Hubby was carrying Robby out the front door of our building; I was taking Robby’s stroller/carseat and Sam out the back so I could use the wheel chair accessible ramp. I was walking in front of Sam with the stroller when I heard him fall on his way down the ramp. I let go of the stroller to turn around and help him up because he was clearly hurt and upset. When I started to get him up he became visibly more upset, trying to articulate something and pointing over my shoulder. Finally he found the words through his tears, “Wobby! Wobby!” I turned around to see what he was so upset about. When I let go of the stroller it had rolled down the ramp, down a small hill, and into a bush, where it now stood askew. Sam had forgotten that Robby was with Daddy and thought his brother had crashed into a bush, and that is what he was most concerned about even though his hands were quite skinned and bloody.

I don’t know if I should be really proud that he is such a protective and empathetic big brother, or if I should be really worried that he thinks his Mom would let his younger sibling fly down a hill in a stroller and crash into a bush.

Labels: Brothers, Tales, Toddler

The dining room. 12:30pm. Thursday. Late October.

SAM is sitting at the table eating his lunch. MOM is hovering by him, occasionally sitting down at the table until ROBBY, a 2 month old baby strapped to her in a front pack begins to whimper and wake, to which she responds by periodically standing and swaying back and forth while gently bouncing up and down.

SAM has just started dropping small bites of hot dog into his cup of milk.

MOM: Sam, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Isn’t it kind of yucky?
SAM: Mmmm…no. Just right. Yummy. (takes 2 sips of the milk) See? Yummy. (adds 3 more pieces of hot dog to milk, dips one piece and eats it) Out, Mommy. Hot gog out.
MOM: You want me to get the hot dog out with a fork?
SAM: Yes.
(MOM picks up fork and proceeds to retrieve hot dog pieces from the milk and deposit them on the plate)
SAM: No! No! Eat, Mommy, eat!
MOM: You want to eat these bites?
SAM: Yes! Yummy! (MOM proceeds to feed SAM 7 bites of milky hot dog with a fork) Try it! Try it!
MOM: Um, no, Honey. Thank you for sharing, but no thank you…

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Yes, occasionally I feed my son a turkey dog. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes, for example when one is still negotiating how to handle having two kids, one needs to skip a lunch time battle every so often.We’ll be having Mac and Cheese with hidden cauliflower tonight. Love this new book!

Labels: Books, Toddler

Ever since Sam was born I have waited to see what would be chosen as his “Lovey.” I didn’t know when it would happen, but I looked forward to seeing what type of object would become the object of his affection. For me there was Old Dolly, a tattered mess of a bean bag doll that I carried with me EVERYWHERE for several years - only my mom can probably tell you how many years it was (comment jaybee4000?). Early on I tried to force some type of Lovey on him because I wanted him to have one. I don’t know why. I guess I just find it endearing somehow. I would envision him walking around the house with a dirty old blanket or a stuffed animal dangling from his hand. To a great extent I’m sure I also wanted him to have one because it might have helped with his horribly horrendous sleep habits - if he was attached to an object perhaps he could be just a wee bit less attached to me. When it didn’t happen naturally I would go in search of something that might make a good Lovey and as a result ended up with several animals, dolls, and blankets that have been completely untouched. Sam is just not into snuggly toys, never has been. And so, I eventually gave up on the Lovey and accepted that I’d never get to see him cuddled up on the couch with a bear.

Sam is just more interested in cars/trucks/trains/things with wheels. Again, he always has been. We certainly did not seek out stereotypical boy toys for him when he was a baby. Over the past year or so he has become more and more attached to his cars and trains and trucks. First they were what he always wanted to play with, then they started coming with us everywhere. I learned very quickly that when it was time to leave the house it was crucial that Sam be given an opportunity to choose which two cars/trains/trucks he would bring on our journey. If, perchance, we got out of the house without at least two small vehicles we would never even make it to the elevator before he would scream in realization of our mistake. His vehicles sat with him in shopping carts, were carried around playgrounds, and clutched at playgroups. At home, Sam cannot move to a new location without bringing some number of cars. If I want him to come from the living room to the dinner table he must bring somewhere between 2 and 10 vehicles. They then must be lined up on the table to “watch” him eat (he’s not allowed to play with them at the table; they have to be “parked”) and I cannot expect him to get up in his seat until they are all perfectly in place. This is pretty much true for any movement from one room to another. Time must be allotted for the selection and positioning of matchbox cars and/or Thomas trains no matter what the activity.

More recently, Sam started wanting to bring trains and cars to bed with him. At first I tried to persuade him to bring them to bed for our reading time and then put the vehicles to “sleep” on the nightstand. It worked for a little while, but then there were battles when it was time to put the trains in their beds, and really, that’s not a battle worth waging as long as he doesn’t try to play with them instead of going to sleep. So now part of our bedtime ritual includes the selection of two very special Loveys. One night Sam will fall asleep holding Blue Choo Choo in one hand and Black Car in another, the next night it could be Red Pick Up Truck and Big Red Car. I’m not sure how he chooses each night; he loves so many (although there are about 6-10 to which he is truly attached and are chosen repeatedly). And somehow the whole thing happened without me even really thinking about it and seeing what was going on. They’re not exactly what I would have chosen for his Loveys, but the fact that my son sleeps with a car in each hand held close to his chest and talks in his sleep about choo choos and parking cars is pretty endearing if you ask me.

Labels: Toddler, Toys

Each day I debate whether or not to try and take both boys out for a drive in order to get Sam and Robby to nap simultaneously. It’s a tough decision to make. When it works it is wonderful. Both boys sleep, and I get at least a little downtime. I have my snack in the car and listen to a book on tape. The problem is that sometimes it doesn’t work, like really, really doesn’t work. Usually when it doesn’t work it’s because Robby wakes up too early and ends up screaming - he does not like being in his car seat once he is awake. Sometimes this could happen right as Sam is falling asleep, sometimes it could be about 20 minutes into Sam’s nap. But when this happens things get ugly. I end up with two miserable children crying in my car some distance away from my home.

When Robby wakes up early I often try to still get Sam as much sleep as I possibly can. That is why there have been many instances where I end up pulling in to some random parking lot, pulling Robby out of his car seat and nursing him in the passenger seat while Sam sleeps on. He’ll usually go back to sleep and then we sit there until Sam wakes up, Robby goes back in his seat, I drive the rest of the way home, and we all slug inside. It’s kind of ridiculous. It’s certainly silly that I have to go to this extreme in order to get Sam to nap these days. That’s what I was thinking about today whilst I sat in the passenger seat, looking at the clock to see if Sam had at least been asleep 45 minutes because Robby was starting to stir. I was thinking about this ridiculous situation that I keep finding myself in as Robby opened his eyes wide and looked up at me. I was thinking about it when he gave me a great big smile. And I was still thinking about it when he shat all over both of us.

So today, instead of waking up to see his mom nursing his new brother in the front of the car in a strange parking lot somewhere, Sam got to wake up to his mom frantically trying to change the baby’s diaper, onesie, and pants while she, herself, was covered in poo. And no, I did not follow the baby diaper bag rule: I did not have a change of clothes for myself as well as the baby. Nope, just the baby. And no, this was not a small dollop of poo on my clothes - I was covered. Sam woke up, took a look at his brother and mother and their little charade, I pointed out to him that Robby had pooped all over my pants, and he just shook his head yes and looked out the window.
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Scary enough for you? No? Well, I’m sending in an old archive post to Scribbit’s Write Away Contest, which I have never entered before even though I’ve always wanted to. She has prizes too! And the topic for this month is: Things That Scare You. Very few of you will remember this one since it was one of my very first posts from back in the day.

Labels: Bodily functions, Mommyhood, The Little One

Oh, this makes me feel much better. Perhaps I’m not scarring them after all.

Labels: Brothers, Pictures, The Little One, Toddler

I finally have 15 minutes to myself while Hubby and the boys are out for a walk. I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, wanting so much to blog. As I drive around the neighborhoods while my sons sleep in the backseat of the car I blog in my head, like I used to, back in the day when I posted and commented on a regular basis. That was a long time ago - pre-pregnancy to be exact.

I have 15 minutes, but now I don’t know what to say. There’s not enough time to do anything justice and I can’t focus in on one post. Who knows when the next time I have 15 minutes will be? I could choose the wrong thing to post about and not be able to write again for weeks. Then I would have wasted my precious 15 minutes. Or I could get going on something I really care about and then they could return early with Robby crying in the stroller and I’d be frustrated that I couldn’t finish. Even now I sit here and wonder if each noise I hear is them coming back down the hall. And so I write virtually nothing…

I’ve been on my own with Robby and Sam for nearly two weeks now. Each day that goes by would result in a very different response were someone to ask me how I am doing on my own (but no one asks). Perhaps this is why I have so many things I want to write about, so many things I want to say and get out of my brain. I could talk about how hard it is for some of us to bond with our babies, especially when we feel like we don’t have time to “bond” because we are just trying to keep everyone and everything functioning. Or I could observe that (on SOME days) taking care of two children is actually easier than being with one very colicky and fussy one all day long when all you have is the crying - I remember how isolated I felt with Sam as an infant. Or I could comment on the article I read in the most recent Brain, Child called “Holding Baby Birds,” about facing that consuming fear we have of losing our children, how I often envision horrible things happening to them and I used to wonder if that was normal. Then again I could just write my post entitled, “Stupid Thursday,” in which I relay to you the really stupid things I have tried to do with two kids in tow for the past 2 Thursdays.  It’s like I survive Monday through Wednesday and feel invincible so I do something against my better judgment, resulting in one or two screaming children and me trying to speed home in rush hour traffic.  The climax of last Thursday was when Robby was screaming all the way home so I was rushing Sam out of the car so we could get into our apartment and I yelled for him to run, causing him to promptly trip on the sidewalk and skin both of his knees.  And I’m sure you can imagine how easy it was to comfort a tired, hurt, screaming toddler out on the sidewalk while holding a tired, angry, screaming baby in one arm.  It’s amazing how one day you can feel like you’ve got it under control and you’re pretty sure your kids will turn out ok and then the next day, hour, or moment you can feel like the worst mother in the world.

But I don’t have the time to write about any of these things.  I hear the keys jangling outside the door and at least one baby is crying.  I think that was more like 11 minutes, not 15.

Labels: Mommyhood