For the Love of Sleep

I was flipping through the pictures in my phone and realized that 3 of the last 6 were of Luke sleeping. I like to take pictures of my sleeping children because that's when they look most like their baby-selves and because sometimes it's funny.

Then I started thinking that I've written so much on this blog about what a horrible sleeper Ella was until she was 3 and a 1/2 and about how sleep deprived I've been in general for the last {almost} five years. I decided I should write a post to say that IT REALLY DOES GET BETTER.

My second child, Super Fast, is so busy for all of his waking hours these days that he embraces sleep with nearly the same love that I have for it. He actually ASKS for nap or bed when he's sleepy. It's amazing and still a bit unbelievable. He also usually wakes up happy, or at least not screaming bloody murder like his sister did every time she woke up for the first 2 years of her life.

First Thing in the Morning
Yes, he has Dora sheets and he loves them.

He has started letting Dave put him to bed. He lets him stay in there with him while he falls asleep. Without me in the room. Ella was almost 4 before that was allowed. It's kind of liberating because it gives me a few minutes to myself or to snuggle with Ella, but I really love those bedtime cuddles so I'm not willingly handing over the bedtime job yet.

He's so serious about his sleep that I have always been able to scoop him out of the car or the couch or where ever he fell alseep and put him right to bed without waking him. I can even change his clothes. He recently continued his car nap in the buggy while we grocery shopped one busy Saturday. Granted, he did learn to roller skate that day, but how many kids wake up, get in the buggy, and go back to sleep? I know one big sister who NEVER would have done that.

Napping - ACTUAL NAPPING - in the Snot Rocket at Publix

He sleeps through the night often now, but even on the nights that he wakes up, sometimes he lets Dave help him back to sleep. This is new for us. Dave has never been able to help with the nighttime parenting. I think I might be able to count on three fingers the number of times he was able to get Ella back to sleep during the night. I'm pretty sure he helped Luke back to sleep three nights this week. I LOVE this part. LOVE love it. I'm at my parenting worst in the middle of the night.

Napping in Dad's hat with a sweet, self-drawn tribal tattoo.

He even puts himself to nap already. Not at home usually, but at school and at Grandmother's house. He just gets in bed and goes to sleep. I've seen him do it once and it boggled my mind. The afternoon after his surgery a few weeks ago, I was napping on the couch and he was flopping all over the furniture, trying to find a comfortable spot to nap, too. I told him to get in the chair or go to his bed. When I woke up an hour later, he was sleeping in the chair, all by himself.

Looking for a nap spot after surgery.

Sometimes the big sister will nap, if she just really cannot help it, and then it's usually an accident. However, she is willing to rest or play quietly in her room during nap time these days, so at least I get to nap when Luke does.

After a long day at the zoo, they both gave up.

And big sister? That sweet, sleepless, angry-waking baby that was born first so that I would humble myself and pray? She sleeps through the night now. She asks to go to bed eary when she's really tired. She COMES TO FIND ME AND ASKS ME TO TUCK HER IN SO SHE CAN SLEEP. I never, ever, ever thought that was going to happen.

On 34 Year Olds and Body Image

Yesterday, Luke decided he likes to be shirtless. He was shirtless when I got to Grandmother's after work, and he refused to wear a shirt to bed (he did put one on at the table because that's one of the rules). Dave and I were standing in the kitchen last night at bedtime, discussing this new quirk and trying to decide why he is suddenly a shirtless little boy child. Dave doesn't go shirtless often, usually only in the dead of summer while we are sitting around the back porch pool.

He used to sleep shirtless, and I asked him why he started wearing a tshirt to bed. He flippantly commented something about covering his "fat belly". Ella happened to have joined us in the kitchen by this point, so she chimed right in with this little nugget of wisdom.

Ella: (very matter-of-factly)Daddy, how old are you?
Dave: 34
Ella: (reassuringly) Oh, yeah, because 34s are fat.

At which point I commenced uncontrollably giggling. Then she went on to elaborate that 55s have bigger bellies. The good news is, she hasn't yet attached any arbitrary value to fat vs. thin, and the way she said it was very positive, even a bit encouraging.

Helping them develop a healthy body image is something that is important to me and Dave, and given her postive perspective of "fat," I think we are doing okay with that. However, I also think this proved that we need to be more conscious of the way we think and talk about our bodies, because she is paying attention. I've never heard her use the word "fat" to describe a person before last night. We are careful about the words we use when we talk to them about their bodies, and about healthy eating habits, choosing healthy foods, getting exercise, and wearing clothes that fit appropriately. We generally model healthy eating and an active lifestyle, but I think we also need to model a healthy body image- even if we have to fake it sometimes.

Right now, at 4 and 2, they are very comfortable with their bodies. I hope they will always be.

Day 4 - Black + White

I chose the black and white words of my Bible for day four. 'Tis the season to remember that I celebrate more than the winter solstice and fictional characters in December; I also celebrate the birth of my Savior.

I've written about Christmas before, so if you've been reading here for a while, you already know how I love this season.

If you have never read the story from the Bible, or it confuses you because it's written across two books, I'll link you to it in sequential order. Watch for their humanity as you read it. They weren't just Bible characters, they were actual people living in an actual world.

Gabriel Visits Mary (Luke 1:26-38)

An Angel Visits Joseph (Matthew 1:18-25)
The Birth (Luke 2: 1-20)
Visit from the Wise Men (Matthew 2:1-12)

As for this year's update on the more secular side of the holiday, Ella has been continuously interrogating me about Santa - when he comes, if he fills the stockings, what he will bring, etc. I have continuously responded with "Hmmm" and "What do you think?" She has a lot of ideas. I'm treading carefully. I see this as our first real experience of reconciling what the world tells her with what our family believes. There will be so many more complicated topics than Santa, so we might as well start practicing now. 

Snot Stresses Me Out

I’ve written about snot before. It was this time of year.

I hate it. It stresses me out. Seeing a little nose running first thing in the morning, hearing the yucky cough and the stuffy head – it sucks the life right out of me.
Is it teething? Allergies? A cold? Ear infection? Sinus infection?

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m destined to have snotty kids. It’s genetics. I’m still a snotty kid, but the difference is, I blow my nose when I need to instead of sniffing and snorting or just letting it run until I smear snot all over my face in annoyance.

My kids seem to live on Mucinex all fall, winter, and spring. Just like my brother and I lived on Sudafed. We took Sudafed like it was a vitamin, every single day. Ella’s been through allergy testing so we know that most of her snot is allergy-related. She’s a year-round Singulair taker, and we add Flonase and Mucinex as needed in the peak seasons. I suspect Luke is in a similar situation, though we haven’t seen an allergist for him yet. Also? He still has four molars to cut and when the snot coincides with loud grinding of teeth, it’s hard for me to believe it’s anything other than teething (regardless of what the pediatricians say).

Lord help me when they start bark-coughing. You know what that means, right? Croup. Which can be caused by a virus, bacteria, or, you guessed it, allergies. Any time Ella is snotty for a few days, she starts to bark-cough. It’s part of her deal.

But knowing what I know doesn’t make me less stressed about snot. Because I still have to decide if they can go to school/soccer/gymnastics/church. Is it safe to take them around Jake? Into public? I know that if they cough or sneeze, or God forbid, snot runs out, people are going to look at us like we’ve got the plague and think, “How could you bring that kid out like that, you moron?!”

I don’t send them or take them when they have fever or they are too miserable to play, but if I were to base the decision to leave the house on snot and coughing alone, I might as well pack them up and move to a cave in some foreign land until summer. I’m not sure I could get wireless internet in a cave in a foreign land and I’m certain all three of us would lose our flippin’ minds before summer, so that’s not an ideal solution. Thus, I’m left with deciding, on a daily basis from October to May, if the snot is just snot for snot’s sake or if they are genuinely sick and can’t be exposed to the public. Add to that the extra special bonus question: “Am I killing their livers with Mucinex?” and, well, I’m stressed out. For seven months. About snot.

Dinosaurs and Cell Phones Do Not Make Good Dinner Companions

At barely 4 and almost 2, I didn’t expect to be policing cell phone usage at the supper table. But I am. Our rule is well founded – no texting or talking at the table. Even I have been called out recently about checking my messages (though technically I don’t count it as “at the table” since some nights I barely sit at the table during meal time), and Grandmother recently had to excuse herself because she just couldn’t stop texting at the table. That led to another issue. Now Ella doesn’t text or talk at the table, but she does excuse herself to the other room to take a call or send a message.

Her phone obviously doesn’t have service, but she will make you think it does.

Now Luke has started bringing a phone to the table. They keep them beside their plates. Dave and I don’t even do that. I believe it’s time, at 2 and 4, that I enact my plan of collecting electronic devices in a bowl at supper time so that we can focus on each other at the table.

On that note, another something that apparently needs collection at supper time: a plastic Brontosaurus. Aside from cell phones, Ella never really brought toys to the table. Meal times are for eating and we consider eating to be serious business. Luke, however, has a habit of bringing an entourage to sit beside his plate so that he has someone with whom to share his meal. It could be a baby doll, his little Mickey and Goofy figures, a Barbie, and most recently, a plastic Brontosaurus. I generally don’t have an issue with guests at the table because they keep him focused on eating – a task that I often find challenging. But, when the guests get unruly, they have to be excused.

That is what happened to Brontosaurus Sunday night. He could not control himself. In his excitement at sharing a meal with Luke, he was galloping all over the table and into the plates of the rest of us. I was not amused (really I was but I had to act like I was not because I’m the mother). Brontosaurus had three chances to get himself under control but he just couldn’t do it. Dave had to send him to time out on top of the refrigerator.

Luke’s heart was broken. He cried and cried and every time he started to not cry anymore, he looked up at the top of the fridge and said, “Di-saur, up!” and cried again.

We live in a house of loosely controlled chaos most of the time, because we value play as an important job that kids – and parents - need to do. However, we also value eating a meal without fear of having our tea glasses charged over by a rogue Brontosaurus. Thus, our list of supper time rules is growing.

Ropers' Rules of the Table

1. Shirts are required. Once they are able to eat with utensils and no longer cover themselves in food, this rule goes into effect.

2. Phones are not allowed because we are eating together, not with whomever is on the other end of the line.

3. The TV is turned off because zombies also do not make good dinner companions.

4. Unruly toys must be excused.

Brontosaurus hasn’t been back for supper yet, but I’m sure we’ll give him another chance – now that he knows the rules.

My Kids Don't Sleep Til Nine

People keep telling me about how their kids sleep til 8:30 or 9:00 in the mornings. Is this for real? In my world, that mythology ranks up there with kids who don't puke or who sleep through the night.

In my house, we consider 7:30 sleeping late - and that doesn't happen very often. Dave thinks it's fantastic, of course. I believe his exact quote when I mentioned someone's kid (maybe it was Jake) sleeping until 8:30 was, "That would be awful." Indeed.

At this point in my life, after being so well conditioned, I guess I would feel like I slept the day away if I didn't get up until 9:00. But it would be awesome to wake up occasionally of my own volition - without the alarm clock, or a request to put on a Barbie shoe or play a game of electronic fishing, or "Mamamamamamamamamamamamamama..." or "TV.Donald." Because it's really hard to catch fish and put on Barbie shoes when your fingers are still fumbly and your eyes are barely open. Sometimes I get so many requests before my feet are even on the floor that I have to say, "I haven't even peed or gotten a drink yet. You will have to give me a few minutes." In so many ways they are like their father, and this is one of them. Ella especially pops up out of bed ready to rock and roll, just like Dave. Luke will linger for a little while on the weekends, but he is notorious for waking up half an hour before the alarm goes off every weekday - and it doesn't matter what time the alarm is set for. I know it's only a matter of time before he's bringing me an armload of trains or cars or books first thing in the morning.

Last Tuesday we had to be at Children's Hospital at 6:30 in the morning for his surgery. He slept on the way there and rode to the waiting room in a wagon. Once we set up camp there, he needed to pull the wagon all over the place. As the room filled up, I noticed that all of the kids were bleary eyed and groggy. Except one. Mine. He was running laps and shouting "Mommy! Daddy!"

It's not that I resent their enthusiasm for each new day - I don't at all and I kinda wish I had the same enthusiasm, it's that I'm a nocturnal creature by nature. I go to bed these days right after the kids, usually by 9:00 because I get up early for work and for play, but I prefer to stay up much, much later. Usually with a book I can't put down. I don't wake up rearing to go, ever. Before we had kids it was an established rule in our house that I should not be spoken to until after I'd showered. Just like uninterrupted sleep and only cleaning up my own bodily fluids, that's just a vague memory now.

I know I'll get it back one day, the ability to sleep through the night and wake up on my own, and by then I'll be wishing for those little footsteps coming down the hall and the little voice calling me through the baby monitor. I'm not wishing it away, I'm just expressing my disbelief that actual, real, live, non-movie children sleep past 7:00 a.m.

When the No-Kid Zone Becomes the Kid-Zone

Or Mommy is a Silly Fool

I was off work yesterday; Dave was not. I had two goals for the day: 1. Grocery shopping and 2. Get to gymnastics on time. I did shower before bed Sunday night, but I didn't wash my hair so the top of me was in full greasy teenager mode even if the rest of me was at least not smelly. Since I have a monkey for a son whom I'm terrified to leave unattended for more than a few minutes at a time, taking a shower when I am the only adult in the house can be quite tricky. I decided I had to do it because while the people at Publix could probably handle my greasy hair, I wasn't about to walk up into the crowd of Perfect Moms at gymnastics looking nasty.

I opted to lock them in my bedroom and shower as quickly as possible with the bathroom door open. We prepared the area.

Ready for Mommy's Shower

As you can see from this picture, shower time requires a lot of stuff. A bag full of baby things and the baby to use it on, a doctor's kit for doctoring the baby and distracting the little brother, and three blankets for a rolicking game of Goody-Hog. (I have no idea what a Goody-Hog is, but I do know that it is a game they made up and it is not a groundhog. I also don't really understand the game except that they roll around in the floor in blankets and declare each other the Goody-Hog. When asked to play, I do so enthusiastically, but, really I don't get it.) Notice what is missing from the picture? The children.

That's right, we brought all their crap into my toy-free bedroom and they did not even play in there. Why? Because they were busy turning my shower into a Little People Naked Party, complete with the baby doll, Maggie Beth. She's not even made for bathing, but Ella scrubbed her pink anyway. We had to put her in the dryer when she was finished. Luke just ran in and out of the shower, waving his hands around in the air and yelling, "Wheeeee!" Like he does when he slides down the slide.

Little People Naked Party

Because there is no door on our shower, I could not contain him so the bathroom floor was one big puddle. The the hardwood outside the bathroom became a puddle because neither of my children grasp the concept of actually drying themselves with the towels I wrap around them.

Once I finally got everyone dressed and the bathroom and bedroom put back in order, I found this.

Luke dismantling the alphabet puzzle.

That was all well and good. He was occupied for a few minutes while I started a load of laundry until he realized I was doing laundry and needed to help.

Laundry Helper

At this point, every time I pulled one of Dave's shirts from the basket, he yelled, "Daddy!" Then he started throwing clean clothes back into the dirty clothes basket and we had to abort the mission.

We finally made it out of our house and did our shopping - at 2 grocery stores because my feeble mind didn't remember all of the things (that were on my list!) for supper. I got them home and fed them lunch, and put away the groceries and cleaned up the alphabet puzzle and unloaded the dishwasher and rotated the laundry.

Then I found this.

Mopping with Dog Water

They were very graciously mopping the floor with the dog's water. Poor dog. (Side note - EGR still prefers to go pantless most of the time. Luke is very much in the middle of the I-Just-Learned-How-To-Take-My-Clothes-Off Stripper Phase. There is a lot of nakedness in my house at any given moment and I'm not talking about the fun adult kind.)

After I cleaned up the puddle that was "drying" in the floor, I went back to the laundry and found this.

Alphabet Puzzle. Again.

That's the alphabet puzzle, out again, 6 feet down the hall from the original location. This is where I stopped documenting and just embraced the idea that I would just clean up after them and try to keep them from harm. We did make it to gymnastics on time, and I did pack their lunches and make dinner (which they refused to eat so they had Cinnamon Croast Tunch), but then I offered Dave $10 to bathe them while I hid in the basement. They went to sleep early and I sat on the couch.

This morning I got up at 5 and took a shower all by myself and got dressed and ate breakfast. All by myself. Then I got them up and dressed and to Grandmother's house, where I realized that they were ready for a break when Luke peeked up over the back of the couch and blew me a kiss, saying, "Bye-bye. Door!" while pointing for me to leave.

And all I could think was, "Well, played sir. I'll be on my way now."

Mommy Meltdowns. They Happen.

Let me tell you about the time I lost my mind. I don’t mean mind losing on the scale of thinking my baby had a tapeworm or lacking balance. I mean a prisoner-of-war style mental breakdown that involved crying inconsolably.

In my boss’s office.

If I'd had any, I would have revealed corporate trade secrets or matters of national security.

It was two years ago, around this time of year, which is always stressful. There is a period of time from right after Christmas until around the time the daffodils bloom that I have a really hard time keeping it all together. I like to think of it as The Crash. In the history of my relationship with Dave, 12 years this May, I cannot remember a year that we didn’t experience The Crash. There are a lot of contributing factors that cause it (the weather, the Christmas let-down, etc.), but it leaves me feeling like my life is woven together with spider silk and I’m either going to get completely tangled up in it or it will all just blow away in the wind. I’m barely holding it together during this time.

So, two years ago, in the middle of The Crash, I was newly pregnant with Luke. In my experience, the first trimester of pregnancy is like walking around in the drowsiness of a codeine cough syrup fog. I could, and sometimes did, sleep anywhere at any time. It’s what the hormones do to me. That was all well and good when I was pregnant with Ella because I could come home and sleep, but when I was pregnant with Luke, I had an 18 month old Ella.

And she was sick. Very sick. We had started our year with a very fun birthday party at the McWane Center, and unfortunately, brought home an unwanted party favor. A nasty, nasty sinus infection. At that point, Ella had already started having ear infections, and so of course, she got another one. And so did I. I cannot remember ever having an ear infection in my life, but after doing my best to get rid of that sinus infection with Sudafed and Tylenol for two weeks (because I was pregnant and couldn’t take anything else), it moved into my ears and I had to call my doctor for antibiotics.

We were both sick, she was not sleeping, and this was the time when she started having apnea episodes because her adenoids were too big. Her sleep went from bad to tragically worse. She was waking up every half hour because she would stop breathing. I was sleeping with her because I was terrified and it was the only way to get any rest at all.

Work was extremely busy, as it tends to be at the first of the year when everyone is back from vacation. It was so busy that I would come into the office at 8 and barely move from my desk until after 5. I had to remember to get up to pee. And eat.

Seriously, I was probably not even qualified to operate a moving vehicle.

It was at that point that The Crash reached its peak –a stupid fight with Dave about something ridiculous. I don’t even know what it was about. But he is the best friend I have in this world, so when I’m in a state of mind like I was then and we cross up, it’s like someone just yanked the rug out from under my feet.

That’s where I was one morning when my boss found me sitting at my desk (in a cube farm), staring vacantly at my laptop, trying not to cry. He said something to me, probably, “How’s it going?” since that’s his usual greeting, and I lost it. I couldn’t speak; I couldn’t look up; I couldn’t not cry. He basically pulled me out of my chair and into his office so I could lose my mind in relative privacy. He waited until I got myself under control enough to talk and asked me what had happened. And I unloaded all of the above, with all the details I left out here, and then I cried some more.

I was so embarrassed, and at the same time, I couldn’t even care.

I have a wonderful boss. He told me to pack my stuff and work from home, and take a nap.

I did – that time, and many others when the exhaustion of pregnancy and toddlerhood was pushing me toward the brink.

The point is, when you are about to reach your wits end - with tooth brushing, sleep deprivation, poop cleaning, shoe putting on, whining, fit throwing, nose wiping, medicine giving, you get the idea – you need a break. A real one. One where you get to do something just for you without a kid hanging on you, while someone else takes care of your normal responsibilities. It might be a couple of hours of nap, or lunch with a friend, or a long soak in the tub, whatever, just take it. You’ll be better for it, and so will you kids. And so will your marriage. And your work, and your entire life perspective. If there’s any way to get one, take a break.

Don’t be me, blubbering like a fool to your boss. Take care of yourself.

Baby Fever

Not mine. No, oh no. A snotty, sleepless, teething mess of a toddler is a great antidote for baby fever. Three molars in five weeks time is enough to send Luke and I both over the edge. And the fourth one is swollen up and ready to burst, so I know we have at least one more week before we get a reprieve.

I have fully embraced the love-them-and-give-them-back phase of my life, much to my daughter's dismay.

It's Ella who has baby fever.

We have been surrounded by new babies and pregnant women. It seems that as soon as one baby is born, we find out that another one is on the way. It's been very exciting, and all this babyfying is manifesting itself in play. Ella has delivered a hundred babies over the last couple of weeks with a full script that includes a hospital, nurse, and doctor. Thankfully, the last two babies added to her immediate cirlce were vaginal births, so she gets that mamas push the babies out now (as opposed to having them cut out in surgery).

She has been walking around the house with a baby stuffed up her shirt, waddling like a 9 month pregnant woman, then going to the hospital to push her baby out. Then she nurses the baby, but sometimes she pumps and gives it a bottle.

Since Luke was born, she has been requesting a sister. I keep telling her that I don't think there will be any more babies in our house. Over the weekend, as we went through that topic again, she said the one thing that could completely unnerve me about that situation: "I'm going to talk to God about that."

I had to stifle the urge to beg her not to, because she knows things.

Yesterday, she began our day with an announcement that Aunt Becca has a baby in her tummy. She does not, but I'm sure that she found that news unnerving as well.

Not only is she completely focused on new babies, and especially girl ones, she is also becoming unsatisfied with my explanation of how babies get into tummies. Until now, she's accepted a simple "God put it there" and now she wants to know how.

Uhhh.

I think I need to find some books.

Sex and babies aren't the only prevailing topics right now. There's also marriage, divorce, salvation, resurrection, prayer, and, as she was falling asleep last night, a technical discussion of how our new door will be installed in the living room ("Like, how does it get screwed in there?").  

She is 3 and a half, and she keeps me on my toes.

The H. Luke Update
Harris Luke is mostly concerned with "Ball!" and "Choochoo!" right now. He got trains for Christmas and has developed a love for them. When his mouth is not hurting, he eats like a starving beast - especially vegetables. I watched the child eat approximately 20 brussel sprouts the other night. It was amazing. He talks all the time; we don't understand him all the time. His vocabulary has definitely expanded, he uses short sentences now and follows simple instructions. He shakes his head "no" to mean "yes" and it's totally cute. He can barely sit still through two pages of a story, but he will sit and "read" a book to himself for a while, and loudly. When he's not playing ball and trains and cars, he clomps around the house in Ella's princess high heels and helps her take care of babies. Occasionally, he finds a ponytail holder lying around and needs his hair done. It's long enough now for a ponytail, and it will get longer because we aren't cutting it any time soon. Like, maybe not until he asks. He gives sweet kisses and tells us "bye" when we leave. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, instead of crying, most of the time he says, "Mama? Mama?" If Dave is already gone when he gets up, he walks around the house calling, "Dada? Dada?" He is trying to figure out the potty and insists on taking his diaper off to sit on it regularly, but that's as far as he's gotten yet. He has told me a few times when he needed a fresh diaper, so I know he is starting to recognize when he needs to go/has gone. He will be 17 months old tomorrow, and he's so much fun right now.

I'm raising the Dial soap kid.

It happened last night. My worm/bug/snake worry that I mentioned in a post last week came to fruition. I'm sure I spoke (er, wrote) it into being.

As I sat at the table, finishing the last few bites of my supper, Luke toddled up to me with a clenched fist and a lot of jabber. He held his little fist out to me and opened it to reveal a big, dead roach. Blech.

He was so proud of his find.

I was thankful for my napkin, which I used to grab the roach and toss it into the garbage. Then I was thankful for the antibacterial wipes I keep on the kitchen counter, which I used to scrub is little hands.

After that, I was rinsing plates to load the dishwasher and I had given the dog a plate to lick rinse (Yes, I do this when I'm feeling especially lazy. It's one of the benefits of having a dog with children. I expect her to earn her keep.). Luke was very interested, so he squatted down beside her to get a better view. As I was telling Dave, "Next thing you know, he'll be licking the plate like the dog," he bent down and tried to lick the plate, too.

A poor frog met it's untimely end in our driveway last night - by cat or car, I don't know, but it was squished. Of course, I had forgotten about it this morning until I noticed something slimy on the bottom of the shoe that Luke was chewing after I buckled him into his seat. Apparently he stepped in the frog guts on the way to the car. I snatched the shoe out of his hand and tossed it out of his reach while I finished buckling Ella. Then I grabbed the wipes I keep in the car and scrubbed his hand, his face, and his shoe. I probably would have done his tongue if he'd stuck it out.

Gag.

As I replayed these events in my head this morning, I realized, I'm raising the kid from that old Dial soap commercial.

There's Something Happening Here

... and what it is ain't exactly clear.

Last night at the supper table, Ella asked us, "Why did Jesus die on the cross for us?"

Picture me with my mouth hanging open while my brain zoomed around at a thousand miles per hour while I tried to formulate an age-appropriate response. I think I sat there in silence for about 4 minutes before Dave jumped in and answered her.

He told her, "Jesus is God's son. God sent him here to die on the cross so that, if we love Jesus, we can go to Heaven and be with God."

All I could think was: How do I explain sin and death to a three year old? She doesn't have any personal experience with death yet and she does not grasp the permanance of it. I was completely unprepared to have this conversation with her at this age. I expected it to happen when she is older with a little more experience under her belt.

On the way to school this morning, she asked Grandmother, "Where did the baby Jesus go after he left the manger?"

Even that one gave me pause.  I was glad I brought my Bible into work with me today so I could look it up and be certain when I answered her. Mary and Joseph took him to the temple in Jerusalem, then the fled to Egypt to hide, and then they returned to Galilee.

Prior to our supper conversation last night, I had already had a few conversations this week about faith and the Bible. One was a deep discussion about God's plan and our free will and how the two work together. And during another one, I admitted that I do not prioritize the Bible at the top of my reading list and I don't have any good reason for that.

Then Ella started asking these questions, forcing me to spend more time reading it.

I believe God gave me Ella to make me a better person, and now she, one of the most important things in my life that takes up so much time and gives me a legitimate excuse not to do a lot of stuff (like spend time reading the Bible), is pushing me closer to God with her questions. I cannot say that I don't have time to spend with God, because one of the things she needs is for me to do just that.

There's something happening here.

He's Everywhere! He's Everywhere!

I've said before that I have music in my head and secret theme songs for all kinds of things. At this phase in his life, 2 days away from being 15 months old, Luke's theme song is one line from Ray Steven's Santa Claus is Watching You: "He's everywhere. He's everywhere."

That child is everywhere. I never stop picking up the trail he leaves in his wake and removing him from elevated surfaces. He gets up when I get out of the bed around 5:30 am and spends a quiet 24 minutes with Dave while they watch Mickey Mouse, but when Dave leaves, he's up and running. His latest favorite thing to do in the mornings is brush his teeth while I put on my make up. He climbs up on the toilet and grabs for whichever toothbrush he can reach. I take it away and give him his toothbrush, and he proceeds to brush and spit, brush and spit until I'm finished. He also likes to wash his hands and try to steal things out of my make up bag.

When that's done, he follows me around the house unless he finds something better to do, like this.

Throwing wipes down the stairs.

The fruit of his labor.

He recently started throwing things down the stairs for the fun of watching them go.  I let him pull wipes out of the box while I change his diaper so he will be still for 90 seconds, and he loves this activity. Today he combined the two for double the fun, then brought me the empty box. Sometimes he empties the plastic cup cabinet, sometimes he dumps the dog food if I forget to pick up the bowl, sometimes he rakes the magnets off the fridge, sometimes he pulls out all of the books and puzzles. You get the idea.

When he gets bored of whatever mess he's making, he comes to find me and that's usually when I'm making my bed. It is his job every morning to hand me the pillows. He gives them to me one-by-one, saying, "thank you" each time. Then we go wake up The Beast if she isn't already up. He likes to jump in the middle of her and cuddle in her bed for a few minutes before they get dressed.

Last week, after removing him from the toilet 15 times in a row, I took him into the living room and plunked him into the chair to watch Mickey. Ella was already up and watching, and she shocked the morning fuzziness out of me when she climbed into the chair and settled in beside him. I took a picture for proof. It was one of those moments that make the chaos so worth it.

Watching Mickey together.

Luke is a mess. I've had a stupid worry about how I would control my reaction when my children one day bring me a worm or a snake (because those are two things I just cannot handle). How would I control myself so they didn't know it bothered me and thus use it against me? Well, Luke doesn't pick up worms or snakes yet, but he has figured out how to get what must be a positively hilarious reaction from me.

On the drive home from gymnastics last night, instead of the cry fest we usually have because he's tired and hungry, that child figured out that I would freak out if he stuck his fingers down his throat and gagged. He did it over and over again, and every time I screamed out about it, he laughed hysterically. And Ella laughed hysterically. I tried to laugh with them and chill out, but I'm too well conditioned to respond to the gag noise so I found that difficult. Praise the Lord, he doesn't throw up as easily as she does. When she started to do it, too, I had to shut her down. There absolutely would have been vomit if she had continued that fun activity. So, he already knows one good way to completely unnerve me. Great.

He is using more words, and now he combines them with his pointer finger to make his point. Last night he had a plate full of vegetables and a pile of shredded cheese. Twice he ate all the cheese and told me "do-do!" (which is his word for "food" or "more food") and pointed to the empty cheese hole on his plate saying, "dat!" He sings the blessing after Ella finishes saying it, folding his hands and everything. He even pops off to sing the blessing when he nurses at bedtime sometimes. He gives good kisses and hugs.

His cuteness is his saving grace right now.

ETA: At 15 months, he is 31.5 inches long and weighs 21 lbs. 8 oz. Still long and lean.
The EGR Update
Her use of the language continues to amuse and astound me. We had an unpleasant incident over the weekend when she woke up prematurely from nap and wailed at me for have the nerve to watch something besides Mickey Mouse while she slept. That led to more unpleasantness when she screamed from the bathroom that she needed help after I had just gotten Luke to sleep in my lap. I was not happy and made that very clear. She came back to the couch and cuddled up next to me and said, "Mommy, I'm just a little person and sometimes I get scared. Please don't use your mad voice." She's just a little person. I had to laugh. I too often forget that she's just a little person, but I did ask her to please not use her screaming voice and I wouldn't get so frustrated that I have to use my mad voice. We didn't have any other issues after that, and guess what? She actually liked the show I was watching because those dresses on My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding are something to see.

The Vomit Chronicles: My Washer and Dryer are Asking for a Raise

We are on day 5 of what might be the nastiest stomach virus I've ever seen. It's certainly the nastiest one I've dealt with as a parent.

Luke started throwing up Saturday night. That continued most of the day Sunday, and I thought he was recovered Monday. I was wrong. As Dave phrased it, he "reversed it" with a diaper so disgusting it necessitated a wardrobe change. Then he threw up again. At the same time this was happening, Dave sent me a message to say that he had it, too. He never catches what we have, so the fact that he got it before I did told me how bad it really was.

I knew, just by the number of times I'd been puked on, that I was destined for it. It started Monday night, and I was sick all night long and most of Tuesday. On top of that, I could barely stand up without feeling faint. After strategizing about how I would survive the day and take care of my children, I decided Grandmother was the best option since she had already been puked on. Thankfully, she was here all day Tuesday, because I couldn't even fix a sippy cup without needing to lay down.

Ella started puking in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, ran fever all day and kept her food down until the sun went down. Then she threw up most of the night last night. Once she needed a full change of bedding and clothing, and I considered putting her in the shower. After I got all of that sorted out and laid back down in bed with her, knowing that the easiest way to deal with all night vomit would be to sleep beside her and catch it in a bowl (yes, that is another great use for Tupperware), I smelled nasty poop.

Soundly sleeping Luke had pooped so big that he needed a change of bedding and clothing as well. I almost got that done with waking him, but not quite. Once I finally got everyone back to sleep, I settled into Ella's bed with a flat pillow and two pillow pets. So I still feel like I've been beaten with a tire iron, only today it's not because of fever, but because of pillow pets.

I'm so ready for this to be over. Ella is still puny; just laying on the couch under a blanket. I'm certain we have another full day to go. Grandmother has it now, and possibly worse than the rest of us.

Did I mention that this is the week when construction starts inside our house? That the kids are sleeping in the dining room and one of our bathrooms is gutted down to the studs?

It's been really fun, and I'm sure that my washer and dryer are just as ready as I am for it to be over. They've barely stopped working since Sunday morning.

At this point, I'm just praying that the dog doesn't catch it.

Co-sleeping Pros and Cons

We are modified co-sleepers. That's a term I just made up. It means, the kids start the night in their own beds, but I bring Luke to our bed when he wakes up to nurse during the night. We get to wake up together most mornings, and that's when co-sleeping is the most fun (in my opinion). Lots of times, Ella is with us, too, or we are in her bed (as we were this morning because she was having nightmares in the wee hours).

As Luke and I struggled to decide if we were going to be awake or asleep this morning, a few things happened that formulated into a pros and cons list  in my head. I am going to present them in the way I learned in college: pro, con, pro.

Pro: Snuggly little bodies.
Con: Leaky diapers.
Pro: Sleep talking and laughing.
Con: Numb hands from cuddling the weight of the baby's head your arm pit all night.
Pro: Baby head smell.
Con: Fighting over the covers. He always kicks them off.
Pro: Baby snores.
Con: Baby fingers exploring every orifice of your head. There's nothing like waking up with a little finger in your nose.
Pro: Lazy baby chatter.
Con: Baby chatter. Sometimes I just need to keep sleeping.
Pro: Being right there when they wake up scared - the whole reason we were in Ella's bed. Poor kid.
Con: Possessive little legs that keep finding their way around you. Ella's legs act independently of the rest of her body while she sleeps.
And finally, my favorite one of all:
Pro: The sleepy grin and the sweet, "Mama. Mama." when Luke realizes that I'm awake, too. It reminds me to soak up every single minute with them.

Kiddlet Tidbits

I’ve been collecting random kid quotes and happenings for a few weeks, but none of them were enough for an entire blog post, so I’ve decided to put them all together in one.


- One night, while Ella was dramatically wailing about getting out of the shower before she was ready, Luke came into the bathroom and laid his head on her leg and patted her to make her feel better. She, of course, didn’t “wike him to touch” her, but I told her to shut it because he was being sweet because she was crying. It does my heart good to see him showing concern and compassion. I know that by virtue of being female, Ella is biologically wired for those behaviors, but I didn’t know what to expect from Luke. My worry about that has been alleviated. He has the sweetest spirit. He loves on the baby dolls, the stuffed animals, Ella, and, have mercy, when Baby Jake cries, he just about can’t handle it. He has even cried with him, when he couldn’t reach to pat him or rock him in his carseat. (He does pat and rock a little too vigorously, but we are working on making his “soft touch” softer. The cats and dogs will thank us. And so will Jake.)

- In the middle of the night a few weeks ago, Luke saw Ella’s water cup beside her bed and he went nutty asking for “Ju-ju” (juice). I took him to the kitchen, poured a cup of juice and took him to my bed. He sat up, drank half of it, and then fell face first into the pillow with a belch. When I laughed, he kicked his feet in response and passed out without nursing. That was the first time he has accepted a cup in the middle of the night.

- Someone taught Ella to say “Roll Tide!” Now, she yells, “Roll Tide!” and throws a crimson colored football at us (which she picked out at Target because it’s Roll Tide-colored). She has a good arm, and sometimes she actually catches it when you throw it back to her. Luke likes to take a handoff and run with the ball so that she’ll chase him.

- September 13, 2011 is a day to be preserved in history because both of my children slept through the night. This was Luke’s first time ever, at 5 days shy of 13 months old. I still woke up at 3 am when Ella was talking in her sleep, but I didn’t have to get up. Luke woke up at 5:20 am, calling out “Mama? Mama?” (I was already awake). He nursed and went back to sleep for an hour. Except for the headache from the stiff neck because I barely moved all night long, it was a glorious night. I’ve probably jinxed myself for a year now, but I needed to share this with other sleep deprived mothers who need some hope.

- Over the weekend Ella asked me these questions: “Mama, when will I have a baby?” and “Will it be a girl?” and “Will you come to my baby shower?” I did tell her that she won’t have a baby until she’s grown, and only God knows if it will be a girl, but I will definitely be at the baby shower. Now she’s planning it.

- My favorite recent quote happened yesterday while we were jumping in the bounce house at a Jump Zone birthday party. She bounced over to me and said, “I love this!” She’s come a long way from last year’s disastrous Pumpkin Patch experience.

- After our latest discussion (yesterday) about which clothes are appropriate for church and which are not, she told me, “I’m going to be a gymnastics teacher when I grow up.” That’s right, so she can wear shorts and tank tops all the time.

- Finally, here’s a shot of Luke that looks remarkably similar to one of my baby pictures. This is just one of his latest feats. He also climbs into the middle of Ella’s little table and stands on it, and he stands on the ottoman and jumps, then scurries down and runs away before I can catch him to get him down.

Luke, helping with the laundry.

Who Let The Dogs Out?

Every night after bath, my house turns into the set of a music video with Dave as the featured artist singing Who Let The Dogs Out?

To say that the kids (and the dog) love it is a gross understatement.

We have a large, stuffed dog – an artifact from Dave’s childhood – that is big enough for Luke to sit on, and Dave makes it sing, bark and generally create chaos. It usually sits on the shelf above the toy box, and it wears an ugly, blue baseball cap that Dave won for Ella out of the machine at Huddle House.

When Luke gets out of the tub (he’s almost always the first one out because he doesn’t like the “kids sit in the tub” rule), I wrestle him into a diaper and then he goes straight to the toy box. He stands there, looking at that dog, dancing his white-boy dance (stiff upper body, bouncing at the knees, arms by his side, you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout), and singing, “Who-who!” I get the dog down, and put the hat on Luke’s head. He likes to wear it sideways (see white-boy reference above).

Dave bursts into the room singing, “Who let them dogs out?” with Georgia at his heels, and it’s a full-blown party with loud singing, dancing, dog jumping, baby squealing, wrestling, and what have you. Sometimes it sounds fun enough to roust Ella out of her tub-languishing, sometimes she just ignores them, but when she joins in, the chaos gets ratcheted up another notch. Occasionally there’s bed jumping, but that usually means a quick end to the party so it doesn’t happen often.

Where am I while all of this happens? Far away, lest I trample all over the fun with silly notions of quietly winding down before bed.

And then, somehow, it all comes to an end, hopefully without any crying, and we settle in to read books. Half the time Davey-Dave is so worn out from letting the dogs out that he falls asleep in the middle of the book he’s reading. The kids take a little longer, but I’ve come to appreciate this evening ritual as a last blast of energy-burning fun, so I guess we’ll keep it up as long as Luke keeps saying, “Who-who!”