A Nice Winter-Time Dip in the Pool

We have suffered through a deluge of rain here for the past several weeks and both the boys and I have really begun to suffer from cabin fever. On Monday afternoon, there was a nice treat of some break-through sunshine and I asked M if he wanted to go for a bike ride around the neighborhood. He politely declined, insisting on venturing out into the backyard. The soggy, muddy, backyard. In 40 degree weather. Being the responsible mother that I am, I dressed the boys in sweats and rain boots and let them have at it.

Cut to ten minutes later and both boys had taken off their rain boots and were prancing around the grass, and the mud, in their socks. Again, being responsible, I allowed this to continue with a sigh. What could some really cold weather with soaking wet feet hurt?

A few minutes later, (I was obviously paying really close attention to their antics) I noticed B stuffing mud into his mouth. Why this boy loves to eat dirt, I cannot figure out. He eats sand at the beach, at the playground and now mud in the backyard. It's gross. He always spits it out and yet he tries it again almost every time. It can't taste good, so why in the world would he persist? One would think he would have given up by now. Anyway, I ran over and wiped his mouth out and scolded him (yeah, right) and moved him away from the muddy part of the dirt.

I went back to patio and was contemplating how much longer I was going to let them play in the frigid weather when I looked over in time to see B plopping himself down into the rain and dirt filled kiddie pool. He was submerged to his armpits. I would once again like to note that it was approximately 40 degrees Fahrenheit outside. ( I know you are completely amazed by my stellar parenting skills.) Of course, I freaked out and started running towards the pool. M apparently decided that B had had a good idea and started to march towards the pool as well. I yelled, "M! Stop it! DO NOT GET INTO THE WATER!" Unfortunately, M is almost three and has absolutely no impulse control and an apparently great ability to tune me out, so he did what any boy of his age would. He plopped himself down next to B and laughed hysterically. I'm guessing that my screaming only made things funnier for him.

At this point I figured the best course of action was to get the boys out of the pool and dried off as soon as possible. Can one get hypothermia at above freezing temperatures? I really didn't want to run an experiment using my kids as the guinea pigs. I stripped them, rushed them inside, and watched in horror as they began to run around the house naked. I actually had to hold them down to diaper and clothe them. Well, at least they got to spend some time outside...

He Wipes Noses Too

The other day, I was...indisposed, while the boys were in the kitchen munching away at their breakfast. B has had a nasty cold with all the snottiness in which this entails. Yum, yum, yum. While I was...busy, I hear B sneeze, which invariably meant that there was some sliminess finding its way down his face. However, as previously mentioned, I was unable to attend to this particular problem in a timely manner. As I wrapped up my business, I heard M call out, "Mommy, B sneezed. Oooooooooh gross, B! Baby, you have buggaws?" Then I heard nothing.

Moments later I walked into the kitchen in time to see M, who had climbed onto B's highchair, was wielding a wet-wipe and wiping B's nose. I stopped in my tracks. Awesome. I have birthed my very own nose-wiper. I wonder if he changes poopy diapers, too.

Outsmarted

I sat the boys down to their lunch today and went to go sit on the couch. After a few minutes, B raised his yogurt cup and said, "Mo." which these days means either "more" or "done". Since the cup was still full of yogurt, I made the assumption that he was attempting to let me know that he was done with his yogurt and wished for me to remove said cup from his tray. So, I stood up and started walking towards B and asked if he was done. He smiled, I swear it was slyly, shook his head to indicate "no" and continued feeding himself. I sighed and sat back down only to have the same thing happen again only but a moment later. Only this time, B's sly smile was HUGE.

I sat down, yet again, and I think you all know where this is going. Now, I might be slow on the up-take, so to speak, but I'm not a complete idiot, at least not usually. Whilst still sitting on my a*&, I asked B again if he was finished with his yogurt. Of course, this time he nodded his assent.

Is it possible that I have been outsmarted by an almost 15 month old?

The Bond of Brotherhood

In my world, anything that happens before 9am is a bit of a fog and it can be argued, by me of course, that nothing actually happens until after this time. Normally, the boys wake up sometime between 7 and 7:30 in the morning and if I'm lucky, more like 8. This is still WAY too early for some of us, but at least almost manageable. This past week, the munchkins have been rousing themselves around 6:30 to 6:45 am and this has been completely unacceptable. Papa Bear claims that he hasn't been making too much noise and that they are waking before he, but the powers that be, namely me, have a hunch that he is dispersing less than the truth, but what am I to do.

This morning, I woke up and noticed that it was 7:30 and was thrilled to have awoken on my own...not by some awful crying, screaming sound. What a treat! I took my earplugs out thinking to hear the kids the minute they stirred rather than waiting for one of them to start crying to get my attention...yes, it's a bit neglectful to wear earplugs, but I do need to be able to sleep with Papa Bear somehow. Anyway, as I pulled out the plugs I noticed something. A faint noise. Was that a giggle? Were those little voices? I lied in bed a minute to orient my ears to the sounds and realized, with delight and more than a little surprise, that the boys were whispering quietly and entertaining each other. HOLY MOLY!!!!

I probably should have stayed in bed enjoying this serendipitous treat but, alas, I am just too curious...nosy, whatever you want to call it. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the hall to check out what was going on, without disrupting the munchkins' repartee. I peeked my head in the door to see M, with ALL of his blankets, sitting in B's crib and the two of them were chatting away. M was asking B questions like, "Do you see that B? Is that funny? Do you want your blankey, baby?" To which B would just babble or giggle. It was so sweet and cute and I just wanted to preserve the moment forever. Unfortunately, all good things seem to come a quick and sudden end in this house. The boys noticed me and starting making all kinds of ruckus. "Mommy. Hi Mommy. Are you awake? Pick me up. I'm hungry. I want lunch." (We haven't quite gotten the different meals correctly identified as of yet.) "Mama mama mama mama." Of course, there was also the squealing, the jumping up and down and the loud, loud, loud demands.

The moment was over, but the sweet memory will remain.

Uh, It's Closed

Last Saturday, Papa Bear and I realized that it was the last day of our Oakland Zoo membership and that we should take advantage of this. As mentioned in many previous posts, the zoo is M's number one favorite place. Given a choice between the zoo and keeping his little brother, I fear that I know which he would choose...we would most likely be a one child family.

Papa Bear and I packed their snacks, lunches, change of clothes, diapers, sippy cups...their entire bedroom, etc. and bundled the kids into the car. We told M that we were going to the zoo and, of course, he was thrilled. During the drive over, we were treated to a monologue detailing all the animals that we were going to see and what some of them eat. It was a...fun car ride.

Before even getting into the zoo, one has to either pay a $6 parking fee or show one's membership card to bypass this fee. Papa Bear handed me his membership card so that I could hand it to the parking attendant. She looked at the card and told me that the membership had expired the previous day and that we needed to pay the parking fee.

Papa Bear and I looked at each other in shock. How had we managed to misread the date? Seriously, how clueless are we? Are we living in a closet with no calendar, television, internet, or any access to the outside world? Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...I was paralyzed because I felt so guilty. I snapped out of my daze and turned to P.B. for the money. He in turn asked the woman if we could turn around.

I looked at P.B. in amazement. Did he actually want to leave? Could he actually break his little boy's heart this way? I turned to him to ask him these very things. Before I could open my mouth, he said, "We're not paying for this. Let's go."

"M is going to be devastated," I said as I began to turn the car around.

As if on cue, M cried desperately, "Where you going? No turn round!!! Zoo is that way, Mommy!" He violently threw his arms in the opposite direction, as if I didn't know where the zoo was.

I again looked at P.B., about to plead M's case for him and was given the look. Anyone in a long term relationship knows that look. The one that says, "Don't even try it. Do you really want to piss me off when you'll lose the argument anyway?" So, I turned to M and, in my most sincere voice said, "I'm sorry baby, the zoo is closed today. They're not letting anyone in." As the lie spilled out, I wondered if there's a special kind of hell for parents who lie to their kids because it's simply the easiest thing to do. How could I explain to a not-yet-three year old that we had accidentally mistaken dates? That we were not going to pay to get inside the zoo? So, I found myself taking the easier route. The route that involved sadness for the child, but made the parent seem less at fault. The route that would help to alleviate some of the parent's guilt. I lied and prayed that my sweet little boy would understand.

Of course, M did not understand. He started crying and telling us how he really wanted to go to the zoo. I felt absolutely awful because I knew what a disappointment this was for M, so I did what any good, caring, responsible mother would do. I bribed him with sugar. "M, I'm sorry you're so sad about the zoo being closed. We can't go today, but Mommy will get you a lollipop. How does that sound? Do you want a lollipop?"

Please. Like he would say no to a lollipop. M said, "Yes, Mommy. I want lollipop. Let's go get lollipop." Papa Bear couldn't really object because, even to him this seemed like a small concession and it's not like we ever give the boys candy. So I pulled the car over at the first Rite Aid that I saw and went inside to get my devastated eldest child a sugar laden, teeth rotting, hyper making, bribe. Inside, I perused the variety of lollies and found the perfect one...a blue Care Bear. It would serve two purposes. First, and definitely most importantly, the lolly was to help M feel better and hopefully stop the tears. Second, and I want to emphasize that this was not at all that important, Papa Bear hates that I allow M to watch the Care Bears and thinks I'm trying to make him a girl. So this was partly to take a jab at the mean P.B. who wouldn't let M go to the zoo...not that I am bothered by his cheapness at all. Seriously, not at all.

I gave M his lollipop and he was so excited. We then spent the morning looking at ovens and stove tops. That's equally as fun for young children. Seriously.

The Mexican Standoff

In our house, time-outs are not generally handed out willy-nilly. They are generally used to help M calm down from a temper tantrum where we will both sit down on the couch and I will hug him until he can function sensibly again. M will then turn to me and say, "All done crying, Mommy", he'll give me a big hug and just like that time-out is over. Unfortunately, there is occasionally the instance where time-outs are doled out for behavioral indiscretions, but I generally try as hard as possible to avoid this because those time-outs are tough on both of us...we're both usually pretty angry by that point.

Yesterday, I was talking with my friend Teri who told me that her not-yet-2.5-year-old had been put in time-out about three times. It got me to thinking about time-outs and the lack of them around here as of late. It's not that M has been particularly well behaved...cuz, unfortunately that's not necessarily the case. He is after all almost three years old. I guess it's that his temper tantrums have been increasingly fewer and farther between. He'll complain and cry and get upset, but he is less likely to lose control of himself to the point of a full on tantrum. I guess this is a sign of his growing up and development...or my excellent parenting:)

Well, this morning as M began to throw his toys on the floor, I warned him that this was not acceptable behavior. He smiled, and it was a smile that can only be described as smug, and threw some more toys on the floor. I warned him not to do it again and added in that if he did, he would be given a time-out. As I said this, I realized that I would have to follow through on this because I had not been doing so lately. Sometimes it's just easier to leave things be because well, I must be lazy. But I digress. So, the little bugger, with a gleam in his eye, throws another toy on the ground.

With a sigh of resignation, because I really do not enjoy the punishment part of parenting, I tell M, "That's it Buddy. You didn't listen to Mommy, so it's time to go sit in time-out." I guess he didn't think I'd follow through because he starts screaming NOOOOOOOOO, as I pick him up and place him on the couch with his blankey.

I gave him a minute to calm down and then asked him if he was ready to apologize for throwing his toys on the ground. He says no. This continues for fifteen minutes. I was really starting to panic at this point. What should I do? He was only supposed to be in time-out for a minute or two, but he's so stubborn and just won't give in. Seriously, what kind of child would actually choose to sit alone on the couch for fifteen minutes when he could get up and play if he just apologizes.

I called Safta to let her know what was going on. She told me that he's obviously not going to give in and has probably forgotten what he was put in time-out for in the first place so I need to end this. As we are discussing how to do this, and it has been about twenty minutes now, M scampers over and put his blankey over his face and then hands it to me. He was FINALLY waving a white flag. I told him that it was not okay to throw toys and that I love him. We hugged and he ran off to play with B. So easy...and yet so very, very, hard.

If he won't apologize at the wee age of not-yet-three, what in the world do we have to look forward to in the years to come. Heaven help me, but I think this apple might be worse than the tree from which he fell...

The LOOOOONG Ride

Sunday was one of those days that people only dream of in the middle of January. A day with sunshine and the kind of warmth that still has a snap to it, but enough heat to make one consider the wisdom of wearing a sweater. Papa Bear and I decided it was too splendid of a day to pass up the opportunity to take the boys out for a day in the sun. We agreed upon Cesar Chavez Park in Berkeley and packed some lunch, spare clothes and M's trike in the trunk.

On the freeway, we changed our mind and, it's better for all involved that I don't bore you with the long story of the wasted hour in the car, so we ended up turning around and stopping at the Iron Horse Trail. We took out M's trike and the stroller for B and then set off on our way. M had a great time racing with Papa Bear, bumping into my shoes, stopping to look at the passers-by (including dogs), trying to bike down the little side hills, getting off of his trike to lie on the ground, getting off of his trike to push it...you get the picture. Two hours later we finally made it back to the car.

I kid you not when I tell you that this walk should have taken absolutely no longer than half an hour. Two hours. I was there, living it, and I still can't believe it. It's not that I wouldn't have enjoyed a "normal" two hour walk...you know, one where we actually went somewhere...but, two hours for a few blocks is just ridiculous. Biking/Triking/Walking with an almost three year old has taken on a whole new meaning to our family.

All the same, the boys had a nice time, got tired out and we all got to enjoy an unexpected day of nice, warm sunlight in the middle of January.