.  It's likely he'll be present when our third child is born, and even have some time off to help me recover and adjust to life with three boys.  While this is considered standard in the civilian world, it's a total luxury for active duty. 

So for our Thanksgiving, we decided to relax and celebrate, just the four of us.  The boys and I baked pies in the morning, and then they watched football with Ryan while I made a roasted chicken, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, and mashed potatoes.  I even made gravy from scratch, with no lumps.  I'm a veritable Suzy-homemaker.  

 I meant to take a picture BEFORE we started serving....

Pete decorated the pie- that's a gingerbread man and hearts on Daddy's cherry pie.

Please note: there aren't even cracks in my beautiful pumpkin pie.

I could get used to this, and what's even worse, I will get used to this, only to be left behind in three years when Ryan goes back to sea.  It is the Coast Guard, it is a sea-going service, and what's even worse (or maybe better) it's what Ryan loves to do.  He enjoy his time on the boat, out in the middle of the ocean.  While some Coasties try for a station or other land jobs, Ryan would spend all his tours on a boat if he could.  So I'll just enjoy my three year break, full-well knowing that I'll be left behind in three years to begin celebrating all our holidays a week, or a month or a few months late again. 

The first casualty of the Holiday Season

It's a good thing I have a sense of humor.  And a good thing we have good health insurance. 

On Black Friday, Ryan returned home early from work, and we set out on our holiday tradition to set up our Christmas Tree the day after Thanksgiving.  Nevermind that I've been celebrating Christmas for almost a month now, that's just a fluke of the snowstorm before Halloween and my desire to rush my due date.  We went to our local tree lot, picked a nice full tree and headed home to decorate.

After pulling the Christmas boxes out of the basement, Ryan hung the lights, then the boys helped with the garland and plastic ornaments.  On a side note, when I say that some of our ornaments are glass, let me suggest you not slam them together to test that theory.  (Ah-hem, Ryan!)  But we survived putting up the tree, and it looks great! 

Next we pulled out the decorations for the mantle, including a garland of pinecones and dried berries, and this is where the evening goes downhill.  Chester must have pulled a few berries off the garland, but I only noticed as he was pulling them back out of his nose.  He was also pointing to his nose, telling me "ouchie".  Because of a story my friend KH told last week at MOPS, my mind instantly jumped to the conclusion that he had a dried holly berrry up his nose.  We pulled out the flashlight and tried to look, but couldn't see anything and I was about to call it a night, but he again pointed to his nose and told me "ouchie."

Thanking God that we have good health insurance (read: no ER co-pay), I called our pediatrician and headed for the ER.  The pediatric ER at Salem Hospital got us in, through triage and registration and to a treatment room within 10 minutes of our arrival.  The pedicatrician arrived less than an hour later, confirmed a berry was still lodged up his nose, and used a little spray to numb his nose and shrink the nose tissue to give her a bigger path to remove the berry.  Then she used this really neat little glowing fiber-optic noose to get behind the berry and pull it back out of his nose.  About 90 minutes after our arrival, we were handed discharge papers and headed home.  Ater Chester's slip in the kitchen and subsequent stitches this spring, and his weekend ear infections last winter, I'm beginning to think that he's earning a gold level frequent flier card at the Salem Hospital ER. 

I should mention that the discharge papers did include tylenol for any discomfort and the instructions to "teach your child not to put things in his/her nose".  Thank you, Captain Obvious.  My firstborn managed to live to the ripe old age of 3.5 without shoving anything up his nose so far, so I'm not going to be guilted into feeling like a bad mother just because my 21 month old shoved a dried berry up his nose.  Some kids are just a little more.... adventuresome than others. 

Other than crying while being held down as we looked up his nose, Chester was totally chill through the entire process.  He played happily in the treatment room, climbing on the bed, jumping on the painted shapes on the floor and counting the numbers on the IV pole.  Chester is my polite little sweetheart, and he thanked the Doctor, even with tears still in his eyes after we had to hold him down and shove a fiber-optic noose up his nose.  He enjoyed his popsicle while we waited for his discharge papers, and then ran down the hall yelling "bye-bye, thank you".  He even pushed the door-assist button and turned around to wave as he waited patiently for the door to open before making a dash to the exit. 

It was the best day, it was the best day.

If you've seen the Progressive insurance commercials recently, you might be humming along with me.  "It was the best day... it was the best day."  I looked around online a little, and I didn't come up with the title or composer or the rest of the lyrics, so I'm assuming it's just a jingle someone wrote for the commercial.  But it does make me smile, watching the guy dream of his perfect day with the Progressive insurance sales lady. 

I have to imagine that this morning was something like that perfect dream day for Pete and Chester.  Our Tuesday and Thursday mornings can be a bit hectic, but this morning we made it out the house on time, with no yelling, and everyone dressed (except for Chester's shoes- see yesterday's blog about the ocean...).  Any morning that Mom's not yelling by 7am is a good morning around here!

I looked up the train schedule last week and discovered that there's an 8:01am commuter train at Beverly Depot, which is just down the street from Pete's school.  The reward for leaving the house on time is to pull into the parking lot and watch the train.  It's a great vantage point to view the train because not only do we get to see the train, it's also makes the clang, clang sound as it pulls into the station, sits to wait for passengers getting on and off, then makes the clang, clang again as it pulls away.  This particular train is always going backwards since it's an inbound commuter train, and we get a great view of the engine as it leaves the station. 

Leaving on time, fully dressed, fully fed, with no yelling, and getting to see the train would normally be enough to declare today a success, but the day didn't stop there!  When we arrived at the pre-school parking lot, there was a firetruck in the parking lot.  A brand-new-sparkly red and black firetruck with its lights on.  What a treat.  Seriously.  I'm not sure, but I think there's something in the Y chromosome that makes little boys love firetrucks, because both of my boys are completely infatuated with firetrucks.  Chester's eyes lit up and he screamed in glee, "yuck, yuck, ed yuck".  Though we clearly have problems with T and R and any leading consonant, he got his point across, so we stayed a little longer to stare at the truck after dropping Pete off at school.  After all, my physical therapy appointment wasn't for another 30 minutes, so we had plenty of time. 

And our lolly gagging in the parking lot paid dividends I couldn't have planned!  The doggie day-care down the street must take the large dogs for their walk after the school-drop off to minimize potential dog-child conflict.  However, we had overstayed the drop off time by over 20 minutes, and low-and-behold here come 6 large dogs.  Not little dogs like Killer, but huge, fluffy dogs taller than Chester.  If there's anything more fun than a firetruck, it's a "ig oggie!"  And the squeals of glee moved from "Hi uck" to "Hi Oggie!"

All of these are such little tiny moments in the day, or even an annoyance to many adults, but when you're not even two years old, the innocent joy of seeing a train, firetruck, and big doggies all by 9am is so overwhelming... that you must fall asleep in the car, having fulfilled your excitement quota for the day. 

Mom of the year. Or not.

I had a great Mom of the year moment at our playdate this morning.  We explored a new playground in Nahant, and walked down the street to throw rocks in the ocean too.  Good times had by all. 

Pete managed to jump off the playground equipment from the very top while I was pushing Chester in the swing.  He's fine, but the other mother and I had just finished talking about older children being bad influences at our other local playgrounds. 

We walked down the street to the beach, where my children proceeded to pick up handfuls of sand to throw into the ocean while her children picked up the rocks to throw into the ocean.  Perhaps we need to visit the beach more often so they learn proper behavior with sand.

Chester managed to get swamped by a large wave, soaking his shoes and pants.  Did I mention today is November 14 and we're on a beach just North of Boston?  Thankfully it was 65 degrees outside today, so he wasn't in danger, and in fact, he wasn't even uncomfortable.  We walked back to the car and I stripped him down to a new diaper and sweatshirt, and he still wanted to play on the playground instead of going home.  Why didn't I have a change of clothes for him in the car?  Because I never replaced them after his poosplosion incident at Chase's birthday party a few months back. 

Finally, on the walk back to the car, Pete decided to dash ahead to the end of the block.  Seeing as how it was a quiet street, and the end of the block was our car, I didn't even think twice about letting him run ahead.  Meanwhile her children walked quietly along with us.  He did stay on the sidewalk (as I expected!) and he did stop at the parked truck (as I instructed by yelling from 100 yards behind him) but I did feel a little bad for the example my child set in front of her obedient children. 

This is only our second playdate, and I really enjoy the Mom's company, so I'm hoping my boys' energetic behavior hasn't scared her off.  The kids did play well together, so as long as her children don't start jumping off the top of the slides, I'm hoping she'll give us another few chances.  I may not be Mom of the year if being Mom of the year means well-behaved angels, but like most of the Moms I know, I'm trying my best.

After all, this is just a normal day in our wild lives!  My boys are curious, adventurous and brilliant.  They are tiring, trying and stubborn.  I see myself in them, and I see my husband in them.  As far as I'm concerned, that makes them perfect and perfectly mine.  My children are somewhere on a spectrum between "spirited" to "total hooligans" but I love for who they are and I wouldn't trade them for well-behaved children.  Well, usually I wouldn't trade them in, but there are some days when I see obedient, docile children happily playing quietly...

Define: Vacation

We've just returned from what many people would call a vacation.  Ryan had a big presentation in Tampa this week, and I happened to find reasonably priced tickets to Tampa for the boys and I to join him for the week.  I was thrilled to cancel a class, pull Pete out of pre-school and fly to Florida for four days to spend some time with Ryan and see the big presentation of this project he's been working on for months.  After all, the hotel and car were paid for, and how often do you get a family vacation for four to Florida for just the price of the plane tickets for two? 

But that's where it's important to adjust expectations.  A trip to Florida with a 20 month old and a 3.5 year old is not a vacation.  It's an exciting trip for the boys.  It makes precious family memories.  But it is not, in any way, shape or form a relaxing vacation.

Part of the reason that we didn't book this trip right away when Ryan's presentation was first scheduled is that I'm nearly 30 weeks pregnant.  Since, as everyone knows, I'm miserable while pregnant, I wasn't sure if I would feel up to this trip at 30 weeks.  I knew there would be challenges, but when I found the tickets on sale, I was feeling well enough to take the chance.  Many people asked me how I was going to manage through this trip, and to be honest, it was a breeze. Still not a relaxing vacation, but certainly an easy trip!  

First logistical detail, getting two small children to an airport, security lines, boarding lines, and onto the plane before 8:40am.  There are not many times I'm excited that my children wake naturally around 5:30am, but  on a travel day, it certainly helps!  A limo company that provides toddler car seats in the shared van to the airport was another big help.  Chester rides in the umbrella stroller, Pete walks pulling his own suitcase full of books and toys and I check our cothing bag, leaving only a carry-on bag with diapers, cash and snacks for me to carry. 

When we arrived at the airport, I initially sat the boys next to the window so we could watch the planes, but I quickly realized they were in no mood to sit at all, no matter what exciting planes and trucks were driving by he window.  The little girls sitting back in our gate happily colored in their coloring books, but there's just no chance that would keep my boys quiet.  So instead I moved them to an empty gate nearby and let them run up and down the ramp like airplanes.  Problem solved, even if everyone at our gate was probably wondering why I couldn't control my kids.    

The boys watched movies on the iPad for the first flight (Thank you Miss M for loading the movies on the iPad for me!), then we enjoyed a leisurely lunch in Atlanta before walking around the terminal reading numbers and letters.  Sure, Chester pitched a fit at lunch because I insisted that he eat his pear before he could have a cupcake, but that happens at home too.  I'm sure it was the entertainment of the day for the restaurant staff and fellw travellers, watching Pete reason with Chester to "please eat your fruits so we can eat cupcakes" and Chester sitting in his high chair screaming "cupcake, cupcake" while Pete polished off ALL FOUR CUPCAKES (okay, just the frosting and sprinkles) because Pete ate all his pears and Chester took a bite of his pear and spit it back out.  The second flight was even better, and Pete put his head on my shoulder during taxi, and had his eyes closed by the time we took off.  Chester screamed from the time we sat down until we left the gate, then promptly passed out for the entire flight.  Those 7 minutes of howling must have scared the rest of the passengers, but I knew it was just naptime coming on.  I even got to read a magazine while they both slept.  Piece of cake.

Ryan expertly reserved a car with two car seats, had a co-worker pick us up from the airport and we relaxed at the hotel until he joined us for dinner at Maggiano's across the street from our hotel.  The rest of the week went similarly smoothly, with a visit to the zoo with an old friend, her husband and their two children, a date with the sitter arranged by the hotel and a trip to the convention center to see Ryan's booth. 
All in all, a great trip, and in no way, shape or form a vacation.  In fact, it took me over a week to have the time and energy to finish blogging about it. 

Another score for toy rotation (or our ridiculously messy playroom)

Recently, the playroom has been carpeted with toys.  No matter that we rarely buy toys for our children, we receive such a blessing in hand-me-downs and gifts from friends and family that the toy room is filled to the brim with trucks, trains, dinosaurs, animals, legos and stuffed animals.  Just a glimpse into our playroom will leave you no doubt that we are a family with two (soon to be three) little boys. 

The boys can barely walk into the room, and every time I have it cleaned up (and yes, they help!), it is trashed again within an hour (sometimes two hours if they cleaned it before naptime).  No matter that there is a toy box for the toys, they must pull out every single toy looking for the one they want.  And yet, inevitably, there are still toys at the bottom of the toy box that haven't been played with for months.  I started toy rotation by accident, actually, just thinking I'd pull out some of their favorite toys for a summer trip to Grandma's house.  The boys played happily with the chosen toys for six weeks, and when we returned, the toys at home were suddenly cool again.  I just slipped the packed toys upstairs into a closet, and thus began the toy rotation.

I'm pretty sure Pete knows I put toys upstairs in the closet.  He's seen the closet, he's even asked for some of the specific toys from the closet.  Occasionally I give in and pull out the requested toy, but for the most part, the toys stay upstairs for a few months at a time.  They're gone just long enough that when I bring down the banished toys, it's like Christmas morning all over again.  This effect is especially helpful when I'm at my wit's end because they're being total hooligans on a rainy day. 

Yesterday I removed all the firetrucks, teddy bears and little people and replaced them with duplos and train tracks.  The boys haven't played legos/duplos in months and of course they were instantly enamored with building trains and train tracks.  It was especially fun for me to see how Pete has improved his hand-eye coordination in building with the duplos, and his problem solving skills in putting together the trains.  Last time the trains were out, Pete just pushed around a train made of the chassis, and ignored the duplo pieces that actually form the body of the train.  Chester, well he still just destroys everything we build, but at least now he brings me the broken pieces and says "uh oh, sorry" instead of laying down on the table and creating lego-angels like snow-angels. 

I may be scarring my children for life with this toy rotation scheme.  Tonight when I asked the boys to pick up their duplos, Pete asked if we were putting them back in bags to go back upstairs.  They had the train tracks spread all over the living room today, but after dinner, Pete and Chester cleaned.  By cleaned, I mean they picked up everything in the living room and tossed it in the playroom.  Good enough for government work, as Grandpa says.  In true Pete fashion, he's already found a new favorite in the bunch, and wanted to take it to bed with him.  I compromised, allowing the sacred train to stay in the living room overnight instead of being banished to the playroom. 

 

Salty, on the Bridge.  Pete's work of Art on display all night.

Oh, and if you were wondering, the playroom is still ridiculously messy, tonight it's carpeted with duplos.  Some things can't be solved by toy rotation, I guess.

School, work, family, work?

The other day, I had a great conversation with another adult (doesn't happen often) about our career choices, and the family choices we've made that have altered the course of our careers.  We both spent years working towards our education and building careers, then married men we follow around the country, and had babies.

I love my children very much, but I miss my career a lot too, and I make no excuses, I simply can't hack it as a working Mom with my husband in the Coast Guard.  My old job requires the kind of hours that daycares don't handle, and his schedule require the kind of hours/days/weeks/months away that daycares don't handle.  So either I bring in a Nanny (not a huge fan for a few reasons not for discussion here) or work a reduced schedule (aka a normal 9-5 workday), which just barely pays for two daycares, or I stay home and do a better job of balancing the budget than our Congress seems to be able to do.  I'll take the stress of balancing a budget over the stress of getting two kids ready for daycare by 7am! 

I'm still in contact with my old coworkers and the head hunters in the accounting world, which often leads to solicitations for my resume.  They dangle a generous salary in front of me, and promise family-friendly hours (which we all know is a lie) but I just can't bring myself to go back and add the stress of a job to the stress of two kids 21 months apart and a third one scheduled 23 months after the second.  And the other day, after a wonderful conversation about balancing family and career, I had a lovely dream with THE SOLUTION:  Soon Chester will be old enough for pre-school when he turns three, and I can go back part time! 

Umm, until I woke up and remembered I'm pregnant.  Going back to work will just have to wait. 

As another wise friend said later in the week, "The light at the end of the tunnel is really far away right now, but it is there."  She's proof- her lovely children are in high school, middle school and 3rd grade.  It's a different kid of busy, a different kind of stressful, but she's also beginning to reclaim herself.  She can go on dates with her husband on last minute notice because her oldest can babysit her youngest!  She can work part time without paying ANY daycare!  There are, of course, scheduling issues with school activities that we don't have yet, but like she said, it's a different kind of stressful. 

I'm taking my time, trying to enjoy these babies while they're little (which is wicked easy some days and definitely a challenge other days!), and counting my blessings that I can stay home with my babies until they're older and I will re-enter my career (as long as Herman Cain's 9-9-9 plan doesn't pass and make my job as a tax professional obsolete).  I can't spend my time worrying that I'll be hopelessly out of date when I prepare to go back.   I shouldn't bother wondering if all those years of school were the best plan when I'm not using them.  This is my role for now, and I just have to remember that I won't be the only one in the applicant pool with a 7 year gap in my full-time employment.

Of course, I might just change my mind and career path midstream, and go back to school for something else, you never know!

You drove your tricycle where?

Friday morning we went to the Children's Drop and Shop in Essex, MA.  It's a twice a year consignment sale of children's clothing and other gear.  I never used to need to shop for children's things, in a store, at an outlet, on sale or at a consignment sale because we received the best hand me downs for Pete and Chester from my awesome sister in law and another friend.  For the first three years of Pete's life, we basically bought nothing.  However, my little monkeys are now super tall monkeys and Pete is outpacing his older cousins and friends, so the hand me downs only help Chester these days and shopping at the seasonal Drop and Shop is the best way to get great clothing at a good bargain.

Having been to the Drop and Shop before, I knew the big ticket baby items would go quickly, but it would be a madhouse right at the 10am opening.  So I devised a plan to put Chester in the hiking back pack and use a monkey backpack leash to keep track of Pete while I hunted down a Pack and Play, Halloween costumes, winter boots and coats (The remaining items could wait until later that night when it would be less crowded and I could return to the sale without children.).  Sadly a search of the house didn't turn up my monkey backpack leash, so I just had to trust that he would not cause too much havoc or run away while I looked through the nursery items.  I explained to Pete what we were doing, and that there were also toys inside, so if he was a big boy and stayed right by me, he could pick out a toy at the end.  I got in line with my friend Lia at 9:50am approximately 300 yards from the entrance and groaned, just dreading what a total debacle this was going to be, but without other options, I just had to grin and bear it. 

I made it inside, and by the grace of God, the boys shoes and boys clothing section was right next to the toys.  I scored slipper, rain boots and winter boots for both boys while Pete debated the merits of a school bus vs. a train set.  I also finished the Halloween costumes and then moved to coral Pete to the coat room and nursery furniture room.  Then God really smiled on me.  He placed a $5 tricycle in our path to the nursery room.  While I inspected pack and plays, Pete zoomed under tables of ice skates and baseball cleats.  As I sorted through coats, he made figure eights around the racks of snow pants all within viewing distance, and never once running into someone, even in the madhouse full of over-caffeinated bargain hunters.

He rode that tricycle while we waited 30 minutes in line to check out, then he rode it down the hill, into the parking lot and over to our van where he lifted it up himself, to store it in the back of the minivan.  I congratulated myself on surviving the Drop and Shop rush, and celebrated my awesome bargains. 

Now nearing noon, both boys, of course, fell asleep on the way home, so I carried in my purchases and retrieved our bags and shopping list to head for the commissary while they continued to nap in the car.  I'm not really sure why I left the tricycle in the car, but I did, and thought nothing of it while we headed for a playdate and grocry store on the Air Force Base. 

When I woke Pete to go into the store, he asked if he could drive his tricycle.  I'm not sure who was more surprised when I answered yes.  I strapped Chester into the cart and again explained the rules that Pete must stay near me and not crash into anyone in the store.  And wouldn't you know it.... he listened!  We took a quick trip through the fresh produce, dairy, bakery and frozen foods (there's nothing wrong with craving blueberry pancakes, but I have to settle for frozen blueberries now that they're out of season!)  Each aisle we turned down, he waited patiently for permission to race me to the end, then returned, without fail, to my side ready to move to the next aisle.  No whining, no running, no begging for snacks or candy.  It was the easiest grocery trip I've ever taken with two children. 

I have not yet decided if the tricycle will make a second appearance at the grocery store.  There is probably a rule against such behavior, especially on an Air Force Base.  At the AFB, at 5pm each night, they call attention, play the Star Spangled Banner, then announce permission to carry on.  For the crime of speeding, they don't bother to ticket you, the MPs just revoke your driving priviliges on base (and it works, I've never seen anyone speeding).  If there aren't already rules about driving a tricycle through the commisary, I'm sure someone is working feverishly on a new directive after seeing Pete riding his around the store on Friday.  But driving the tricycle sure did make that trip pleasant, and if thats the trick to grocery shopping without hissing at my children to be quient and stay right by the cart, I may just consider it the best $5 I've ever spent and leave the tricycle in the back of the van for use during every grocery trip. 

Pillsbury, I hate you.

Chester is getting so much better with his words!  I knew this day would come, and of course it's exciting, but also bittersweet. 

He can say "candy" clear as day in the checkout line at the store.

His "yes ma'am" is totally understandable, though only I can understand his "more please".

There's a little confusion between "baby" and "belly" but I think that's honestly confusion because we have him pat the baby in my belly while saying "baby" and then ask him to pat his own belly saying "belly".  Hopefully that will also pass.

And of course, I'm thrilled when he comes running to me after MOPS or YMCA Playcare yelling "Mommy!"  However, I was less than thrilled tonight when he flipped through a magazine and came to an add for Pillsbury Brownies.  He pointed to the Pillsbury Dough Boy and said "Mommy".  I assured him that those are "yummy" and told him that's the "Pillsbury Dough Boy."  He looked at me, looked at the ad, pointed to the Dough Boy again and said "Mommy" quite firmly.

Thanks. 

Just one of those days, I guess. Remarkable!

Did you ever have one of those days that you just want to keep living over and over?

So many of my days recently, I've just been praying to end.  Just get through today.  Just make it bedtime.  Please don't let me strangle anyone before breakfast/dinner/bedtime.  But today was a better day, today could have lasted forever.**

**Until 6pm, but that's later in the story.

We slept until 5:30am, which, around here, is late!  Chester even went back to sleep at that point, while Pete and I snuggled and Ryan got ready for work.  He was going in late because we were driving him in with some equipment that can't ride on his motorcycle. 

Pete happily got dressed (instead of crying about changing out of his pajamas), and enjoyed eggs and toast with Daddy while I packed a bag for the day.  I wish I could have recorded a picture of the look on Pete's face when Ryan told him "YES, we are going to drive over the Toby bridge this morning."  Seriously, you might as well have told him we were going to Disneyland.

Chester woke up just in time to have eggs and toast in his jammies before getting in the car.  Considering he's been getting up at the crack of dawn, I'm not bothered in the least that he left the house in his jammies because he got up "late" at 6:.30am.

The day got even better when we arranged a last minute playdate and grocery date at Hanscom AFB, and of course, when I told Pete where we were going, he was just thrilled to death.  For the record, that's TWO consecutive hours so far of totally gleeful pre-schooler- no whining and crying, and no screaming or spanking.  Who cares that we were stuck in Boston's rush hour traffic?  And who cares that Mommy took a wrong turn off the Elliot Bridge and we were headed for who-knows-where before the GPS got us turned back towards Route 2?  We had nothing but time today.  Nothing but happy time. 

Arriving at the gate to Miss J's house, Pete asked if we could play on the playground (there are LOTS of playgrounds there, as he tells me every time we grocery shop at Hanscom) and I got to tell him YES, we're playing on the playground with Miss J and Baby O today.  I'm pretty sure Pete thought he had died and gone to heaven.  In his little three-year-old head, this was the best day ever:  Daddy was home for breakfast, we drove over the Toby Bridge, we're going to see Miss J, play on the playground, AND no one has yelled at him yet. 

We got Chester and Baby O dressed since they were both still in jammies, and when we were ready to walk to the playground, I asked Pete to hold hands with Little E, the little boy that Miss J watches during the week.  This was going to be a long walk, and Little E sometimes wanders away, but I knew Pete could help.  They held hands while we walked to the playground, and talked.  Oh, my heart just melted listening to these 3 year olds talk to each other. 

E: My Daddy goes on a boat. (I'm not even sure if his Dad is in the Coast Guard, but I'm thinking he must be!)
Pete:  That's pretty cool.  My Daddy used to be on a boat, now he goes to an office in  Boston.  We took him there this morning on the Big Green Toby bridge. 

After playing on the playground for a bit, we decided to walk all the way to the Dunkin for some Pumpkin Spice Lattes and donuts for the kids.  Chester no longer wanted to be carried.  He wiggled and wiggled until I let him get down to walk.  He ran up and joined the older boys.

Seriously, how cute is that?  Ignore Pete's bedhead- we dealt with that after coffee!



I told Pete and Little E they were being good listeners, and big boys.  We barely had to correct them to keep them on the path.  Unbelievably good behavior all the way to the Dunkin. 

They ate their donuts and hot chocolate at the table with a reasonable mess, no one cried or screamed, and Chester only made one little run for freedom.  While we ate our donuts next to the Exchange's vendor tables, Pete and Little E even listened when we told them to look at the gifts with their eyes, and not touch with their hands. 

So we braved the barber shop to get Pete's hair cut.  As you can see from the picture, he was more than a tad overdue for a trim.  Though the barber shop was crowded, they all sat with bottoms on their chairs and said yes ma'am and please and thank you for the lollipops.  Even the little old retired men made comments about what remarkably well behaved children we had.  Pete sat quietly for his haircut, though he did help himself to a second lollipop after they finished.  So often I'm apologizing for my children's behavior, or hissing at them to sit down and be quiet, trying desperately to distract them enough to keep them quiet while others stare or give me pitying looks.  Not today.  Today, all we got were compliments. 

After a long walk home, they all took naps (shocking, considering our recent sleep troubles) and I was able to grocery shop at a record speed without any children at all while Miss J kept the boys asleep in her spare room. 

They woke a bit confused, but not the crying messes they can be after nap!  Chester happily gobbled my sushi and seaweed salad, then Pete enjoyed a cheese stick before we piled into the car to go pick up Daddy.  Even the hour commute home was fully of pleasant conversation and not much whining. 

Everyone, including the dog, had some apples while I made dinner, and then they ATE IT without complaint, and Pete even asked for more.  I was beginning to think I'd entered the twilight zone.

But just like that, my bubble burst.  Chester and Pete headed out to the backyard and while Ryan was grabbing a beer to sip on the back porch, Pete yelled inside to us that Chester pooped.  This was not his normal time of day to poop, and I had thought nothing of letting him run around without a diaper after he took off his diaper to practice peeing on the potty.  But clearly when he escaped to play in the backyard without a new diaper I should have expected disaster.  My mistake, I'll own that one.  But even more horrifying, Pete drove the tricycle through it.  Seriously. 

Ryan took one for the team and cleaned the poop from the back porch and the tricycle and just as he brought in the cleaning supplies, grabbed another beer and headed back out, he poked his head back in the door to tell me "Pete pooped in the backyard too".  I thought he was joking.  Sadly, he was not and we had a case of Monkey-see, monkey-doo-doo on our back porch.  I'm not entirely sure what Pete was thinking, but the day had gone so well that we reacted calmly even to this mini-disaster.  I got Pete inside to the potty while Ryan was again stuck with poopy duty. 

Though bedtime wasn't a picnic (it never is) I enjoyed my chance to snuggle in my bed with Pete and his blankie and shark while Chester cried in their room.  I told Pete how happy he makes me, how he's my best Pete, and how proud I was of the way he helped with Little E today at the playground and on the walk to Dunkin.  I told him he's a good example for his brother.  We talked about the new Dinosaur Baby and Pete said he was "a little bit" afraid of the new baby.  "A little bit" seems to be his favorite quantitative phrase these days, and the way he says it is just the sweetest thing ever.

It's remarkable how unremarkable today was, but how special it was.  I wasn't at my wit's end with them by 7am.  No one was throwing a tantrum when we had to leave the playground.  No one got spanked and there wasn't any screaming.  Pete was a good role model and a gentle friend.  I was patient and encouraging with timely situation appropriate praise.

I'd love for tomorrow and everyday to be just like today.  Sorry if this wasn't as amusing as most of my harried stories, but for me it was perfect.  I'm going to bed with a smile on my face and peace in my heart.  Today was a good day.   

The poop. Oh the poop.

Though I started this blog with a horrifying poop story, there have actually been relatively few blog-worthy poop events in the last few months.  That was.... until last Sunday.

The day started innocently enough, but notably without the standard morning dirty pants from Chester.  We went about our day, and after an early lunch, I thought briefly about the lack of poop.  If for some reason Chester doesn't fill his pants immediately upon waking, he does it quite reliably after breakfast, and at the very latest, following lunch.  But on this day, nothing, though I didn't have much time to linger on the child's lack of scheduled poop, as we had an exciting pirate birthday party to attend! 

CR turned three this week, and his Mommy scheduled a party at Malltots, one of my favorite indoor playgrounds.  We started the party in the private party room.  Everyone loved the pirate cake and snacks, enjoyed taking turns with the pinata, and then headed out into the common play area to ride on Cozy Coupes, climb on the pirate ship and jump in the bouncy houses.   

After focusing on Pete for a few minutes, I headed back over to Chester.  I could see that he had fastened himself in the police car with the seatbelt.  Buckling his own seatbelt is a new skill that can keep him occupied for hours, though he has yet to learn to un-buckle them and can get a little frustrated!  You'll find all of the booster seatbelts clipped, which can be quite frustrating if you try to put him in the seat for dinner before un-clipping the straps.  But I digress, back to the situation at hand.  Chester was strapped into the police car and was headed for hysterical, bouncing in the seat as high as his seatbelt would let him, then sitting back down to wail before stretching against the seatbelt again. 

Though it was highly amusing to watch him struggle against the seatbelt, I decided to free him and let him find another car to buckle himself into so we could repeat the catch and release process a few more times before he moved on to riding a tricycle down the slide or pushing a lawn mower up the plank of the pirate ship.  I was probably 10 feet away when I smelled something.  Hoping it was one of the other babies in the playground, and not mine, I was totally unprepared for what I saw when I got closer.  Chester had pooped.  And the repeated actions of straining against the seatbelt and then slamming back down to a sitting position had propelled the poop up and out of his diaper, out the top of his shorts, up his back, out of his shirt and on the police car.  I'm not talking about just a little bit, either. 

My first thought was to take him and leave, but as I picked him up from the police car, the poop spread all over me, and now Chester's hair, socks and arms too.  I quickly determined that he could not go in his car seat like this.  Holding him as far from me as possible, I pushed the car over to the attendant, alerted her to the fact that we had a situation, and headed for the bathrooms. 

Two things dawned on me as I carried the stinker across the floor.  First, thank God the party was at Malltots, where my other child is completely contained on age-appropriate toys, and the other parents at the party could keep an eye on him for me while I attended to the disaster.    Second, thank God for friends like LW who saw us both covered in poop and instead of gagging, came with me to the bathroom to help.  We removed his shoes, which was the only article of clothing that had escaped the poop, and put his shirt, shorts and socks into a ziplock baggie.  Totally good luck that I had used the ziplock baggie to protect my purse from the sweat of the frozen water bottle I carried around hat day.  It probably took 30 minutes and 50 wet and soapy paper towels to remove all the poop from the rest of Chester's body.  Then we put a new diaper on him, replaced his shoes and turned him loose to play while I cleaned myself up too. 

Here comes the super-mom moment, don't you wish you could be as well-prepared as me?  I had long ago stopped carrying a separate diaper bag.  I toss a diaper and some wipes in a travel case and tuck them into my purse.  (I've given up cloth diapering when we leave the house, I'm only partially crunchy)  But I do carry a spare change of clothes for the boys in the car, and clearly this time we needed it!  Not only that, but a few days before we'd been to a friend's house and I had packed MYSELF a spare change of clothes, in case we decided to play in the water outside with the boys.  I left the boys with our friends, and dashed out to the car, changed my shirt in the back of the van, and brought in clean clothes for Chester too.  It may not have been the adorable black satin party top I was rocking originally at the party, but the grey wrinkled t-shirt was clean and free from the unmistakable odor of child-poop.  Check that out:  At nearly two years old, we survived a poosplosion at a birthday party and came away unscathed.  Yes, I'm that good (I mean lucky and blessed with great friends).

After attending to the crisis, we actually ended up staying for another two hours.  Pete found a friend with almost his exact birthday, and they played beautifully together.  Chester played in another Cozy Coupe, the firetruck one this time, since the police car had been whisked away to be sanitized, or possibly burned.  I haven't been back since, but I'm hoping that there's no pictures of my children at the entrance with big red Xs across them indicating we've been banned from Malltots, especially because I'd like to host our next birthday party there too!

Happy birthday C, we're glad you invited us to your pirate party!

Overdosed.

Recently, a fellow Coast Guard spouse (whom I really consider a friend, though we've never actually met) lived through a nightmare.  She experienced the kind of morning that you read about in forwarded emails or hear about on a TV news magazine, and makes you want to run to your babies' bedroom and hug your children, even though it's the middle of the brief nap time you've been looking forward to all day.

Miss F's little girl Baby J was up and about the house early, while Miss F was still getting up.  Baby J pushed a step stool over to the kitchen counter and climbed up, then reached up on top of the refrigerator and found a bottle of throat spray (the family was just recently recovering from a round of colds/flu that had worked its way through the house).  Baby J managed to OPEN the bottle, and drink most of it.  Miss F found Baby J stumbling around the kitchen with slurred speech and a puffy face.  They rushed to the hospital, where Baby J was given charcoal and IV fluids and tests for kidney and liver function.  After several tense hours, all the tests came back normal and Baby J recovered from Phenol poisoning. 

I should mention that Baby J isn't actually a Baby, but a pre-schooler, about the same age as my oldest boy, Pete.  Which is why this story really hits home, and why I'm sharing it with all of you.

I'm dying for a little more sleep, a little more rest in my life, while I'm exhausted just growing a baby and trying to keep my children from destroying the house around me, let alone prepare meals daily and keep a stash of clean clothes ready for my family.  On many days, I hand them each a banana and cup of milk and try to lay down a little while longer before starting my day.  Just like Miss F, my children are running around the house some mornings without my direct supervision, and are now big enough that even a baby gate can't keep them contained.  And just like Miss F, I have some tylenol and vitamins, cough syrup and baby-tylenol up on the window sill above my kitchen sink, out of reach, as far as I know, of my children. 
 
So this week, upon hearing of the accidental overdose, I prayed for Baby J's full recovery, Miss F's peace, and my own children's safety.  Then I went to the kitchen and removed all the bottles, moving them to the highest shelf in the locked pantry.  I know that with kids, no storage method is full-proof (which also scares me to death about the locked gun-box high on a shelf in our basement) so I'm tempted to throw it all away and only run to the CVS down the street when someone spikes a fever.  I know that's not practical, and I have to be reasonable, and so the medicine will stay in the house, on the top shelf, in a tupperware box, in the pantry with a child-proof door.  Just like so many things in life, I'll have to hope that my reasonable precautions will protect my family

What scares me even more than Baby J's accidental overdose was some other parent's response to the incident.  A chorus of "that's so scary" was typically followed by "my kid would never climb up there" or "my kid knows medicine is only for when you're sick" or "my kid doesn't know how to open a childproof cap".  Maybe I'm overreacting, but this kind of keeping your head in the sand is how accidents keep happening.  I can guarantee you Miss F never thought Baby J could climb up from the step stool to the counter and then to the fridge.  And I'm sure Miss F would never leave a medicine bottle around, thinking that Baby J could find it and manage to open it too.  Finally, I know throat spray tastes horrid, and who would think that upon tasting that nasty liquid, that Baby J would keep drinking it? So look around your house today, and think about what you might hate to find out your child can get into before they have the chance to get into it.  Because the first time could be the last time. 

And then go hug your kids.  After they wake up from nap. 

Patience, right?

And here I sit.  I sit in the rocking chair and supervise nap time.  Not the actual sleeping part of naptime, but the hour it takes for them to fall asleep in their beds.  Weeks ago, we moved to an 11am lunch aiming for naptime to begin between 11:30am-noon.  The idea was that napping slightly earlier in the day (they had been napping around 1pm or later) would make bedtime easier, which would make for happier and well-rested children, even if they continue getting up at 5am. 

Routine is supposed to make this easier.  And we certainly have routine, they're just not catching on that at the end of the routine, they should close their eyes and sleep.   

After lunch we use the potty and put on a pull-up (Pete), change the diaper (Chester), we wash hands, read a book and then they lay down in bed.  This is where the fiasco begins.  Chester is doing headstands, folding in half with his toes over his head, stretching out off the edge of the bed, getting out of bed to look out the window, etc.  Pete is alternately doing the same and yelling at Chester to get back in his bed.  So I've taken to sitting in their room while they fall asleep.  Then I cover them up and leave to attend to my own needs, like lunch or cleaning the kitchen and folding laundry.  We're coming up on week three of the routine, and they are still bouncing off the walls for an hour, at least.

Bedtime is similar, though it also involves a shower, pajamas, one cartoon of choice (typically Go, Diego, Go these days) in addition to the potty trip and bedtime stories.  And then an hour or more while I sit and threaten "get back in bed" and "put your head on your pillow".  I also pick them back up and put them back in bed without additional snuggles.  Consistency is key in training dogs, husbands and children.  Anytime I try to leave the room before they're both asleep and I hear little feet making a pitter-patter for the door, the other bed or the books on the bookshelf.  Last night it lasted from 7:30pm to 9:15pm!   

So there goes two to three hours of my day, spent sitting quietly in a dark room, wishing my children would catch on to the concept, and that I will have the patience to continue sitting and rocking waiting for them to fall asleep.  I  guess the alternative is duct taping them to the bed, and duct taping their eyes shut before I leave the room.     

Further evidence that my children are out to get me.

We spend a lot of time playing in the backyard on the adorable little playset that Ryan built for the boys.  I snagged a great deal on a slide ($6 at Children's Drop and Shop last fall- the same slide retails for $125!) and some swings ($2 each at the same sale, retails is $40 each) and Ryan re-purposed some of our old fence posts and extra lumber to set up the playset. 

Chester prefers the normal swing, while Pete loves to fly high "like the birdies and the planes" in the baby swing with safety straps.  I'm pretty sure he fell off the big-boy swing once and has decided it's safer to swing high on the baby swing. 

Pete has mastered the slide, and loves to send balls, trains, trucks and any other toy he can get his hands on down the slide too.  I've had to stop him from riding a tricycle down the slide too.  Sigh.  I swear, my boys will give me a heart attack one of these days.  I've stopped him from sliding down on his belly, backwards, face first, and on his feet.  Chester can climb up the stairs to the slide, and more often than not, he goes down the slide just fine too.  Sometimes, he'll stand at the top of the slide and yell "Elp!" so that I'll come hold his hand while he goes down the slide. 

So last night as I prepared dinner, Ryan played outside with the boys.  I heard Ryan tell Pete to slide down the slide, and the following ensues:

Pete (slides down slide backwards)
Daddy:  Pete, what would Mommy say?
Pete:  Daddy, listen, when Mommy's outside I don't do that.  When Mommy's inside I can try it.

Where did he learn that????  I swear, my children are out to get me. 

Ridiculously Early

I have some advice for my single female friends out there:  Don't just marry someone with whom you fall in love, and want to spend the rest of your life.  Don't just consider how handsome and respectful and persistent and talented he is.  Don't just marry someone who makes you laugh and holds your hand when you cry. 

Marry someone who likes to sleep in. 

Though we met and got married fairly quickly in the grand scheme of things, I thought I had worked through all the important questions in choosing a mate.  Sure, my darling husband has a few quirks, like leaving his pants on the floor right next to the laundry basket, but I have many of my own quirks that he forgives/ignores, and really he's pretty much the perfect husband for me.  I'll spare you the long list of reasons why, but suffice it to say he's amazing and I love him and consider myself extremely lucky to have gone out to the bar that cold night in January 2004.  After having children, it was even more apparent that I'd chosen an excellent man to be a father as well.  Not only does he love his children, he plays with them, and cares for them, and can even be left alone with them (unless you leave him alone in the toy section of a store).  He's a better father than I am a mother, hands down.

But he's a morning person.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a morning person too.  I love my sleep, and with an appropriate 8 hours of sleep, I can happily schedule myself for a 7am yoga class and 8am college classes all week long.  If I'm up late, however, I still need those 8 hours of sleep, so going to the bars until midnight means I'm not a happy camper at 6am.  When I trained for marathons through the summer, necessitating 5am long runs on Saturday mornings to avoid heat, I just scaled back my Friday nights to be in bed at 8:30pm and awake and out the door with shoes laced up by 4:30am. 

Then came children.  You expect sleepless nights when they're newborns.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that my babies slept 4-5 hours at night pretty much from the start.  They quickly stretched to six hours at a time followed by another 3-4 hours.  I was in heaven.  I could handle this!  Both of my boys then hit a sleep regression wall around five months.  They were up every hour for food, but still "night" didn't end until 7am or later, so I survived.  I was a zombie some days, and it seemed unmanageable at times, but I survived.  And finally, when we settled into a once-a-night wake-up routine, the sweet little boys start waking up for the day at 5am. 

I spent an entire summer hanging laundry in the backyard before 6am.  My neighbor, leaving for a 7am shift would smile and wave as I hung another diaper on the line.  I just got used to it and worked around it.  We arranged coffee dates and playdates for 8am, as early as our friends could manage.  I went to the YMCA for early morning aerobics classes while the boys played in playcare before any other children arrived.  We scheduled doctor appointments for 8am or went jogging with friends at 7am.  I had no qualms about signing Pete up for school, even though we must leave the house by 7:45am to get there.  Then, they miraculously started sleeping a little later.  6:30am was a pretty standard wake-up, and I counted myself lucky if we made it to the Today Show at 7am before hearing the wails indicating that someone was awake.

I must admit, now that I'm pregnant, I could use a little more than eight hours of sleep, but even eight hours is unattainable these days.  The boys are clearly a mix of Ryan (up at the ass crack of dawn) and me (once I'm up, I'm up, there's no rolling over and going back to sleep).  So now that they've reverted back to pre-5am wake-ups I'm at my wit's end trying to find a routine that works.  I've spent the last few mornings from 5am-7am trying to cajole them back into sleeping, telling them it's still sleeping time, nursing Chester in an attempt to lull him back to sleep, letting them sleep in my bed, even yelling at them that it's still nighttime.  Nothing works.  Nothing. 

I know of children who routinely have to be WOKEN to go to school, or get to a playdate on time.  My nephew is one who can sleep 8pm-9am and he's the same age as Chester!  Our time to venture out of the house is 8am-noon and they're just getting rolling for 11am playdates at the pool!  These children, who can be just as frustrating to a mom needing to schedule morning appointments, or make it to work on time, just have a different sleep cycle than mine.  There are pros and cons to both early birds and late sleepers. 

The moral of this sad, sleep-muddled and probably baffling and poorly written story is to consider your partner's natural circadian rhythms before saying I do and consenting to years of sleep deprivation when your children take after your partner's sleeping habits.  I don't care how smart, funny and handsome he is, you need to ask some important questions before you take him home from the bar.    

Easter in August or I've sunk to a new low.

Pete:  Me have Easter baskets?
Me: It's not Easter.
Pete:  Please, you can go get the bunny and he brings candy.
Me:  Easter happens in the spring, this is summer.  Easter isn't for a long, long time.
Pete:  And eat Easter bunny candy.
Me:  We don't have any Easter bunny candy, it's August.
Pete:  Please, Mommy, Please?

Sigh.  No amount of explaining can convince Pete that it's not Easter and there's no Easter candy.  And for good cause.  He pointed out that on the top of the fridge sat two Easter baskets, filled with plastic eggs.  To my surprise, there was still candy in half of the eggs.  Shocking, since candy doesn't last long around our house.  It's most often used as a bribe for eating vegetables.  So we've all enjoyed some pastel twizzlers for a few days.  Easter candy in August.  I've been bested by the pre-schooler again.

What's even worse?  Tonight after dinner I was in the mood for some budge-like brownies.  I searched a little online for a recipe using cocoa (that I have) instead of baking chocolate (which I don't have), but then discovered we only had whole wheat flour.  Totally defeated, I considered doing the dishes that my husband had promised to do and bribing him to go to the store for flour, but decided to settle for marshmallows from the baking/treat cupboard.  What do you think I found in the treat cupboard?  A candy-cane filled with M&Ms.  And I ate the Christmas M&Ms in August.  With the marshmallows.  You should try it sometime. 

At least I shared.      

Look! There's a lion! Or: heeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Chester has quite the list of words at 18 months compared to Pete at about the same age (20 months).

Chester:
Bubbles
Roar ( (Dr. says animal noises count! That's roar like a dinosaur, by the way)
Yeah
Nuh-uh
Dirty
Yucky
More
Up
Help
Ease (please)
Moo
Quack-quack
Boo-boo
Bye-bye
Mama
Dada
Grandma
Grandpa
Hi-yo (hello)

Pete (around 20 months)
Moo
Woof-woof
Choo-choo
More
Please
Hi-you (hello)
Ni-ni (Binky)
Bee-bee (baby)
Bye-bye
No
Woo-woo (ambulance or firetruck)

I'd forgotten how exciting this stage is, all the new things Chester says, adding new words and pronouncing them more clearly every day.  However, I'd also forgotten the terrible noises that come with the frustration of not being able to communicate his every whim and desire.  It's a terrible guttural noise that just grates on my nerves and drives me nuts.  Heeeeeeeeee-heeeeeeeeeee.  He can't be the only 18 month old that makes that sound, so I think some of you probably know what I'm describing. 

Even with his relatively vast vocabulary, he more often than not reverts to the heeeeeee-heeeeeeeee.  As far as I can discern at any given time it means one of the following:  All done/more/no thank you/faster/slower/wait for me/over there/up/down/my butt hurts/I don't want you wiping my butt/I want that/I don't want that/where is it/this is fun/this is not fun.  With that range of expression, I'm sure he's wondering why Mommy just doesn't understand. 

Though I'm a huge fan of the concept of baby sign language, I'll be the first to admit that I'm just not that good of a Mom.  I've got some strengths and some weaknesses as a parent and one of my limits is the ability and patience to teach a toddler sign language.  (If you want further details of my failings as a Mother, just stick around, you'll be sure to see many of them in this blog.)  My sister-in-law teaches my nephew baby sign language, and while I'm thoroughly impressed with T's ability to point out and sign the name for a Lion or Rooster, I just don't see how that is going to help avoid this stage where Chester makes noises like he's possessed by the devil.  Of course if I'm ever in danger of being attacked by a rogue lion while in Africa, I want T with me on the safari.