Crazy Things My Girlie Says

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"When I grow into a boy, can I still wear dresses?"

"I don't want to get burned... do I?"

"I don't know how to color, I got short hands."

"I'm going to be the princess and Brother is going to be the monster. And then I'm going to save myself because I'm a strong, pendent girl!!"

(after I got my hair cut) "Don't worry, Momma, it will grow back."

"I don't want my hair cut, it will hurt me." (For those of you who don't know, my daughter only has a little cap of blonde hair.)

"Christmas is over!! Now it's time for Halloween!"

(Christmas night, as she's falling asleep) "When Santa comes back tonight, will you tell him I want a scooter?"

"Momma, I love you always!"

Why I'm Tired

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11:31 pm: I went to bed.

11:42 pm: Boyo had a terrible nightmare; he ran out of his room wailing and couldn't be comforted.

11:56 pm: I finally calm him down, but he refuses to go back into his bedroom. I let him climb into bed with my husband and I.

12:02 am: Just as I am starting to fall asleep again, I get whacked in the head with a binky and sit up to find my son demanding "Mow Mik!"

12:03 - 1:30 am: I won't detail all of it, but I spend the next hour and a half getting climbed all over, punched, kicked, snuggled, hair pulled, and ultimately shoved off the bed. Boyo won't go back to sleep.

1:32 am: I sit up, cuddle Boyo in my arms, and sing him a lullaby. There is a note of desperation in my voice. Or full fledged hysteria. I'm so tired, I can't tell.

2:09 am: Boyo finally falls asleep. He's sleeping sideways on our bed, and my husband and I have an inch and a half of bed to share. Whatever, I'll take it.

2:17 am: Just as I fall asleep, I hear my daughter screaming for me. The storm has scared her. And she's wet. I get her changed and pull her into bed with us, and she thinks this would be a great time to have a philosophical discussion. Hey, who's your favorite Disney Princess?

2:43: I finally get my daughter asleep. I have a 2 year old elbow in my ear, a three year old foot in my back, and my husband is snoring. Great. I ease myself out of bed and go to sleep in my son's room.

6:12 am: I wake up to find Girlie staring at me over the safety bar on the twin bed. "Momma?" she asks quizzically, "Why are you in Brother's bed? It's time to get up; it's light outside."

Round Two

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'"The time has come," the Walrus said... " (L. Carroll)

This is it. We're potty training the boy.

We were going to try the Three Day Potty Training Method. But several things convinced us that this might not be the best method for us:

1. I'm pregnant. And the amount of patience that I do have will not fill up a thimble.

2. The 3 Day Method calls for staying inside for two days with no TV. Well, you can go outside for an hour on day two and for two hours on Day 3. But still... Boyo starts to go crazy if we don't get him out of our house by 10 am every day. So 3 days, basically stuck inside, seems like a suicide mission.

3. He doesn't fit on toilet training potty seats. He's large and if we sit him on a toilet ring or a potty chair, he can't put his pee down; there's just not enough room. But he's still only two, so he doesn't fit on the adult toilet seat either without spreading his legs really wide.

4. He all ready gets it. He sees his sister use the toilet. He tells me when he is going potty or has to go potty. He runs to sit on the potty and then demands a sticker. So I don't see the need for a 3 day method.

So we started yesterday. When we are home, he wears underpants. (And they are so cute!) So far, we have had one accident and two successful potty trips. When we go out, he wears pull ups (which we call outside underwear). And he still wears a diaper to bed.

I say, "Tell Momma if you have to go potty," about once a minute. And he does. Sometimes we make it, sometimes we don't. When we go out, he looks at me and says "Potty" clear as day.

He still hasn't made it to a potty out of our house, but that will come with time. And he still hasn't gone number 2 in anything but his "Outside Underpants" but that will come too.

Our methods might not be what works for everyone, nor will some people agree with us. After all, we are breaking the cardinal rule: Once you start potty training, you can't go back to diapers/pull ups. You know what? I don't care.

I'm much more relaxed about this than I was with Girlie.

Rainbows and Circles

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I think a marriage works best if one person is able to go with the flow. You know what I mean - a person who doesn't get phased by changes in plans and can adapt easily, with a shrug of the shoulders when things don't go his way.

I wish I could say I was that person in my marriage.

I'm not.

I'm more of a takes-an-hour-to-get-over-the-slightest-disappointment type of person. My husband is the go with the flow person in our relationship. And sometimes, I really hate that. Yes, I appreciate it after the fact, but during whatever has me disappointed hearing him say, "Oh well. It'll be okay" really sets my teeth on edge.

This was never more apparent yesterday when my husband and I loaded the kids up in the car and went to the ReStore, Habitat for Humanity store in Garden Grove. I was so excited; I was like a giddy little school girl. Why was I so excited about going to a restore for your home needs?

See, we were going to look at kitchen counter tops. For those of you who don't know, our kitchen counter tops are H-I-D-E-O-U-S! White laminate. That stains. And is chipping. And I think are the original countertops from 1971. I HATE them. Actually, hate is not a strong enough word, but it will have to do.

Anyway, the kitchen counters have been on our to-do list for 5 years. And my husband is finally ready to take on this monumental task.

And the moment we walked into the store, my kids lost it. It had been raining forever (or six days), and they wanted to run. But we couldn't let them run in a home improvement store. So my husband scooped them up and loaded them back into the car. "We'll come back soon," he told me.

So there I was, sitting in the car, sulking. My visions of new countertops and me cooking on them were crumbling to dust when my daughter asked me if I was happy.

"No," I snapped. "I'm disappointed."

"Oh," she said, smiling. "We should find you a rainbow. That will make you happy. Or you should run around in circles. That always makes me happy."

I started laughing as I realized that my daughter is going to be a go with the flow type of person too.

Wonderful. I'm surrounded.

Wordless Wednesday

Someone REALLY wanted to take a bath...

A Letter to My Son on his 16th Birthday

Before my children were born, I decided to write letters to them that they could open on their birthdays. Since I figured they would not be able to read when they were born, I addressed the letters with instructions to be opened starting on their 13th birthday. I wrote a letter when I was pregnant, a letter on the day the baby was born, and I write a letter every year on their birthday. Today is my son's second birthday, so he gets to open this letter when he turns 16...

To My Darling Boy:

I'm not sure what I want to say to you today... My heart is overflowing with love, but my body is exhausted from chasing you around all day. Today you are sixteen, and I hope and pray that you are running me as ragged now as you did today, the day you turned 2. After all, life wouldn't be any fun if I didn't have you to keep me on my toes.

This past year has been joyful and exhausting, terrifying and exhilarating. I get teary eyed as I think of 16 year old you - you are on the cusp of manhood and I can't wait to meet the man you become. But at the same time, I weep when I think I am losing the sweet, sticky little boy who yells, "Mommy!" and comes running over to give me a hug whenever I enter a room.

You are a loving two year old, asking for my hand to hold, Mommy's "uppie" for a cuddle, or screaming "NO!" when you want to run, climb, or crawl when I want to carry you. I am going to miss your solid little body snuggled up next to me on the couch, your chubby little hand grasping mine, your giggles as I tickle your round belly, and your screams for "again, again!"

This coming year, your three year old year, is going to bring changes. You are going to go from the baby to the middle child. And two year old James is uncertain about that. Everyday you tell me, "No baby. MY mommy." I hope that 16 year old James is comfortable with being the middle child, and I hope you realize that you will always be my baby, my boyo, my sweetheart. You hold a special place in my heart, not for being second born, not for being a boy, but for being mine.

I am proud to know that you are becoming your own person, someone independent from me. I can only hope that, as you turn 16, your father and I have given you the right lessons to help you become a strong, independent, generous, sensitive man.

What are my hopes for 16 year old James? I hope you are smart enough not to out think your common sense; that you trust yourself to listen to your intuition. I hope that you are still that loving boy you were when you were two, but that you are not afraid to speak your own mind, regardless of what people may think of you. I know the teenage years are hard, and I know that being an independent thinker can make them harder. Don't be afraid to say no to your friends, and if they give you crap for it, they aren't your friends. I hope that you are not afraid to be an independent thinker, that you are brave enough to fight injustice in your life, to let your voice be heard, and to protect those who cannot do so for themselves.

And what advice do I have for you, my 16 year old boy? Just this, the same thing that I say daily to two year old Boyo: Be careful! And remember, being able to do something and thinking you can do something are two very different things. I'm not saying don't try; I'm telling you to try. Try with all your being to accomplish your goals, so that years later, when you look back, you will have no regrets and you can honestly say, "I gave it everything I had." Thinking you can do something is the beginning. It is the start of a goal; it requires hard work, effort, and time. Being able to do something is your reward for those things. I hope that we have raised you to not be afraid of working hard, giving a strong effort, and spending time trying to achieve your goals.

You are my baby, my sweet boy. (I don't care that you are sixteen now, you are still my baby.)
I love you so much, and I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.

Love,
Mom

Wordless Wednesday

Boyo was determined not to nap...

Mean Old Biddy

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This post was supposed to be a letter to my son for him when he was a teenager. HOWEVER, I am still stunned and amazed by something that happened to me today...

Boyo and I were at the post office. We stopped by right after his 2 year well child visit, where he had gotten a vaccine. So he was not in the best of moods. Added to that, there was a line. I should have turned around to leave. But I had a letter I had to send certified... so I got in line.

Boyo did not. He ran over to the corner of the post office, where the blinds were. And he proceeded to sit down and run his car in and out of the blinds. I made a half-hearted attempt to get him to come back to me, since it seemed like I should make my son stand with me if I want to win that Mom of the Year Award.

My son's response was a vigorous "NOOOOOOO!" at the top of his lungs.

I promptly apologized to the people in line, went over to my son, and gave him a stern talking to before I got back in line. I left him in the corner. He was five feet away from me and he was happy. I wasn't tempting fate again.

I finished my business, collected my son, and told him, since he had been mostly good, that he could run on the sidewalk. A woman (who had been in line when my son yelled no) walked by me and I smiled at her. She responded by sniffing at me, glared at my son, and mumbled under her breathe, "That is not acceptable. He is NOT CUTE."

I came to a standstill. Not cute? My son is freaking adorable. Yes, he had a snotty moment in the post office - he was a two year old in the post office. What were you expecting? For him to stand docilely by my side? He's two, not six.

Several responses flew threw my head. The first involved a lot of four letter words. The second involved an apology (even though it grated that I was going to offer one) - but when I opened my mouth to issue it, something else came out of my mouth, surprising both me and the mean old biddy:

"He's two," I said sweetly, with a smile on my face. "What's your excuse for being a stinker? You have a merry Christmas."

It was one of those perfect moments when I had the exact right thing to say at the exact right time. As I led my son to the car, I could hear her sputtering behind me.

I'll win Mother of the Year next year. I'm too tired this year.

Happy Second Birthday, Little Dude!

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Happy Birthday to my car-loving, Princess-Aurora-watching, gun-toting...


...why-walk-when-you-can-run?, why-stand-when-you-can-climb?...

... so-sweet-you-are-sticky, messy little boy!


I love you, Boyo!
Happy Birthday!

Surprise!

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I know that it's the day before my son's second birthday. I know I should have waited. But I was so excited about his present, I just couldn't. My husband and I agreed to let him have his present early.

He was not nearly as impressed as we thought he would be.

What did we ultimately decide to get him?

A little brother or sister.

Maybe he was upset because he has to wait until July to really get his present?

Mommy Thumb

Remember when I mentioned that I had sprained my thumb?

I just saw something on Yahoo News...

I have MOMMY THUMB!!

I am not making this up! You can read all about it here.

My favorite part: "Treatment - proper warm up before doing any lifting and avoid any activities that cause pain."

Yeah, that will go over well with my son: "Sorry, honey, I can't lift you up because I haven't stretched out my thumb yet."

And no, I still have not gone to the doctor.

My Son's Birth Story

I did it for my daughter, and now I have to record my son's birth story, before I forget...

On December 10, 2008, I was getting my daughter ready for daycare. I was due to give birth in a week, and while my daughter didn't go to daycare every day, she did go fairly often: on days when I had doctor's appointments (which, since I was a gestational diabetic, meant I went to the doctor 3 days a week).

I had just squatted down to pick her up and put her in the car when I heard a pop and felt fluid in my underwear. "Hmm," I remember thinking. "Did I just have an accident, or did my water just break?"

I was praying that I had peed my pants. See, it was my husband's and my anniversary, and we had decided to spring for a sitter - a rare treat. It was going to be our last date night before the baby was born and our lives spun out of control for a little bit.

I called my mom to ask her, but she didn't answer the phone, so I didn't think much of it. I took my daughter to school, I came home, showered, and picked up the house. I wasn't feeling any contractions, but still -- that rush of fluid was on the back of my mind, worrying me. So I called my husband, told him my water might have broken, and drove myself to the hospital.

The nurse checked me and and swabbed at my, um, nether regions with a little strip to test for amniotic fluid. If my water had broken, she said, the strip would turn blue. If not, they would send me on my way. When I pointed out I wasn't feeling any contractions, she just laughed and said, "Honey, we can start those right up for you."

The strip turned navy.

Then nurse laughed again when I asked if they could start the contractions tomorrow. After all, it was date night. "No," she said, hooking me up to an IV. "You're having a baby today."

I called my husband, told him my water definitely had broken and that he needed to leave work and come to the hospital. While I waited for him, I pulled out my schoolwork and tried to read. Oh, did I mention that I was in my MA program at the time? And it was finals week?

My husband showed up and asked if I would mind if he took a nap. Since we were both expecting the 36 hour ordeal we had with our daughter, I said sure.

The contraction-starter-medicine kicked in, and it kicked in HARD. Within two hours, I was writhing in the bed, whimpering in pain. My husband was napping in the cot they had provided him. I threw my book at him to wake him up; if I was hurting, then damn it, he was going to witness it.

The contraction monitor was shooting over a 100. A nurse came in to reset it and commented that I seemed a tad "uncomfortable."

"You think?" I snarled back.

"Do you want me to call the anesthesiologist?" she asked, patting my hand.

"No," I said, at the same time my husband said "Yes."

The nurse looked at me and then at my husband and then back at me. "Why not?" she asked.

"I want to try to do this without medication," I said. "I want the epidural, just not yet. I want to feel it, to know that I tried..." I would have gone on, but right then I was hit by a contraction so hard my body jack knifed like I was the little girl in the Exorcist.

To the nurse's credit, she didn't roll her eyes at me. "And now you've felt it," she said. "And it hurts. You are at 6 cm. It's only going to get worse."

"I know, but..." I whimpered.

"We don't give you a medal when you check out, you know," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "We give you a baby. And you need to be rested so you can take care of it."

I agreed to the epidural.

[To those of you out there who firmly believe medication only has a place in a birthing room for extreme cases: Good for you. I'm happy that is the choice you made. This was the choice I made. The nurse was right; I needed my rest, not to reenact the Exorcist. And they didn't give me a medal. They gave me a newborn baby boy with colic. I'm grateful for the epidural because it allowed me to take a nap - the last nap I got for over a year. So please, no comments on my decision for an epidural or the nurse offering me one.]

And then I went to sleep for five hours.

The nurse came in at seven, checked on me, and said, "Wow, you are ready to go! Shift change is here, though, so we are just going to let you hold tight; the night nurse is going to help with your delivery."

"Wait," my husband said. "If she's ready to go, shouldn't we be pushing NOW?"

"No, it's fine," the nurse said, backing out of the door. It was obvious she was trying to get away...I hope she had really important plans. More important than my having a baby.

So we were left to our own devices for about on hour. An hour that I spent shaking with adrenaline.

To be fair to the night nurse, she was great. She walked in right at 8 and said, "So, we're having a baby in about five minutes, huh?"

She got everything all set up and then said, "Okay, Shannon, I'm going to have you do a couple practice pushes with me, so we can see if we have to turn off the epidural before we call the doctor in. Push on one... two... thr-- STOP!"

"What?" I asked frantically, as my husband started to laugh. "What's wrong?"

"The baby's crowning," my husband told me, kissing my forehead. "They had you wait too long."

The nurse ran for the doctor, who came in 30 seconds later, positioned himself at the end of the bed and nodded. My son was born three pushes later. He literally just slid out. (I know. I hate women who say that too. But after an hour of waiting... well, he was ready.)

They didn't give him to me right away. Everything was hazy, and I remember thinking that was odd, so when I looked down, my heart stopped. Boyo was blue. Not your normal, baby hasn't pinked up yet blue, he was umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck, around each limb, and around his stomach blue. The doctor studied the knot my son had tied himself in and started twisting and turning the baby until he wasn't blue anymore. He was red. And screaming. And pissed. And it was beautiful.

I should also mention that because he had been slamming against my cervix for so long, he had a second head. Not a conehead, like most vaginal births, he had a perfectly round bump at the top of his head, about two inches wide and half an inch thick. It looked like he was a mad scientist.

"That's perfectly normal," the doctor said, reassuringly. At least, it would have been reassuringly if he wasn't pressing on the bump, trying to make it go back down.

Throughout all of this, I was focusing on my boy. I'll admit it, I was apprehensive. Yes, I know that I all ready had a baby at home. You would have thought that I was used to this. But I was scared of him. Why? Because he was a boy. I didn't know what to do with a boy. He was the first boy in my family in 40 years. And yes, you would have thought that in the 18 or so weeks I knew I was carrying a boy, that I would have gotten used to the idea. I didn't. (I'm mildly ashamed to admit that I was hoping the ultrasound was wrong, and that he would really be a girl. I know. I know. I had an ultrasound every week for the last 6 weeks because of the diabetes, but I was still clinging to that last ray of hope. I'm a horrible mother.)

So I was focusing on my boy, and getting more and more nervous. And then the nurse finished his bath, wrapped him in his blanket, and put him in my arms. And when Boyo looked at me, I caught my breathe, I couldn't help it. He had this very serious, old man look in his eyes (which was aided by the mad scientist head bump), and he just stared at me as if to say: You're going to be fine.

And that was it; I was sunk. I started falling in love with him at that moment, and I haven't stopped (I will admit, though, some days I fall in love with him faster than others. Like the six months he had colic. I loved him, but man, it was a painful process. But isn't that true of any parent who has a child with colic?)

My son was born December 10, 2008 at 8:07 pm after 9 hours of labor. He weighted 7 lbs, 12 oz and was 19 in long. And he has gone from this:


to this:

Things I've Learned About My Son in the Past 12 Hours

1. He sleepwalks. Right to my side of the bed. And then he wakes up, kisses my hand, and says, "Momma, uppie?"

2. He is quite proud of his vocabulary at 2:30 in the morning. He sat on my pillow and named everything in my room he could see. And when he found something he didn't know the name to? He smacked me on the head and asked, "That?"

3. When he says he wants Momma at 3 in the morning, he means he wants Momma. So I had no luck kicking my husband awake and telling him to take care of Boyo.

4. My son likes to sleep on my neck. Not curled up next to me, not on my chest, on my neck. Which means I don't sleep at all. Or breathe.

5. For some odd reason, my son has decided he has to sleep with the Sleeping Beauty DVD case. Getting hit in the head with the Sleeping Beauty DVD case at 3:30 in the morning is not pleasant.

And what have I learned about my husband in the past 12 hours?
He's really good at pretending to sleep through all of the above.

Wordless Wednesday

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"I'll catch you, Momma!"


I fall in love with her more and more every day.