Should Be Sleeping

I should be sleeping, but I'm not. Instead, I'm sitting in the kids' bedroom holding Firstborn's hand as he sleeps. This is the most memorable part of my day.

If you look back almost exactly a year ago on this blog you'll notice that what I'm about to say and what I've already said are quite parallel. Basically, it's the same story, we moved, life happens, and everybody gets sicks.

But, this time it feels like everybody is staying sick. Oh, one might recover from whatever ailment it is plaguing them, but rest assured by next week it's mutated into something completely different and is being passed around like the latest comic book. Within the past three weeks both Firstborn and Secondborn have had strep throat. This was followed by a serious bout with RSV for the latter.

At first, she was on breathing treatments every four hours round the clock along with some talk of a stay in the hospital. I slept on the floor of their room for several days to be able to give the round the clock treatments. But I'm relieved to report that she's doing much better and we've been able to let up on the breathing treatments somewhat.

Because of the sickness we've all been at home much more than we'd like. A severe case of the Island Happy has set in and we're all a bit wound tight. Fortunately, Firstborn has been able to rejoin his preschool class twice a week. Yet, I fear that's not enough.

He's held my complete attention for for such a great length of time that he's taken issue with the lack I've been able to give him of late. You see, Secondborn wishes me to die an early death. I can think of no other way to sum it up. I've spoke of how she is the daytime to his night. I've described how completely opposite of one another they are. And, yet, they are so much like their gendered parent, it's unbelievable.

Not only does the boy look identical to his father's baby and childhood pictures, but the girl to mine. And, it isn't just limited to looks. Their personalities seem to mirror those of each respected, as well.

Firstborn is reserved, bashful, if you will. Once you engage him, and often it takes a great deal of coaxing, he has the time of his short lived life. Secondborn knows no fear. To say she is spirited and independent is somewhat the understatement. They truly are the equivalent of each of us in a most frightening and unusual way.

All that being said, I'm having to give Secondborn a great deal more attention than I ever did Firstborn at this age. In fact, it's almost impossible to take my eyes off her for fear of finding her running up and down the length of the formal dining room table......again. Or, climbing the floor to ceiling blinds as she did in our old house.....before she could walk.

Firstborn has had a difficult transition with this move. He's had a difficult time with the lack of attention I'm able to give him at this point. And, quite frankly, I'm having a difficult time with him.

He's not being a bad child. He's being a three and a half year old who's having trouble adjusting to many new things in his ever changing environment. It's me that seems to behaving as a bad child. I'm ashamed of how much alone time I've been craving. I'm ashamed of how overwhelmed I've become by his constant need for attention, my approval, my...my...my love.

And, it's when I finally have a moment of clarity when Secondborn isn't trying to scale the washing machine by way of whatever's at hand, that I realize how much his happiness depends upon my loving approval.

He's had it all along. For so long. And, then when I get bogged down with the reality of sick children, sick family, moving, settling in, but not really settling in because we're only here temporarily, insomnia like I've never experienced before, and a child who is hell bent on scaling Mt. Everest by age thirteen, I get lost. I get lost in the roar of the immediate and I can't hear the pleas of my dearest, darling, boy, "Mommy, watch me! Watch me!"

What shakes me to my core is looking back to one of the most beautiful faces I'll ever know with utmost attention and a little hand rubbing my arm saying, "It gonna be okay, Mommy. You're my best friend and I love you de whole day wong, ebry day."

How did I get this far from centered? I don't know. How do I get centered again? And, by that I mean, how do I get back to enjoying absolutely every waking and, not just the sleeping moments of my children?

I miss having fun with my children. I mean, really enjoying each moment with them. I know as I type these words there will be at least twelve mothers out there saying to themselves, "Enjoy these days, because they go by much too fast."

I know these days are limited and precious. And, I can see brighter days ahead. I know they are there. How can there not be brighter days ahead with a best friend like Firstborn? But, tell me, how can I be so blind to them right now?

The Natives Are Restless

There is a great battle that will likely never be mentioned in any history book you pick up. But, a great battle it is. The natives in this battle wage a warfare that is calculating and decisive. Their spirits are brave. Their willingness to face the enemy day after day is overwhelming.

For the record, I'm the enemy. Each and every afternoon I face the battle of nap time. Firstborn is hit or miss with there being any actual sleep during his nap time. But, I still demand he lay quietly and rest. His quiet time is just as much for me as it is him.

Secondborn is in the process of transitioning down to one nap a day now. She always sleeps for several hours. The trouble I'm having with her is trying to push her nap time back so she won't be so cranky and tired late in the afternoon.

But, the battle lies in the fact that they share a room. I wanted them to share a room for a few years so they would be close. It seems I got what I wanted. When they go to bed at night there are the expected bed time stallings, but they usually quieten down fairly quickly now. But, for some reason they just can't seem to nap together.

The past week of battling has left me weary and ragged. However, I changed my plan of attack this afternoon. I moved Firstborn to the den couch. Within fifteen minutes he had waved the truce flag and passed out cold.

Secondborn waged a much more impressive and impassioned warfare. Yet, half an hour later upon realizing her resources were much depleted she too waved that white flag of surrender.

The restless natives were finally soothed into submission and I won victorious! At least until tomorrow's battle.

A New Sheriff In Town

I just swatted my son. He rubbed his hiney, scowled, and finally did what I've been asking, begging, pleading, demanding of him. I don't even remember what it was now. But it's been that way between the two of us all day long. I don't mean the swatting, or spanking as some call it, although the incident I'm referring to was a definite swat as opposed to spanking. I mean he and I've been dancing this same dance over and over and over..... Well, you get the point. Anyway, that got me to thinking.

I've always tried to reserve swatting for attention grabbing situations. Say, one of the babes was just having a melt down and all other attempts to get through to the distraught babe had failed, then a swift swat to the hiney would be in order. You know what I mean, a swat of just enough magnitude to get through to them in order to employ other means of distraction or discipline.

Before I go any further, because I can only imagine the kind of email I'm going to receive regarding this topic, I don't judge on how you want to raise your child. He/she is your child and it's your place to decide how best to do that. Not mine. Again, I don't judge. It didn't take me very long into parenthood to realize all those preconceived, parental guidance handbook, warm and fuzzy prenatal intentions aren't always practical. I've learned that it takes a wide and wild mix of creative efforts in order to get the point across and the babe back in line.

Most often I stick to time outs by way of counting. It's kind of a 1-2-3 strikes and you're out sort of deal. It's great for "stop behaviors". When practiced consistently it's great for stopping whatever it is you want stopped. I'm learning that for "start behaviors" it's less effective. I find myself resorting to exhortion more than not when I want Firstborn to "start" something. I really dislike this and am open to suggestions if you've got any.

Oh, and when I say most often I stick to time outs, I mean before we moved. With all the chaos of back and forth trips to Alabama before our move, packing, parenting, and the move itself I became lax. I became inconsistent. I became ineffective.

To make matters worse Hubbs is working even crazier hours than his prior job. He's finally back in town from training, but we only see him a few minutes each day. No joke, just a few minutes. Firstborn is having an extremely difficult time with this. Every fourth sentence out of his mouth is, "I miss Daddy".

You've got a mommy with a splitting headache at the end of a long, long day and you mix in a three year old boy displaying all behaviors from acting out for attention, the chaos of a move, and inconsistent discipline and my friends, you've got yourself a recipe for disaster.

Okay, maybe not a disaster, but it certainly wasn't my best moment. And I could see it in his eyes. Everything about that look said, "Who are you and what have you done with my Mommy."

Arguably, I could have given him a similar look.

He and I've become lost in all, well, frankly, all of "this". It's time I got back on track. And that's my aim. Know this kid. Tomorrow, I'm bringing my "A game". I'm buckling down and bringing a new sheriff to town. There'll be counting and time outs the likes of which he's never seen. Firstborn won't know what hit him. And, this time it won't be me.

Wait. What's tomorrow? That's right! Hubby's off tomorrow! Heck, they're all his while I'm off to the market and the rest of my mommy errands. Guess tomorrow's your lucky day, cowboy!

Letters To Santa

We've moved to a small town where the local newspaper still reserves a section during the holidays to print letters to Santa Claus. I took it upon myself to write on behalf of my children and thought I would share it with you.

The letter from Firstborn is as follows:

Dear Santa,

I've been a very good boy with only a few minor infractions. If you receive any letters stating otherwise please disregard them. It seems that no matter how hard one tries to be good there will always be someone to dispute your claims.

The following is a short list of suggestions of what I would like for Christmas. Of course, I'm always open to suggestions and surprises.

a little boy friendly digital camera

firetruck

Take and Play Thomas of Misty Island

a rather large giraffe

a puppy dog Pillow Pet just like my cousin's

games

books, lots and lots of books, please

three new flashlights

a fast racing car with horns on it

Santa, please don't forget about my little sister, Secondborn. Ordinarily I wouldn't care if she got presents or not, but if you don't bring her anything then she's just gonna want to play with my things.

With as much love, goodness, and honesty a three year old boy's heart can bear,

Firstborn

And the letter from Secondborn:

Dear Santa Claus,

Forgive me for what I'm about to say. I've not always been what you might call a good little girl.

Sometimes I've been a naughty little girl.

However, I maintain that I was only doing what comes naturally to a highly spirited and independent girl.

If you're willing to overlook my scaling the living room blinds, continually emptying my dresser drawers of all contents, a bit of indoor gardening, and other minor incidents, please give my Christmas list some consideration. Please keep in mind that my frank honesty should warrant at least a few presents under the tree.

a camera

stuffed llama

dollie

a chair just my size

Weeble Wobbles

lots and lots of books

And, Santa, I'm convinced my older brother is to blame for much of my behavior. Just ask the elves who've been assigned to keep an eye on us. They'll tell you the real story.

Hugs and sticky kisses,

Secondborn

Where I Am

Hi, remember me, the one who promised to never leave your side and always tell you the truth? I know I've been absent for over two months now, and I hate to be that blogger who apologizes for blog neglect, but I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I'm back though, and I've got more to confess than ever before.

You see we moved. Yeah, yeah, I know I've spun this story before, but this time it's different. Really.

It all started in August when my mom died. And about that same time my dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Somewhere in between all of this my husband was interviewing for executive chef positions with several different restaurants near my hometown. After accepting an offer the packing began. And the chaos.

Secondborn decided then was as good as any to finally begin walking at sixteen months. The oncologist decided Dad had to have a kidney removed. There was the "kidney going away" party we threw for him followed a week later by the actually surgery. And less than a week after that, only a day before Thanksgiving, me and my circus moved in with him.

After placing most of our belongings into storage while staying with my dad for a few months, Hubby had to go out of town for three weeks for training. Fortunately, it was close enough he could drive home on weekends, but it still proved a trying time for all of us. Firstborn especially had a difficult time with this and the move. Yesterday was Christmas and he still says daily, "I wanna go home".

And speaking of Christmas, the stomach flu was not mentioned on anyone's wish list, yet we all got more than we ever wanted of it. That's okay, we still managed to make the most of it. The kids were thrilled with all the loot Santa brought. Hubby was mildly impressed, but it was a miracle he was even out of bed. And, me, I'm grateful we could all be together enjoying one of the rare white Christmases Alabama has had to offer. Oh, did I mention Hubbs got me a new Macbook Pro? So, no more excuses! Posting blogs should be a lot easier now that I don't have to hole up in the office while the kids go unsupervised.

Once more, I offer my most humble and "Oh, I feel like crap 'cause I've not written anything in ages" apology.

Life Skills

It's Monday. That means it's grocery day. Grocery day with two young children. One of which I could not keep contained in the "cool car concept cart" and the other who decided today was the day to begin a life of crime.
Normally, while grocery shopping with both children in tow I have to maintain strict organization. Firstborn generally pushes the small, child size cart which causes me to shop in constant fear for my ankles' well being. Secondborn rides in the front of the normal shopping cart waving, blowing kisses, and clapping for all other shoppers who can't help but to flirt back. And, I have my coupons already coordinated with the weekly sales and a strict list to adhere to.
I said normally. This morning was anything but normal. This morning was chaotic. I did not have my list finalized. And I certainly didn't have my coupons coordinated with the weekly sales. I knew that alone would make this shopping trip longer than usual. Taking into account that my dear darlings would be tagging along would just make it downright frustrating or comical, depending on how one decided to look upon it.
Once we'd arrived at the market I demoted Firstborn's driver's license to that of an accompanied permit holder and placed him and his sister into what I refer to as the "cool car concept". He was none too happy to have his cart privileges revoked and to be sharing limited elbow space with Secondborn.
Aisle after aisle, he would jump out of the car and pretend to fuel it up because, "Mommy, the car hun-ghee (hungry) and needs gas."
"Fine. Fuel the car up but, do so quickly," I would say absently as I was leafing through my three ring coupon binder.
Then came the car surfing. Seriously. He was attempting to hang as far out of the "cool car concept cart" as humanly, and I'm using that word loosely at this point, possible without landing on his head. It was as if he had Gumby's genetic coding. The verdict, he's got a future in Hollywood as a stuntman if those ACT scores don't work out for him.
I was more than ready to put this shopping trip behind me as I finished unloading the Mommymobile once home. I took Secondborn to change her diaper only to discover her well kept secret. And, no, it was not located in her diaper, but, rather her overalls. My sweet and innocently, charming secondborn had taken to a life of crime while I was busy paying for groceries.
I blame the grocery store for placing peer pressure upon such a young and fragile flower. I choose to believe that she never would have gone down such a seedy path had the stores placed the candy selection out of sight and reach. How could she resist such temptation with all those candy bars calling out her name? She picked out the candy bar that was calling the loudest, a dark chocolate Dove bar, and stuffed it inside her overalls. And just like that, my daughter who had yet to take her first steps on solid ground, took her first steps into a life of crime.
As a parent, one always worries over the futures of their young. I suppose in a way I should be relieved that at least in these hard economic times mine can fall back upon smuggling and car surfing. I'm not sure how profitable that will make them, but popular they should always be with these life skills.

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That'll Teach You

Firstborn's most favorite phrase of late is, "Dat's okay, Mommy. It an ass-e-dent. Ass-e-dents 'appen." Not exactly the phrase you want to walk in the front door to after a morning of special "Mommy Only" time. The first morning in months I'd been childless, save the two funerals within ten days I attended a few, short weeks ago.
This morning was much more special for a Mommy Moment given Hubby's work schedule of late and the personal trauma I've been doing my best to work through with a level head. Not only had I not had any time away from the kids most of the summer, I had barely seen my husband. When he was home he was nearly comatose from what I can only assume was his employer's creative way of trying to "off" him by over scheduling him in such a way that could only be described as an age old, tried and true, Inquisition technique.
I left the house early. Not only was I looking forward to my much overdue appointment to have my hair done at the local beauty college, but I had household errands to run before and after said appointment. The appointment ran late, much later than expected. That is one of the drawbacks to having a student service your hair. Sometimes they are so eager to do a great job that they get lost in the details and it takes a quite a long time.
Finally, five hours later, I pulled into our drive. I contemplated sitting in the Mommymobile for a few more songs to make the most of it, but my conscience wouldn't allow it. This was a single day off for Hubby after an almost illegal weekend work schedule. I knew it was time to go in and rescue him. He needed his alone time just as much, if not more than I did. This is what I walked in to.
I pushed the door open and stepped 1 1/2 steps inside. Firstborn runs up to me with a "forlorn and desolate outlook on life" look plastered upon his face, presumably due to my extremely long absence. The first words out of his mouth are, "Mommy, I sorr-wee 'bout your bedroom. Ass-e-dents 'appen. An', I wub (love) uo (you), sooo much. Uo (you) my berry best friend in da ho(whole) wide world, ebry (every) day, all day wong (long).
Immediately, my equilibrium shifted, as well as my "as close to Sivananda as I'm getting till these kids are both in school", peace and mentality.
"Accidents happen? Exactly what happened in my bedroom? Please, show me."
Firstborn took me by my ever so reluctant hand and led me in the direction of the oh, so never private bedroom Hubby and I share.
"What's that smell?" , as I sniffed, sniffed, sniffed from object to object. It wasn't until I put my nose to the carpet that my pulse began to beat much faster.
No. No. NO. NO!
Before I could further my questioning in the certain direction I knew it to be going, Hubby came up behind me to fill me in.
It seems Firstborn had lured Secondborn into our bedroom. He had managed to unstick my nightstand drawer. An irritation of always having to finesse to obtain admittance to this quircky thing, to a safeguard I had always counted on, this drawer was like a combo lock the likes I'd never seen before. Yet, he'd pried it open. Once open, he pulled out all the contents from nail files, magazines and books, including 1-2-3 Magic (a parental must have), to my brand new bottle of Nivea moisturizer.
The details thereafter are fuzzy. The best Hubby and I can do are piece together what we do know. This is what we know. When Hubby discovered the two in our bedroom, there was only one step between them and the door that was not saturated with moisturizer. Secondborn was covered entirely in said moisturizer. Firstborn was adorned with Hubby's brand new, white gold with yellow gold inlay, high-end, name brand, employer awarded for 10 years of excellent service, watch and a generous helping of Nivea moisturizer. I walked into the room wearing flip flops. I walked out of the room nearly breaking my neck as my feet met the laminate wood flooring in our hallway.
Welcome home, Mommy. welcome home. That'll teach you.