Motherhood & More: Taking a stand against the bedtime routine* **

For the safety of my children and the preservation of my mental health, I have given up on bedtime routines.

For as long as I can remember of my time as a mother, since my son was born, bedtimes have been the worst. They are fraught with anguish, disagreement over exactly how tired the particular child is and futile attempts to persuade said heathen to just go to sleep already because Mama needs a break.

Whining and fighting and refusal to listen to reason or yelling have been the norms.

As soon as my son got easier, my daughter was born. She gives new meaning to stubbornness and outright ignoring any attempt to bend her to my will.

Somehow we got into a ridiculous routine of stories and snuggling and various feats of mental persuasion and voodoo trickery that had to be performed in a certain order before she would consent to stay in her bed.

Of course, this only worked part of the time, maybe 60 percent. The other times I wouldn’t do something properly so there would be screaming and flailing about and I would lock myself in my own bedroom in hopes that by ignoring her she would eventually tire herself out.

I know that everything got out of hand because I allowed it, but I only allowed it because I was so tired and wanted, just once, to be able to walk downstairs and feel good about how bedtime went. So I went along with the crazy.

My husband, who had bedtime every other night, never encountered these issues. Ask me how I felt about that. Go on. Ask.

Ahem.

So after a particularly bad routine recently, wherein I was kicked in the face by one of my lovely angel children after the other one had worn my patience down to the quick with a refusal to be agreeable about anything, I stomped downstairs announcing loudly to my husband that I was done. Finished. Never again would I be subjected to this torture because I refused to participate in it anymore. No more bedtimes. None. Zero.

It was liberating.

In the time since my stand, I have had to endure minor whining about how Dad’s had too many bedtime turns and now it’s Mama’s turn, but I refuse to be persuaded. I’m not walking up those stairs anymore, kids. As I say to them daily, you are responsible for your own actions and those actions have consequences. You did it. You suffer through the penalties.

Now, obviously this doesn’t mean that I ignore them at bedtime. I’m happy to read them a story downstairs on the couch and give hugs and kisses. But I’m not setting foot into their rooms because that’s how it will start. That’s how they’ll draw me back into their madness and in no time I’ll be performing again in the minor hopes of a smooth transition to sleep.

I figure I’m only helping them out by ensuring they become self-sufficient people.

Tuck yourselves in, kids. I’m out.

*This column was originally published in The News-Enterprise on August 24, 2016.

**Alternate title: Go The Fuck To Sleep

Motherhood and More: Tackling the kids’ rooms leaves feeling of accomplishment*

I spent a day and a half cleaning out my children’s rooms.

I know, I know. It’s ridiculous. We try hard to instill work ethic and values and independence into our children. As in, it is their responsibility to keep their rooms clean, because it is their own space and they are the ones who messed it up.

But we all slack off a bit. Their rooms are upstairs and they don’t like to spend much time in them, so I don’t actually see the mess all that often — bedtime, every other night is it. Usually by that time I’m too tired to care about anything, much less a pile of papers under the bed and toys out of place.

Enough of that, though, and you’ve got a gigantic problem in the form of endless hours of cleaning. Plus, it had been years since I’d done a true toy overhaul.

Their rooms and closets were a packed plot of broken bits and pieces of discarded, never-used toy cars and fast-food toys, broken Legos, crumpled paper, many, many tote bags to hold the crumpled paper, too-small clothing and shoes, Lego boxes, (because we had at some point decided we had to keep all of them) and other childhood detritus that didn’t have a home with us anymore.

It was time.

It was past time.

We shipped the kids off for the day. If they knew I was throwing out toys that hadn’t been touched in two years, those toys suddenly would become their most loved and prized possessions.

I spent hours gleefully tossing half-finished drawings, old books and old toys into bag after bag to toss or donate. I did not waste much time on sentimentality. At one point in my life I would have considered everything my children touched as keepsake worthy. Now I am ready to purge.

However, before you think I am a cold-hearted mama, I did save all the stories my son has written — and really I should be commended for that because he has written a lot of stories. For now, they can stay.

My daughter’s room has two huge closets and they’ve become a sort of storage area for junk we hadn’t found a home for yet. Not anymore. Old candles, old decorative items, old junk — all gone.

The beauty, the release I felt once everything was disposed of was tantamount to climbing a mountain – I assume. I’ve never actually climbed a mountain, but I’m sure it totally feels as much of an accomplishment as cleaning your kids’ rooms.

The book organization alone was enough to make me feel I’d been a catalyst for world peace. The bare floors inspired poetry.

My children, when they returned to clean, lightened rooms, were understandably pleased. Probably because they didn’t see the amount of bags of their stuff I’d given away.

My son, always the one to offer a helpful comment, came to me after surveying his room and said admonishingly, “You didn’t really clean much in my closet, Mom.”

This was, of course, not true as that was where most of the garbage bags I filled came from. It also wasn’t all that nice of a thing to say.

But I let it pass. Sooner or later he’s going to notice what I’ve taken away. I’ll be sure to reply, innocently, “I have no idea where that went. I didn’t clean very much in your closet.”

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on April 27, 2016.

Coffee- and random capslock-infused vignettes

Sometimes I get locked in my closet/office because of a class or Very Important Test happening in the computer lab that is my lobby and I have a love-hate relationship with the isolation.

I kind of love being locked in.  No one will bother me - not that that is a very frequent occurrence anyway, but still.  I can hide and be alone and talk to no one and be an introvert.

However, I also hate being locked in.  And this is mainly because I have to pee a lot in the mornings.  Like a lot.  Like, I could pee every 7 minutes if someone made me pee every 7 minutes because of a weird need to force someone to pee every 7 minutes.

Maybe this has something to do with the amount of coffee I drink in the mornings or the amount of children I have birthed but the problem is there no matter what the cause.

And I could interrupt the test, I really could.  No one would be mad at me except probably the students who are bothered by me startling them because no one expects someone to burst out of a closet in a computer lab shouting "Oh I AM sorry!  Don't mind me - I just need to pee because I've had gallons of coffee and birthed two children who destroyed my bottom half and ha-ha!  You know what I'm talking about, don't you?  But I'll only walk through this once, I promise, except not really because I have THE SMALLEST BLADDER IN THE WORLD."

The students tend to lose their focus when that happens.

So I hide and squirm until the last possible second because I don't want to disturb anyone or cause anyone a slight irritation.

In other, non-bladder-related news I sewed myself another Scout Tee.  This one is made from polyester and is teal with maroon stars on it and really, could there be any better fabric choice?

It makes me smile.

My sewing machine decided it hated me this weekend and started breaking my needle thread and bunching up my bobbin thread and generally being an asshole.  And then it stopped because I blew some dust out of the bobbin area and I patted myself on the back for being an expert sewing machine repair person.  And then it started up again.

And in other-other non-bladder-related news Adele picked out her clothes this morning and insisted on dressing herself completely and actually wore the school jumper I sewed for her and even put on her shoes and had very specific ideas about how she wanted her hair fixed and ate her breakfast and brushed her own teeth and this was a definite Excellent Morning, especially after we had a ridiculous weekend full of both kids bickering and fighting and pinching and my in-laws took pity on us when we went to eat dinner with them and let the kids stay the night at their house.

Chris and I went home and watched House of Cards.

And then we picked them up on Sunday and they were still fighting and last night Sebastian pinched his sister really hard and when he was reprimanded he asked (yelled) WHY DID YOU EVEN GET ME THEN and was very upset about the fact that, as he put it, Adele used to be the one hitting and pinching and now it was him and WOE IS HE WHO IS 6 YEARS OLD AND SUPER TIRED.

And then Sebastian told me that some of our friends' kids said Adele was a jerk which is TOTALLY NOT COOL YOU LITTLE JERKS.

And then everyone was fine and we read bedtime stories and both children actually listened to me read the stories, which is rare because usually storytime is also wrestling time and Adele went to bed again without screaming and throwing things at my head as I walked down the stairs and this morning it was so hard to wake up because I didn't sleep very well and had a 4 year old in my bed laying on my chest but the she got herself ready and it made me happy and a little relieved and Sebastian got himself ready like he always does which makes mornings that much more manageable.

And we played I-Spy on the way to school like we always do and Adele picked the yellow sun like she always does and I picked the red sign like I always do and Sebastian picked the white snow like he always does and Chris picked the brown building like he always does.

And I have how many days left until they go back to school?

I am currently 56 percent zombie, 41 percent coffee and the rest cracker candy.

That's because my sweet 4-year-old Adele had a minor freakout at 2 in the morning in the form of hysterical screaming about spiders in her bed.  (Spiders this time, not snakes.)  And so I lay with her for awhile to calm her down, and I noticed that she sounded horribly congested and wouldn't stop coughing.  I got her some cough medicine and hippie decongestant salve and returned to my own bed, hoping to quickly return to sleep.  I knew it was wishful thinking because I am self aware, but still.  I wanted to believe it was possible.

But then, of course, Adele began fake crying because she's not supposed to get out of bed and that was her way to get our attention.  She's not supposed to get out of bed because for the past few weeks (WEEKS) she has come downstairs in the middle of the night to our bed.  We let her stay for a bit then one of us (me) will carry her back to her own bed.  And neither parent goes back to sleep.

So instead of coming downstairs after we told her not to she put her head right by her door and fake cried until I made it back upstairs.  I gave up at that point.

I stayed in her bed until around 5.  I think I slept some.  A bit.  But not nearly enough.  And today I needed to run to the store for jewelry supplies because I had two necklace orders and desperately needed chains even though I was sure I'd bought an obscene amount the last time I stocked up and how did I go through so many so fast?  (Obviously, this is a good problem to have.  Just not today.)

So the kids and I went out, me partially awake and Adele majorly tired and possibly on the verge of a meltdown.  But luckily that didn't show up until we were waiting in line at the bookstore to get a drink and I refused to buy her a cookie.  We were at the bookstore because I didn't have the energy to disagree with my son who really, really wanted to go there.  That's also how we ended up with a chapter book.  Well, that and I'm a sucker for books and it's pretty awesome that he's reading chapter books and I'm ok with encouraging it.

And maybe I would have been okay with buying a cookie for the kids if they hadn't spent the entire weekend eating nothing but sugar.  We had three parties to go to on Saturday which included cupcakes and gingerbread house and cookie decorating and hot chocolate and chocolate covered pretzels and - and - and ...

And on Sunday we had my parents' Christmas party where the rest of us ate lasagna but my two unnatural children don't actually like lasagna and so survived on Pez.

So I thought I'd attempt to get them back on some sort of halfway-healthy-type of food plan, which didn't include overpriced cookies from the bookstore cafe.  Adele flipped out so we left that line and went in the book-buying line, which actually was longer than the over-priced coffee and cookie line.  And she wouldn't stop flipping out so I put her Barbie book back and just bought Sebastian's book because he was behaving like a civilized human being.

And then she screamed in the car when she realized I hadn't bought her book.

Thems the breaks, kid.

We went home and ate lunch and Adele took a nap, which means that she was exceptionally tired because she didn't even protest me forcing her in her room all that much.  I honestly think she was a little relieved.

I probably should have taken a nap myself but I had three baskets of laundry to fold and Gilmore Girls to marathon and so I just made another pot of coffee and had a few more bites of cracker candy an considered myself sustained.

Lest you think I was completely neglecting my older child, he was around, and perfectly behaved because he spent his afternoon watching youtube videos of a boy opening toys and playing with them.  Now, I don't necessarily understand the concept of evantube, but it keeps him occupied.

Good Lord, is it only the first day of Christmas break?

Coffee features prominently into this post for many reasons

Well, I survived the first snow day and I only beat the children once each.

It was nice, you know?  I miss being home with the kids all the time, even though when I was home all I wanted was a few minutes of peace.  Never satisfied, I know.

So Monday it snowed quite a bit and we spent the day making snow angels and throwing snow at each other and then after five minutes of that I gave up and went inside to pour myself another cup of coffee because BRRR.

And when the kids finally got cold I made hot cocoa with extra marshmallows and we watched Frosty on Netflix.

(I also made bread and yogurt and butter that day because I am an idiot.)

The afternoon kind of sucked because they always do.  Something about being tired but not wanting to rest and me trying to rationalize that 'resting' also can be playing video games or watching tv because at least they are sitting still.

It never works.  When I finally tell then that hey, time to unplug, they're glazed over and super-extra tired and pissed off because I've separated them from their beloved screen.

(Is this just my kids? Because this is a regular occurrence in my house.)

Also Adele lost a tooth.  Which, what?  Too young, right?  But she's a teeth grinder and loosened them up, which I think had something to do with it.  Obviously I am super concerned about it all.  The tooth fairy came, but since she couldn't care less about money she barely has acknowledged her dollar in a baggie.  It was kind of funny when the tooth fell out, though.  I heard her saying "It's not working!" and holding the tooth like what the hell just happened?

She's pretty excited to show everyone the missing tooth, though.

Chris was out of town for work for the last few days which means I stayed up extra late because he wasn't there to tell me to go to bed at 8:30.  That also meant I was dealing with the kids' extra-crankiness (are they sick or just moody? I DON'T KNOW!) all alone and feeling pretty cranky myself which didn't help anything.  In fact, surprisingly, it made everything worse.  As did the staying up later and now I am currently surviving on 6 hours of sleep, a gallon of coffee and dreams of my bed.

But because of all the crankiness and the fact that I couldn't leave the house on account of my children being horrible store-goers, I jokingly facebook-requested a liquor-store delivery.  But sometimes the universe gives you nice things in the form of friends who send their preacher-husbands to your house at 9 p.m. with a bottle of wine.  Also I'd like to formally apologize for answering the door while not wearing a bra.  I did put on a huge sweater, though, because no one needs to see that.

In other news, Sebastian has been complaining a lot this school year about his afternoon bus driver who takes him from school to his afterschool place.  Apparently this man is a yeller.  One day he even forgot to drop the kids off at this particular place, then blamed them.  Also I'm not the fondest of the afterschool place, either.  There's yelling there, too, and Sebastian is always told to keep his hands to himself when he hugs his friends goodbye.  Dude.  Let's promote more love and kindness and less yelling, ok?  Especially since this is at a church.  You'd think kindness would be more encouraged.

But because of all this, and also because I want to save money, I've switched up my hours at work.  Now instead of working Tuesday-Thursday, I'm going to work Monday-Thursday from 8-1.  That way Sebastian can just ride the bus home (different bus driver, we know and like her).  I won't have to pay for afterschool, I'll get a little more time with my guy, and whenever Adele starts kindergarten we will be officially paying $700 less a month in childcare.

I can hardly contain my excitement.  Maybe we can finally have another car instead of sharing one!

But none of this would be possible if I didn't have one of the most understanding bosses around.  He gets families and family commitments and the need for mothers to be mothers as well as employees.  I'm extremely lucky, I know it.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to find someone to tape my eyelids open.

Conversations With Sebastian: Remember those?

Sebastian: Can people marry old people when they grow up?

Me: Well, if they want to they can.

Sebastian: Good.  Then I'm going to marry you when I grow up.

Me: Umm ...

(While I am incredibly touched that he loves me so much, I am a bit put off by the fact that he called me 'old.'  I am not old.  I am full of wisdom.)

(Also - aaaawwwwwww!  My baby!)

M-F-N SNAKES IN MY M-F-N BED!

Adele woke up in the middle of the night crying and hysterical about "M-F-N SNAKES IN MY M-F-N BED, YO!"

I mean, maybe it wasn’t exactly like that but for real.  She is terrified of snakes in her bed.  The first time it happened she freaked me out a bit because she cried and I went upstairs and she wasn’t in her bed.  I had a half-second heart attack but then saw her standing in the middle of her room.  And then I had another half-second heart attack because why was she out of bed?  That never happens when it’s dark outside.

I picked her up and tried to put her back in bed but her legs curled up and she refused to put them back on her mattress, then screamed about a SNAKE IN MY BED.  Turns out, in that instance, it was a red glow stick that she’d taken to bed with her.  I calmed her down, threw away the light stick and she was fine.  Every so often since then she’ll point to her bed and say “See?  No snakes!”

Last night she woke up again, which isn’t all that abnormal, honestly.  But this time the imaginary snake was back.  She was relatively calm when I got upstairs, sitting on the foot of her bed.  But then I started removing the paraphernalia she collects throughout the day – including all the hard plastic toys she insists on leaving in her bed – and she flipped out.  She jumped on to me and squeezed her arms and legs around me and refused to touch a toe to the bed.  She cried and screamed and seemed to completely believe there was a snake in her bed.

It’s a little disconcerting, to be honest.  I cleared out her bed and lay down with her once I convinced her there weren’t actually any snakes.  But she still wouldn’t stretch all the way out and a tiny, itty bitty part of me wondered if there wasn’t actually a snake in her bed.  I mean, I know.  Snakes aren’t really known for being out at this time of year, but if one had gotten lost or stuck or whatever, wouldn’t it look for a warm place to be?  Like a bed?

(There were no snakes.  I feel like I should emphasize that.)

It took two extended cuddles to get her completely able to sleep, which I was happy to do.  She will lay still, unlike her brother who insists on rolling and kicking and flinging his arms all around until I finally give up on having a nice, relaxing time together.

So I don’t know.  I have no idea where the fear of a bed full of snakes came from.  Maybe she’s watched too many of Sebastian’s fighting shows with him, which I always thought she didn’t really pay attention too.  But Ninjago has a few large snakes that aren’t all that nice. 

And it’s hard because I was lying with her, seeing her fear manifest itself into her chewing on her nails, and I didn’t know what to do.  So I held her and told her I loved her and made sure that there were no snakes.

She’s been fine, today, going about her business of taking care of her babies and running away from me when I try to get her dressed.  And occasionally she’ll mention that there aren’t snakes in her bed. 

(There were no snakes.)

(M-F-N SNAKES IN MY M-F-N BED!)

Sebastian is insistent that he is a boxer and needs to train and I am only standing in the way of his dreams

Yesterday Sebastian came to me and told me that he and Adele were boxing, like for real boxing with fists.  And as I sat there surrounded by piles of organized, folded laundry that I knew was a wasted effort because any second one of the heathens would run through my neat piles, I considered letting them continue.

I mean, they were getting along - just practicing he assured me, and they weren't bugging me and I still had a half of a basket of laundry left.  I contemplated videotaping it but then figured I could either be the next youtube sensation of parental incompetence, or be arrested.  So I decided to tell them that maybe that isn't such a good idea as I didn't want one or both of them going to school with black eyes because I didn't want to be blamed for it.

Plus I didn't want to go to prison and have to deal with Crazy Eyes and her peeing on the floor because she was super in love with me but I didn't swing that way until I did with the pretty girl that didn't have crazy eyes.

Donna is super hot, maybe even hotter as a brunette drug smuggler, is what I'm saying.

(Don't you just love posts with excessive links to random shows that you may or may not have heard of?)

In other completely unrelated news, Adele is now sleeping in a twin bed.  As in currently, right-this-second sleeping, which is kind of a miracle as nap times are scarce these days. 

She's sleeping in a big bed that we stole from my sister.  Or was given.  But 'stole' sounds much more gangster, even if it's just a twin bed for your toddler.

Sister had an extra bed or five because she was moving into a furnished house and so we got a free bed.  And it's a sweet bed, super girly with lots of cubbies for Adele to hide her crap. 

I'd actually already bought a really neat, old iron bed frame for Adele but it was full size and buying a brand new mattress and box springs for it wasn't exactly in our budget.  So when my sister told me about her excessive bed problem I all but shouted 'YES PLEASE!!' at her because Adele was still sleeping in her crib-turned-toddler bed that she piled up with random bits of garbage and toys and blankets so she didn't really have room for her 95-percentile-in-height self.  So I don't think she was sleeping well.

We got the bed a day before Chris left town so he didn't have time to put it together himself and I've only used the drill once in my life and it didn't go so well so I didn't feel up to the task of assembling the bed myself.  Now, if it was Ikea and came with a hex key, I'd be all over it.

But what I did do for Adele was drag the mattresses and box springs upstairs so she could at least sleep on them without the frame until her father could put everything together, which he did this weekend.

And in true hoarder Adele fashion she has already filled all the cubbies on the bed with junk or, as I'm sure she would call them, 'My precioussssss!!'  I did remove all the dirty socks and random bits of paper before I took the pictures but that was all I felt comfortable doing because she was eyeballing me and I was afraid she'd bite my fingers and I didn't want to have to get rabies shots.

She still fights going to bed and screams and kicks and whatnot* but I think she might actually be sleeping better.  At least I hope she is.  And I carried all of the baby paraphernalia out of her room that isn't needed anymore - like the changing table and glider, and organized her stuff and maybe cried a bit on the inside because WHERE DID MY BABY GO?

But it's good.  We're moving onto another stage and I'm super stoked because she is ever closer to being a reasonable human being and not a 3 year old. 

And when that finally happens I can stop buying so much wine.

*By 'whatnot' I mean she punches me in the throat.**

**Really.

(Here's the link to the post I wrote when Sebastian first slept in his own twin bed.  It was apparently a much bigger deal than this time.) 

Hoodoo is a word I got from the show Supernatural, which I am currently addicted to*

Time change, UUUUGGGHH ... amirite?

Sebastian has been out of school for the past two days which means all day fighting between the WORLD'S WORST SIBLINGS, or maybe it's THE WORLD'S MOST NORMAL SIBLINGS.  Either way, I'm about ready to lock them both in their rooms and break out the $3 wine I bought at Trader Joes this weekend.

Good times, no?

Yesterday I took them to the gym because they can go in the daycare for two hours and I can work out and not have to listen to any arguing over who's sitting too close to whom on the couch.  However, I think that I may be suffering from some time-change related hoodoo because I was working out on the bike that has the little screen thing where you can pretend you're actually going somewhere - you know, the one that hurts your lady choad - and I almost passed out.  Like literally.  It was a course that I've done before that's tough, but doable.  But not yesterday.  I got to the top of a hill, a straight up for miles hill, and had to quit.  And then I decided I needed to cool down a bit and I didn't want to just sit down with my head between my legs because I didn't want people coming over to me and trying to make me breathe into a paper bag or anything.  So I got on the treadmill walking slow but had to hold on because my vision started going dark around the edges. 

But my point with all that is that I didn't feel up to going back to the gym today because, for one, getting Adele dressed and ready to go involves lots of chasing and holding down and screaming and I wasn't in the mood.  Also I don't want to pass out unless that one cute guy is around to comfort me and I haven't seen him the last few times I've been there.

Yesterday in the locker room after showering and whatnot I had a teen girl from the swim team (they practice there) tell me that she liked my tights.  You'd think that would be super nice and make me feel totally with it, but in my case it made me feel like she was somehow being sarcastic because I am old.  I took a picture so you could tell me if I look hobo chic or kind of in style:

Notice the hand-knit boot cuffs.  I make to order!  $20!

 

 

But anyway, instead of gym time today I am plying my children with television.  However, I have to be careful because if Sebastian watches something that Adele isn't interested in she will just turn the TV off.  Or pull Sebastian's hair.  Or spit in his face.

I look forward to tomorrow when he is back in school and she is in school for one whole hour that I have to myself.

Now if you'll excuse me the children are sort-of occupied** so I'm going to go work on some knitting because of course I do.  I'm knitting to sell which means my children get screwed in the hand-knit department and also my wrists hurt.

Anybody need a scarf or hat or socks or baby sweater?  I'm totally available!

*Or maybe I'm just addicted to watching the troubled Dean.  I CAN SAVE YOU FROM YOURSELF, DEAN!

**Nevermind - they're totally screaming at each other again.

Motherhood and More: How horrible it must be to be 3*

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about my daughter and her endless argumentativeness, and how being 3 years old has to be the toughest age imaginable.

I tend to forget a lot about my children’s specific behavior once they move on to the next phase in their development.  Like I’ve been feeling that there has to be something special, something different about little Adele that makes her so difficult to handle sometimes, or like I’ve done something wrong with her, or stood too long in front of the microwave whenever I was pregnant, thus somehow making her little temper stronger than it otherwise would have been.

Sebastian at 3.

And then I remembered writing a column almost exactly two years ago about how tough it was dealing with my then-3-year-old son.

Okay, then.  Apparently amnesia runs deep.

I just went back and read it, and that column was all about talking back and anger and extreme emotions and doing anything for any kind of attention, either positive or negative.

And here we are again, two years later, with another 3 year old who runs the gamut of emotions throughout the day, wanting to do everything the older people are doing, refusing naps and refusing assistance because “Adele do it!”

It’s hard not to be stuck in the hard times, to focus on the negative aspects and the frustrations that come with being a mother of small children.    And when you have more than one to deal with at a time, it can be physically and mentally exhausting.

But reading that column that I wrote about my son, I realize that I could have easily written the exact same one for my daughter.  And in a strange way it makes me feel better – like yes, it’s insanely difficult now, but it’s normal, at least in our family, and at some point it will all be easier. 

Adele at 3.

She doesn’t want me to help her with anything now, and some day I won’t have to insist on her letting me.  I won’t have to endure the tantrum that occurs when I assist her putting her shoes on when she wants to do it herself, or when I buckle her car seat for her without giving her the chance to try.

So I am relearning how to mother a fiercely independent 3 year old.  And unfortunately it is slow-going.  But I feel like we’re getting somewhere.  I back off when it isn’t essential that I hover.  I let her do more things herself – such as dressing herself or getting herself a cup of water.  And the more I step back, the calmer I am, the less she fights me.

And it makes me wonder, now, if maybe it wasn’t her who was fighting so much.  Maybe I’ve been the one fighting her and her independence.  Three years old, man.  Three years old.  The toughest age in our lifetime.  A time of being constantly controlled and smaller than so many people, a time when your physical limitations can stop you from doing everything your little brain tells you to do. 

I am trying to be more understanding and patient.  And it’s better.  Still horrible, just not as horrible, you know?  But we’ll get there.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on October 23, 2013.  

This is sort of a wedding anniversary post

Yesterday was mine and my husband's seventh anniversary.

We marked the occasion by me forcing him to clean the kitchen because I was too tired, which may or may not have been because I stayed up too late the night before 'celebrating' and by that I mean watching "Hemlock Grove" and drinking two glasses of Christopher's homemade hard apple cider that is a little surprising in its potency - every time I drink it.

Smoochie-boochies!

Or maybe I was too tired because I'd done 45 minutes on the elliptical machine at the gym, followed by 45 minutes on the stationary bike with the full leg press addition.  I'd say it was because I was dedicated (which I am, really) but I think it was mainly because I wanted to finish the second part of two-part "Doctor Who" episode.

I mean - aliens that dress up in human form and pass gas and laugh a lot?  WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE?

So anyway, we also marked the occasion by me taking the ipod away from Sebastian for three days on account of the tremendous fit he threw because I allowed him to choose whether to play on the computer for 30 minutes or watch a show and he choose the computer but then thought I'd just let him watch the show anyway, which I wouldn't.  So I was forced to listen to the tantrum drag on and drag on and so I locked him in our (large, expansive) playroom just so he wouldn't wake up his sister, who was napping at the time.  I wanted to send him to his room but he told me he'd just be loud when he went up there and wake Adele up.

So. 

I'm hoping today goes a little better.  Already it has.  I stayed home from the gym today because I think both Adele and I are sick.  She's stuffed up and extra cranky when she doesn't get her way and I've got a sore throat.  We are a magical bunch, no?

Instead I took Adele to Kroger after I dropped Sebastian off at school because I needed something for supper and they had one of those little carts that kids can push around and I think it might be the best invention ever.  She refuses to actually sit in a cart because anything that would make my life easier is obviously in opposition to her Life Plan.  So I saw the little cart and thought - why not?  It couldn't actually be worse than me chasing her throughout the store.  (If you're in Target and hear 'Adele? Adele!  Adele!  I'm over here! Stay with me!  Get back here!  Come here!  Adele!' then that's me.  If you see my kid send her my way.)

And it worked.  She stayed right with me and wouldn't let me touch the cart at all.  "I push!  I push!" she said.  She only put a couple of things in the cart - including a bag of goldfish that I let her keep because I was feeling generous.  She even put all of the things on the belt for the cashier to ring up, except for the bag of flour that I didn't want to have to clean up off the floor because we all know it would have fallen and spilled everywhere and then she would have stomped in it and picked it up by the handfuls and thrown it in my face.

So we did well.  And she didn't even fight the car seat, which these days is hit or miss.  You have to let her buckle the top part herself.  Sometimes when she's feeling feisty she half buckles it, then takes it apart and looks at you like "Ha ha!  See what I did?  You want me to buckle it, don't you?  Well, wait for it, wait for it, wait for it.... Tricked you again!  You're so gullible, Mom!" multiple times until I forcefully buckle it myself and then she screams and spits and screams some more and my shoulders reach up and up and up until they're almost at my ears, trying to block out the sound.

But not today.  So far.

I realize it's only 10 in the morning, but I'm hopeful.

So back to our anniversary.  We said "Happy Anniversary" a few times and when he came home from work he took the kids away to hike around a bit and look at some ducks while I recuperated from the exhausting day.  And then he gave them a bath when they got home.  And then he cleaned up the kitchen and vacuumed.

Guys.  That's what being together so long does to you.

And it's absolutely perfect.

(I gave him a peanut butter sandwich for dinner.  You are so welcome, Christopher!)

Darth Maul is a part of the Easter Story, right?

Spring Break has only been officially happening for five hours and already I've thought about locking my children in their rooms 12 times and thought longingly about shipping them off somewhere for a couple of weeks 18 times.

So I'm not going to put much thought and effort into what goes into this post today. 

It's not all that different from what I normally do, only smaller.

Here are some pictures from our Easter weekend.

On Saturday Chris' brother and his wife took the kids to a egg hunt/party at his work.  Here is how my son came home:

That's Darth Maul, in case you didn't know.  Whatever you do, don't call him Spider-man.  You will be the worst mother in the world and also a little dense and subject to heavy sighing and disappointment.

We attempted to dye Easter Eggs that aftenoon, however it lasted 45 seconds, until Adele got mad that we wouldn't let her drink the colored vinegar water and attempted to dump it all out.

 

I didn't sleep well Saturday night.  I think it was because the Easter Bunny put the kids' baskets outside of their bedroom doors and so I was worried that Sebastian would get up to pee in the middle of the night and stumble upon the baskets.  Because for some reason that would be the worst thing that could ever happen and Easter would be ruined.  (I don't claim to be completely sane.)

I shouldn't have worried because Sebastian is his mother's son, and he got up early, noticed the baskets, but didn't touch them because it wasn't technically time for him to get out of bed and start his day.

We had a great day visiting family, and I even got to take a short nap, which may have been the highlight of my day.

Here is the best picture of my children on Easter.  Those white spots are rain.  Because of course.  Notice Adele rubbing her neck:

That's because in all the previous pictures Sebastian had her in a choke hold.

 It was my fault, really.  I told him to hug her.