Manipulation

Tonight is one of those nights I wonder why I bother.

He wouldn't fall asleep tonight. Sitting next to him demanding he close his eyes did not work. Well that was a short-lived trick.

I gave up. I couldn't sit there all night until he fell asleep. I had things to do - mainly eat ice cream and get online.

So I went downstairs. Ate my ice cream and obviously - got online.

Then I heard a cough over the monitor.

A very distant cough.

John found him curled up in our bed sound asleep.

I am so close, oh so very close to giving up and just putting him to bed in our bed. We can move him when we go to bed right?

Yeah, I know. Bad idea. That's his plan. He starts off slowly, carefully manipulating the situation and in no time - WHAM - he's got complete control of my bed.

I'd be willing if it weren't for the fact the the guest bedroom is about to be occupied by my little brother which would leave the couch or the aerobed.

Hmmm, the couch is a sleeper...

For My Brother

X years ago today my brother awoke in anticipation of his 5th birthday and his first real birthday party. The joy that little head and heart must have contained. The middle of summer, friends and family about to come over, presents, cake, ice cream and games. Is there any better way to spend a summer day?

Please don't ask him that question. He is unable to provide an answer and I believe the wound may still be a tad raw. Shortly before guests were to arrive my mother's water broke. Instead of greeting guests at the door, my brother was packed off to his grandparents house. No party. No cake. No ice cream. No games.

He did get a phone call from dad:

"Happy Birthday. You have a baby sister".

"I don't want a baby sister. I want a tonka truck. Send her BACK".

20 years later I bought him that tonka truck. He looked at me, the truck, then my mom.

"She's still here".

I ruined my brother's 5th birthday. I ruined his first real birthday party. I continued to ruin his birthdays for as long as I could. I insisted on birthday parties even after I no longer cared for them because it drove him crazy. When I could no longer stand them, I continued to ruin things for him by insisting the family go out for dinner. I tortured him right up until he moved out. The last thing he said to me as he walked down the stairs for the last time carrying his TV: "and I'm not coming back for anymore birthdays!"

Not to worry dear brother. Not to worry.

My future SIL picked up the torture from there and started throwing surprise birthday parties for him... at their house.

Why would I continue to torture my older brother this way? Payback.

I wasn't allowed to play with his trucks. I was too small to play ball with unless it was kickball and they needed someone to retrieve the ball from the middle of the Poison Ivy patch.

I dreaded bringing friends over never mind boyfriends. He didn't say hi to my friends. He grunted at them. The one time he did slip and utter the word "hi" to a friend, she was so shocked she practically shrieked "HE SPOKE TO ME!". I told my parents they wouldn't meet any boyfriend until I met one who was taller, stronger, and bigger than him - basically, I was waiting to bring Dolph Lundgren home.

If he had his way I would have been put in a convent until I was 30 at which point I would have been released to marry a man he picked for me.

He took the title Big Brother to the extreme. I think even Orwell would have been a tad concerned.

But even now I look back on these memories foundly because I couldn't have asked for a better Big Brother.

Because I was the PITA little sister who would attach herself to his ankle and make him drag her all over the house and he would do it. With no complaint.

Because we went camping on Columbus Day weekend one year only to have our tent collapse due to high winds. The next day, tired, sore and wind-blown, we were all done. He motioned for me to follow him and I did so without question. He led me to a large rock next to a stream with the most perfect patch of grass. The grass was bathed in sunlight and the rock blocked the wind. We sat there for what felt like eternity without speaking until a fish swam by. "Is that a catfish?", I asked. He nodded. It was the first time I saw a catfish that wasn't in a book. We didn't speak after that. I didn't feel like we had to. I was warm and safe. He was looking out for me.

Because the day I said my final good-bye to Dad, he waited for me and then sat there patiently with his arms around me while I bawled my eyes out.

Because he knew at that point it would be him walking me down the aisle. He did so without question, with patience, and his normal silent strength. Because he kept me calm that day without saying anything at all.

Because he agreed to a Brother-Sister dance in place of the Father-Daughter dance and managed with almost no tears in his eyes. Ok, it may have helped when I had the DJ start with "Rubber Ducky".

Because he has given me countless amazing memories. Been a source of strength; reliance.

Because he has made me laugh and stood by me when I cried.

Because if I asked, he would say yes.

He's grown from a Neanderthal to a Homo Sapien in a short span and I love both versions. He's turned into an amazing father and the payback continues: 4 kids - 3 are girls. If he doesn't understand the concept of Karma yet he will shortly as the oldest approaches her teenage years and the other 2 aren't far behind.

I tease, I kid, I roast but I love him. He is my brother and I couldn't ask for a better one.

I'm glad I ruined your 5th Birthday Marc, for completely selfish reasons. The Tonka truck may not entirely make up for it but I hope you can forgive me.

Happy Birthday.

I love you.

The Himalayas

I've marveled at Little Man's growth.

He navigates stairs beautifully but still suffers from Shiny Object Syndrome so the gates are still up.

He drinks from a cup beautifully but still suffers from Shiny Object Syndrome so the sippy cup with a straw is still the primary cup used in this house.

He uses complete sentences.

He says "Bless you" when I sneeze without thinking about it.

I've been so proud of all his progress and am free with the praise.

My baby is now a little boy and as all little boys are prone to do, he managed to stop my heart tonight.

We went for a walk around the Court before bath and bed tonight. We went to cross the street to walk back into the house. I told him to hold Daddy's hand to cross the street and he did with no problem.

Then he dropped Daddy's hand and bolted out into the street just as a car turned the corner. I yelled at him to stop. He didn't freeze.

I shrieked "STOP" more at the car than at Little Man and threw my hand up. The driver stopped. Not sure the kid was ever in danger because John took two steps, grabbed his hand and swung him around onto the sidewalk.

The driver wouldn't move until I waved him on. I'm not sure but I think his heart stopped along with mine.

It took me a good 15 minutes to calm Little Man down. Another 5 to 10 to calm myself.

And now I left wondering where the line is; the line of praising my child so he continues to explore but not so much that his confidence is replaced with cockines. He has lost his fear of the street. He sees the older kids play in the street every night. What he doesn't see is one yelling "CAR" and all of them scrambling for the sidewalk. He just sees them throwing the football and having fun - more fun than he's having on the sidewalk.

His lack of fear directly correlates to my growing fear.

My friend once asked my mom years ago if having a child meant spending the rest of your life feeling like your heart is on the outside. Right now I feel like it is more like being forced to walk the ridge line of the Himalyas and my confidence is a bit rattled, never mind my intense fear of falling and I don't have a parachute.

Beauty and Motherhood - A Dangerous Mix

Hell froze over so it appears the DC Metro Area has decided to fill the gap. It hasn't hit the high of 100 yet but it is quickly on the way. Of course there is the horrible Heat Index; obviously the invention of a masochist. 100 is all I need to hear. You don't need to add in "but it will feel like...". Once the mercury climbs that high, it all feels the same - like the skin is melting off my bones and my bones are turning into dust.

I hate the heat.

I don't mind sweating if I'm actually doing something like playing football for example. I do mind sweating when I'm standing still, in the shade, doing nothing.

Ok, enough of my gripe fest. It really has nothing to do with this post other than to mention that it is hot as blazes outside today which means shorts and that in turn means the razor needed to come out this morning. I hop in the shower and damn it, the razor is not where it is supposed to be. Screw it, I've got Veet.

So now my legs are covered in smelly depilatory cream when I realize it's been an hour since Little Man sat on the Potty. I move the potty to our bathroom, pull down the pull up and tell him to sit. As his little tush makes contact with the seat I realize my mistake.

Always, always, ALWAYS check the pull up first.

I now have poop on the seat. No biggie. Easy clean up. Also get Little Man cleaned up. All while trying to keep the Veet intact on my legs, not on everything else in the bathroom. I managed that contortion without any major pops, snaps, or pulled muscles.

Then I have Little Man step out of the pull up. Carefully or so I thought.

Not only did a turd fall out of the stupid pull up but he then managed to step in it.

Did I mention my bath mat is white?

I'm now left trying to clean up a dirty seat, a dirty bum, a dirty foot, a dirty bath mat and calm a crying child who thinks he did something wrong.

With Veet all over my legs.

Mommy's Little Helper

I love how helpful Little Man is. When he finishes a meal, he doesn't just take his dishes to the kitchen. He rinses them and helps me put them in the dishwasher.

He is starting to wash himself in the bath and occasionally wash his own hair.

He helps put the clothes in the wash and dryer. He even turns them both on.

He helps cook.

He not only brings me my shoes when it is time to go outside, he trys to put them on my feet for me too.

He helps cheer up a baby upset at being left with me by his parents. He excels at the art of distraction.

He puts his clothes in the hamper.

He helps me make espresso every morning and even cleans up the spilled grounds.

He helps me water the plants.

And then he turns the hose on me because it is 100+ degrees outside and even mom needs to cool off.

Glad I was not in my work clothes.

To Stubborness and Beyond

Ah the joys of dealing with a toddler. This kid actually thinks he can out-stubborn a redhead. From Boston.

John made grilled cheese for dinner. A year ago Little Man considerd grilled cheese Ambrosia. Tonight it was if he'd never seen it before and he refused to eat it. He then proceeded to have a meltdown because we wouldn't make him something different. So he was sent to his room.

He came back down after saying he was ready to eat. Then refused. He asked for pasta. When told no, he melted and went back to his room.

Repeat

The next meltdown went nuclear. He layed in his bed, kicked, screamed like a banshee, and basically lashed around  a la The Exorcist.

He calmed and returned to join us but refused to eat. He decided he was coming outside with me to water the plants. When I told him he couldn't go outside until after he ate dinner he launched another nuclear explosion. I walked outside. He hit the door so hard, had we lived in California he would have set of the Big One.

He didn't eat his sandwich. Nor did he go outside, play with his cars, get pasta or anything else he asked for. What he did get was a bath and bed.

Thankfully by that time he had exhausted himself so much he didn't have the energy to fight the hair washing.

He did do something good tonight though. He told us twice while in bed that he had to go potty. Bone dry diaper but as soon as he sat down on the potty he let loose.

So we now have hard core proof that this kid DOES know when he has to go potty. He just flat out refused to stop and go during the day.

So while he may not be able to out-stubborn the Redhead, he still knows what to do with the proverbially wool.

More Conversations

At the restaraunt:

Mommy go home? Go home mommy?

Yes but...

Little Man interrupting: Daddy pay! We go home. Daddy go pay.

During lunch at home:

Daddy hurt me. Hurt. (I hurt myself).

Daddy kisses hand

Daddy hurt me. Hurt.

Daddy kisses hand again

Daddy hurt me. Hurt.

Daddy kisses then holds out his hand "Kiss it. Kiss the ring". Little Man kisses his ring.

In the Car:

Mommy I no ride cars anymore. I ride motorcycles. Amah ride motorcycles. I ride motorcylces. No cars.

When Procrastination is a good thing

Little Man has learned to switch up procrastination tactics when it comes to going to bed. The latest is to wait until he's been in bed about 10 minutes, pop straight up and claim the need to go potty. In the beginning it was just that - procrastination, a chance to delay bedtime. Slowly, over time, we got some results. I didn't push the issue. I'm wasn't positive he was truly ready to start potty training.

It took several weeks but I've finally realized his procrastination can work in my favor as well.

Last night he procrastinated with some minor results. This morning he woke me at 5 AM. Not to use the potty mind you but to help him find his damn precious paci which was sitting on the floor right next to his bed in plain sight. He then tried to take advantage of the situation to jump into bed with us. It was my morning to sleep in. I did not want to waste it but allowing him in bed with us would mean just that. He'd kick, elbow, headbutt and jump all over me. I made him stay in his room. My concession was I would stay with him. He countered that I would stay and he would sleep on the floor with me.

5 minutes late he pops up and declares a need to use the potty. I give up on my dream of sleeping in, shake the fuzzy feeling from my head and take him to the bathroom. The look of utter shock on his face when he heard and saw the steady stream was priceless. I had to cheer him on to keep him from freaking out. Up until this point, he thought using the potty meant a trickle.

I've also taken to showing him his diaper - see honey, you've already peed in your diaper. I don't know what made me do that but maybe it was a smart move.

I decided we would step things up a bit. He's I'm not ready for the Potty Booty Camp several of my girlfriends have completed with great success so I adjusted. Starting today, every 2 hours we would ask him if he needed to go potty. We wouldn't press the issue completely but we'd prod a little harder than we had. John got him on the potty once more in the morning (Yeah, I did manage to sleep in after all. Man I love my husband). Then we ran some errands. It was naptime when we returned. I changed his diaper and attempted to conjole him onto the potty. Zero results.

John stayed with Little Man when he laid down. Yup you guessed it. John plopped him on the potty et viola Success! Diaper was bone dry this time. Maybe, just maybe he's catching on.

Now to figure out the daycare issue. They only have "real" toilets for the kids. No potties (seriously would you want them to? I'm not asking ANYONE to clean up after my son to the extent). Of course my son doesn't like real toilets. He's a little freaked out by them. So if anyone has suggestions on how to work out that issue, I would greatly appreciate it. I've started something good here and I'd love to take full advantage. All the $$ I save in diapers could put a significant rise in the house fund and mama needs a brand spanking new kitchen.

Conversations

This morning:

John to Little Man who was washing his hands: Not too much water. Don't forget your other hand. You need to wash your other hand.

Little Man's response: I know how to wash my hands. I Little Man.

Arriving at the grocery store today:

John: Someone stole my space!

Me: The Horror! Quick! Call the Police. Call the Army. Call the Marines. Call The PRESIDENT!

Little Man: Nooooo Mommy...

The World According to a 2 Year Old

Daddy go get the ball.

You threw it there. You get the ball.

No you get the ball.

You get it.

No YOU get it.

I'm 35. You're 2. YOU get the ball.

I was laughing too hard to find out who one that battle.