An Act of Courage

Today, I made a choice to do something that I thought was very brave. I decided to take N and B to K-Mart. What's so brave about that, you say? You didn't even have all three! True, as Jimmy had come home for lunch and offered to stay with O, who was already half asleep. As it turns out, this was probably a really good thing. However, I didn't just take N and B to K-Mart. I took them to K-Mart when B hadn't had a nap, and it was way past nap time. I knew this would require a great deal of strength on my part. In fact, there was a little voice telling me, "This is NOT a good idea. You just get this whole K-Mart idea right out of your head, put that child down for his nap, and go later". But I didn't listen. Instead, I ignored the voice. I thought I was doing something very brave, but it turned out I was just doing something really, really stupid.  Never, ever ignore the voice.

The reason for my obsession with going to K-Mart? Coffee. Our coffee maker has been broken for a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks! I don't know how I have survived that long, but I have. Since I am the only coffee drinker in our house, it's only impacted me, and coffee runs to Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Caca's (no, not like WaWa's...she's my sister) have gotten me through. I've even started drinking tea in the morning, but today when I was contemplating a third cup of tea to help me wake up, I finally accepted that it was time for a new coffee maker.

 On the way to the coffee maker aisle (no, I know it's not called the coffee maker aisle, but in my mind, that was the single most important thing in that aisle, so that's what I'm calling it), B decided he wanted to be a mannequin. Just like the ones in the store. Well, except that he wanted to keep his head. He did, however, want to be up on the little stage that they're on. So that's where he went. Several times. He did a perfect mannequin imitation. Several times. Not that hard, you say? It involves standing completely still. And this is B. Need I say more? Eventually, he agreed to come with us to the coffee maker aisle, but only after he had waved good -bye to the mannequins, and eventually accepted that they weren't going to wave back.

I had no idea there were so many different kinds of coffee makers. I am amazed by all the choices. I wonder if I should go cheap and simple or get something a little more expensive that will brew individual cups on a timer. I imagine coming downstairs in the morning and having a fresh hot cup of coffee waiting for me. Then, the fireman's daughter in me thinks that can't possibly be safe, and I decide a timer is not a good idea. But maybe the individual cups are. I am contemplating all this as N and B are behind me...somewhere. I look to see N curled up on a lower shelf. B is telling her to push over. N says "Hey mom! Didn't you get left in a store once when you did this?" I tell her no, that was Caca...or Uncle Pat. Who can remember. I wasn't even born yet. I just know it wasn't me.

I know I should tell N to get down, but she is usually so set in her role as responsible older sister that part of me is happy to see her laying on a shelf in K-Mart, and I decide to let her stay there. Besides, it looks sturdy, and it's keeping them relatively quiet. I go back to looking at coffee makers, and start thinking that maybe timers are a good idea after all. I discover that the prices go up to a hundred bucks, and I wonder if one of the more expensive ones will make me a single cup of coffee on a timer, add cream and sugar, and bring it to me in bed. N is off the shelf and standing behind me talking about...something. B has taken N's spot on the shelf, and I realize that N is talking about martial arts. I briefly wonder why she is talking about ninjas, but realize I will hear the whole story again on the way home anyway, so I don't focus too much on what she's saying until I hear these magic words..."Look! It makes frozen drinks!"

A machine that makes coffee AND frozen drinks? Why didn't I think of that?! Whichever one it is, I am getting it. What a perfect combination! I turn around to see her standing in front of a large blender looking thing. "Look mom! It's a Ninja! I've seen it before. It makes frozen drinks and salsa!" I have a crappy mommy moment when  I realize that my daughter must have seen this on an infomercial, and yet I have never seen it, or heard of it. And aren't those infomercials on at 3 am? I make a mental note to check the parental controls on our TV. And then I get back to the Ninja. It does not make coffee, but it does make frozen drinks and salsa. The box has the most beautiful picture I have ever seen--of a frozen strawberry something-or-other, and it is talking to me. "Buy me! You won't regret it!". Never ignore the voice! I decide that a cheap coffee maker and a Ninja is as good as a two for one deal, and put them both in my cart.

B had been very quiet during this time, but at this point, he decided he was done. He was so done, in fact, that when I said it was time to go, he just laid on the floor. And stayed there. No tantruming. No screaming. Just kicked back. Arms under his head. In the middle of the ninja aisle. N and I walked an aisle over and came back to find him in the same spot. Twice. He was not budging. Someone made an announcement over the loud speaker, and I told him, "Didn't you hear, B? She said that little boy needs to get up off the floor". Believe it or not, this has worked for similar situations in the past. Not this time. This time, he just looked at me and said, "No. I don't think so. I didn't hear her say my name". We tried walking away again. He didn't budge. Finally, I went back and said  "Bye, B. We love you. We hope you enjoy your stay here. We'll come back to see you on alternate Wednesdays." A staff person walked by and then came back and waited to make sure I wasn't really leaving him there. Whatever.

Eventually he got up, and as we headed for the register, he and N decided to look at kids place mats. And then they decided to take them out. And then B decided to throw them all over the floor. Repeatedly. A woman walking by observed this, and shook her head at me as she walked by. This was not a smiling head shake. This was not an "I've been there, honey" head shake. This wasn't even a "Better you than me" head shake. No, I've seen my share of head shakes, and this was definitely a "your children are going to end up in prison" head shake. So, I did what any good mother wanting to model appropriate social skills for her children would do. I smiled and said somewhat loudly, "Yup, They're mine. Lucky, aren't I?"

We finally made it to the register, and B was holding on to the front of the cart, facing me. I've heard you're not supposed to let them do this. I've heard it's because the cart may tip over. I've heard it's because they may fall. I've never heard it's because their foot may get stuck in the bottom part of the cart, and they will be unable to move, and that, even though you are just a cart's length away from them, at the cash register, surrounded by people, they will loudly and repeatedly scream, "Mommmmmm!!!!! I'm STUCK! Get me OUT!!!!!" I've never heard that it's because it's very awkward to try to remove a foot from the underside of a shopping cart while also holding onto the child whose foot it is, to prevent him from falling face first onto the dirty K-Mart floor (that he was just laying on) once you eventually remove his foot. I've never heard that. But now you have. So don't say you didn't know.

The other thing I never heard is that, once you realize that your child is not injured, and that he's not screaming in pain, you will laugh uncontrollably as you attempt to remove his foot from the shopping cart. This really doesn't help the process. However, it does provide great entertainment to the man behind you in line, who is buying newborn size diapers and bottles, and in all likelihood has no idea that his life will, in a few short years, look very much like yours.

Fortunately, we left without having to call the fire department, but I realized that I needed to pick up my W2 at work, only a two minute drive away. I decide it couldn't be any worse than K-Mart, and I really needed to get it today. So, I ignored the little voice again and took them with me to my office. We took the elevator up to the second floor, where B was excited to see that we could look down on the lobby below. He stood at the railing and looked down, and as a man I assume is a client of a co-worker came out of my office suite and stood next to us to wait for the elevator, B announced loudly, "Mom! I'm gonna jump! I'm gonna jump!".  The man was kind enough to talk him down, and tell him that while it did look like fun, it probably wouldn't have great results. Why did I ignore the voice? Never ignore the voice!

Some days I come home fairly surprised that we are all still in one piece. Today I also came home happy that we didn't have to call the fire department to remove B's foot from the shopping cart, thankful that B only talked about jumping over the railing in my building, and glad that no one was left--voluntarily or otherwise-- at K-Mart.

I also came home thinking that, in spite of days like this, life is good. At least I have a sense of humor to get through these moments. These are the small things, and in the big picture, the only parts of them that we'll remember are the parts that made us laugh. And, if my biggest problem--today, at least-- is working around nap time (or not) to go get a coffee maker, then I am truly, incredibly fortunate.

Life is good.
Cause I have a Ninja.

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For the Love of...Sleep

It recently occurred to me that I have turned into a freak. Not about everything. I am not a germaphobe. I don't have to have my children in my eyesight every moment of the day. Their rooms don't have to be spotless (In addition to not being a freak about this, I am also not delusional enough to think that it would ever actually happen--hey, maybe my mental health is better than I thought!).  I am a freak, however, when it comes to sleep--particularly nap time. I admire those parents who are OK with having a child with them every waking moment. I, however, am not one of them. I need some child free time in my day, however brief. This is not optional. It is required. For three reasons:

1) As it is, most days I manage only to repeatedly clean the kitchen, hopefully pick up the living room, run the dishwasher, get dirty laundry out of rooms, continually run the washer and dryer, and possibly fold, but rarely actually put away, laundry. When I try to do these things when my children are awake, I have lots of help. More, in fact, than I ever need. The dishwasher gets filled more quickly, but not run, because I have to remove the assorted cars, trucks, trains, and Little People that O has so helpfully placed in there before I can run it. I'm not sure what would happen if I left them there. Maybe I'll try that next time, but I would hate to have to buy a new dishwasher because, in a moment of weakness, I went along with O's plan to turn the dishwasher into a car wash for Hot Wheels. Meanwhile, B is taking all the toys that I just put in the play room back into the living room. If I attempt to do laundry while they are awake, they start grabbing random clothing items from wherever they happen to find them--including drawers and closets--and throwing them down to me. If I try to make dinner while they are awake, they are cracking eggs for me, even when no eggs are necessary. I'm lucky to have such helpful children. But it doesn't really help with productivity.

2) The stories I write about are, believe it or not, generally from the good days, when they have slept. You don't read about what happens on the days when they haven't slept, because I am licking tequila off the floor nearly asleep by eight o'clock those nights, and have no energy left to write about the day's adventures. Not to mention, I don't want to relive them.

3) If I don't have an hour or two of relative silence during the day, I will lose my mind even sooner than predicted.

So, yes, I have turned into a freak about nap times.

Unfortunately, B and O are not quite on the same page as I am. Recently, in spite of my best efforts, they have started staying awake during nap times. If they stayed in their room playing and talking quietly, I would probably be OK with this, as they would hopefully be getting some rest. As it happens, though, they stay in their room laughing, screaming, yelling, throwing things, and taking O's crib apart. Not exactly restful. For any of us. I have tried to remedy this several different ways. Separate rooms--they just scream louder. Separate nap times-someone gets over tired (usually me), which defeats the whole purpose. Separate houses--the neighbors were unhappy when they found a strange child in their house. Whatever.

This is my long winded way of explaining that, when my children do go to sleep, I will do whatever I can to keep it that way. This has the potential, however, to impact my behavior in other areas of my life. I am not proud of this. I wish I could just go with the flow, like I can with so many other things in life. But, my children need me. They need me to be sane. And if that is to happen, they need to take naps.

In general, if people come to our home, I try to be welcoming. We like having company, and that's what we're supposed to do, right? Mi casa es su casa. If you can find a spot that's not covered in trains, fairies, yogurt, or dog hair, by all means, please make yourself at home. I'll even try to find something besides cheerios to feed you. If you stay long enough, I will beg you to drink with me and offer you a couch to sleep on, and then I will make you drink more so you don't notice that it's the one covered in yogurt and dog hair. Jimmy is even more welcoming than I am. He goes right to the part where he offers you beer.

If you come during nap time, however, it's a little different. If I know you're coming, I will meet you at the door and we will quietly go talk outside. You may wonder why I'm taking you outside when it's 30 degrees. It's because they are sleeping. If you don't like the cold, come back in the spring. Or at least when nap time is over. If you unexpectedly come to my door during nap time, all bets are off, but here's what will likely happen from your perspective:

You knock. I don't answer. You are vaguely aware that a dog is barking inside. You knock again. You are vaguely aware of a crying baby. You probably think some warm fuzzy thought about babies and dogs as you wonder why we aren't answering since we're obviously home. You knock again. This time, I answer the door, baby on my hip, dog at my side, three-year-old running in circles behind me, and you briefly wonder about my crazed expression, but you're happy that your mission--whatever reason you have for knocking on my door--is one step closer to being accomplished.

Here's what happens from my end: You knock. I cringe and silently curse, awaiting the barking dog that I know will awaken the sleeping children that it just took an hour and a half to convince to go to sleep. I ignore you, hoping you will go away (unless, of course, it's something important, like you are are locked out of your house, your car has broken down, you haven't eaten in two days, or you have brought me tequila). Nothing personal. I probably don't even know who you are at that point. But did you just see the part about it taking an hour and a half to get those children to sleep? But you don't go away. You knock again. If the dog didn't hear you the first time, she does now, and she is barking. My cursing is no longer silent. I hope she won't bark long enough or loudly enough to wake sleeping children, but she does, and now we have a barking dog and a crying toddler. A minute later, we have a barking dog, a crying toddler, and a three-year-old old repeatedly asking "Mommy, who's here? Mommy, who's here? Mommy, who's here?"

I know, of course, that these children will not go back to sleep, and that even if they do, I will have to wake them as soon as they fall asleep to go pick up their sister at school. I also know that they will be grumpy and whiny, if not outright combative, by dinner, which will likely consist of something frozen and barely edible, since I will have tried to get dinner together while also attempting to do the three loads of laundry that I didn't get to do while they should have been sleeping. This is why, when I answer the door, I may look like a crazed woman on the verge of tears. It's not that I'm not happy to see you. It's just that, you know, it's nap time.

I've been thinking though, that it's just not right for me to be so unwelcoming. After all, mi casa es su casa, even if you do come to my casa during nap time. So, from now on, I'm going to be more welcoming. I'm going to tell whoever it is to please, by all means, come in. After all , it must be important if you came in person. During nap time. Without calling first. Please, sit down. Don't mind the yogurt on the couch. Just push those toys over. Make yourself at home. Stay a while. Can I get you some cheerios? Or maybe something different--like cornflakes? I'm so glad you're here. Will you hold O for a minute? I'm just going to pop out to get the mail. No, B can stay with you. I'll be back in a flash. Oh no, I always take my car keys to the mailbox. In fact, I like to drive there, so don't worry if you see the car leaving the driveway. Why don't you try to get the kids to lie down? They love that.
I'll be right back.

Just as soon as you get them to sleep.
And don't worry. I'll knock.

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Judgement Day

Sometimes it feels like every day is judgement day when you're a mom....

When N was three, she started taking dance. B was an infant, and, for most of the first year at least, I would take her to class and sit in the waiting room, rocking B in his carrier, drinking coffee, and talking to other moms. I remember thinking , "Well this isn't bad. I can do this". This week, as I took N to dance, B and O were with me, as they always are unless Jimmy happens to get home from work early that day. This week, as I thought back to how it was that first year that N took dance, I realized that this was one of those occasions where a previous thought comes back to bite you in the...um, arm.

N goes to a great dance studio, that is just a little on the small side. There's not a lot of room in the waiting area. This is sometimes difficult for B and O, because while N is doing something that she loves just in the other room, they don't really get to do the things that they love. For example, jumping from chair to chair is not encouraged. Standing at the door watching the dancers and doing your own dance while screaming "Hi N!!" is not encouraged. Running and screaming in the waiting room-- not encouraged. Continually filling up and pouring out cups of water from the water cooler--also not encouraged. All of this is, of course, completely understandable, but as you can see, some of B and O's favorite activities are highly frowned upon. That does not, however, prevent them from participating in them anyway. Usually, though, we manage to keep the disruption to a minimum. This week, for some reason, we did not. B was restless. O was restless. I was tired from spending much of the previous day cleaning up syrup and peanut butter. Although I read to them, distracted them with toys, and took frequent breaks to the bar next door to let them run around outside, it was clearly not enough.

When we came in from outside toward the end of the class, B decided he was fascinated with the long vertical blinds in the picture window. I asked him nicely not to touch. He ignored me. I told him firmly not to touch. He ignored me. I did the best mean mommy voice I could, considering we were in a small waiting room surrounded by other people. He ignored me. Instead, he gave the blinds a yank. I didn't see or hear anything fall, though it's possible that something did fall and I missed it because, after all, I was also chasing O during this time. After a moment, when we had moved on to other things, an older woman who was there with her grand-daughter came over, started fidgeting with the blinds, and said, "Oh here, let me help you fix that".  Help me fix that? Hmmmm. While I appreciated the, um, helpfulness, I had to wonder... are you sure the word for this is helpful? Cause it just didn't feel all that helpful from my end. It felt like...something other than helpfulness. Several thoughts went through my mind, but I decided that maybe, like beauty, helpfulness is in the eye of the beholder, and I put a smile on my face that clearly said, "Whatever".

B eventually settled down and even shared his cars from home with another little boy. As N's class ended, I asked B to nicely ask for his car back since we were leaving soon. He did--very nicely- and the little boy looked at him and said ,"NO". B came back to me to report. "Mom, he said he's not giving it back.". "It's OK, B, " I told him. "Just ask him again nicely", I said a little louder this time, just in case his mom had missed the first exchange. And B walked calmly back to him, and said in his loudest three-year-old tough guy voice, "HEY! YOU GIVE ME MY CAR BACK RIGHT NOW!". "B, not like that". I told him. The little boy's mom glared at me. Maybe I'm supposed to make B apologize, I thought. That might be the right thing to do. But he did ask nicely the first time. I no longer knew what the right thing to do was. What I did know was that it was hot, crowded, my kids were out of control, we were all getting hungry, and I wanted to leave. More than anything. I also knew that trying to make B apologize for yelling at someone who just refused to give him back his own toy was not going to end well. So I just smiled. Whatever.

We finally escaped left with some shred of our dignity in tact, though I'm quite sure we were the talk of several dinner tables that night. I was feeling somewhat defeated as I took NBO to the grocery store to pick up a few things. O started grabbing everything out of the cart and throwing it. I put it in. He took it out. I told him to put it back. He ignored me and threw it. N would pick it up, unless B got it first, in which case it turned into a game of catch in the frozen food aisle. I would then tell B to put it back in the cart. He would ignore me. You get the picture.

We had been playing this game for fifteen minutes or so and I knew it was time to get out of there, when O threw a pint of Ben and Jerrys frozen broccoli onto the floor, and B grabbed it before N could. B ran to the opposite end of the aisle, and threw that ice cream broccoli back to us as hard as he could. Wow. What a great arm that child has. He's clearly picked something up from watching football with daddy.

I don't think the couple that turned the corner at that exact moment appreciated what a great arm B has, though. No, the ice cream broccoli didn't hit them. However, their disdain was pretty apparent. It was quite obvious that they were appalled by the scene they had stumbled upon: a toddler emptying the contents of our cart onto the floor, his three-year-old brother using the frozen food aisle as his personal football field, and their sister and now nearly deranged mother watching, laughing, and doing absolutely nothing about it.

OK--maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate for me to give B a high five and tell him what a great throw that was. Whatever.

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