Next time you, say, fall down half a flight of stairs, you may find yourself sitting at the bottom letting it all pour out, so to speak. The tears may begin - the bruised and skinned elbow, the other jammed elbow, the already swelling back bruise, and the sore ass - but they may not stop there, with the surprise and physical pain of slipping down your new stairs. They may keep coming. And then you may find, sitting there at the bottom with your husband trying to determine if something is broken, that you just have to cry. You may find yourself saying to him, using the words of another blogger and friend because they just felt so right, “It’s just too much.”

The move has been hard on all of us. As well as it went for a move, it was still a move. And that still involves packing and upheaval and so forth. And well, I have a three year old. So let me tell you, two doesn’t hold a CANDLE to three. Nuh-uh. At least not in this house. Terrible twos? Pashah! Living with a three year old is like being screamed at all damn day. He starts screaming about something, we spend half an hour with me trying to help him use kind words and voice so that I can do whatever he is asking me to do, since I won’t do it if he screams at me, then he finally asks kindly, I do it, and thirty seconds later the cycle starts again. And that’s what we do all day long. It’s like constantly living in fear that whatever you do will set him off on another tirade.

So you may find yourself sitting there blubbering and asking what you did that ruined your child and talking about what a horrible mother you must be to have everyone so unhappy. It may launch a little cry-fest that lasts late into the night. Then you find yourself writing about it the next morning when you hear the little footsteps above your head. You think oh no! He’s up and he’s going to start screaming because no one was upstairs when he woke up - it’s going to start already, like a continuation of the fit he was having at bedtime… So you try and get it together and run as fast as you can to try and deter the tantrum, and as you approach the hallway where he is standing he smiles at you and says, “I feel better.” He walks toward you and says good morning. You tell him to be extra careful on the stairs because you fell down them last night. He wants to see your boo boos. Then he says, “I’m sowy you fell. I will kiss your boo boos,” which he does, gently planting a little kiss on each elbow, your back, and blowing one to the big bruise on your ass. You wonder what  you’ve been talking about. You must be doing something right at some point in time to have such a sweet boy. And there you’ll sit, at the bottom of the stairs, telling him that now you feel much better.

Labels: Bloggy Stuff - Memes/Links/Business, The Big One

We have so much unpacking to do.  Thankfully the boys have been really helpful…

Labels: House, Pictures, The Big One, The Little One

So . . . Sam just lied to me for the first time. I went upstairs, leaving him and Robby playing happily on the rug. I was gone for about 30 seconds when I heard a thwack and Robby screaming. When I ran down, Sam was hiding behind the ottoman and crouching, the way he does when he knows he has done something wrong. I asked him repeatedly what had happened and he kept telling me he didn’t know. I kept questioning and eventually he told me he had “given Robby a toy” and gone to sit on the window sill. He said he didn’t know how Robby got hurt. At this point a big red and blue bruise started to appear on Robby’s forehead. I told Sam I needed to know what had happened so that I could help Robby and that I was not asking him because he was in trouble.

It was at this point that Sam reenacted the manner in which he had “given Robby the toy,” the hard, wooden toy, I might add. And it involved him holding it up high and a slamming down kind of motion, in the direction of, I can only assume, Robby’s head.

I’ve read before that when kids this age lie they are not really doing what we adults think of as lying; they are really trying to tell what they wish had happened instead of the way it actually played out. I would buy that, except for the fact that he changed his story. Once I told him he wasn’t in trouble, the truth flowed out, and I think that is the most upsetting to me. It indicates a much more aware state on his part and it is much more purposeful. I have to admit this has taken me by surprise. I wasn’t quite ready for this to start yet - he seems awfully young, just turned three - and that coupled with the fact that I had just told him he was not in trouble made the whole thing very difficult to deal with. So soon? How do you deal with young children being untruthful? Especially after you’ve just told them they are not in trouble in order to get the true story out of them? (Let me just say I was not intentionally trying to be manipulative. When he originally told me he had not hurt his brother I believed him, so I was not actually expecting find out that he’d caused the problem and that I may have to backtrack.)

When I told Hubby about the incident he tried to reassure me that we have two boys and these things will happen sometimes. He was really responding to the hitting part and trying to tell me it was ok that I had left them alone for a minute. He went on to say that eventually Robby would be able to “fight back.” Jeez, that’s comforting! Now I envision running in to find my two boys strangling each other on the floor while I try to do the laundry. And Hubby has a brother who is just as close in age, so I’m afraid he may know what he’s talking about here. Is that what I have to look forward to?

Boys . . . what am I going to do with all these little penies running around? For those of you that have boys, there was recently a nice Wondertime article about raising boys. I particularly like the part where the writer describes one of her sons heading toward her daughter’s ponytail with a pair of scissors while the younger one cheers, “Go! Go!”

Labels: Bloggy Stuff - Memes/Links/Business, Brothers, The Big One

As Sam was going to sleep tonight he was telling me about all the people he likes (he has a thing where he says he loves me and also he likes me).  So he went through the list:  “I like you…and Daddy…and Wobby…and Papa…and Meme…and Nanna…and Poppy…and…myself.  I also like myself vewy much.”

Wow.  Now if only I could make sure he feels that way for the rest of his life.

Labels: Talking, The Big One

We made it in. The move went without a hitch. The house is great. Now we are doing the whole UNpacking thing and trying to keep the kids alive while doing so.

The dishwasher holds more than my old one.

The rooms are painted the colors we chose.

The bathroom fixtures are not far from what I would have chosen myself.

The kids now have their own rooms.

Our living room is not overwhelmed by both a TV and a computer (each are in their own separate rooms).

But the best part, you ask? The best part is that at approximately 3:15 school lets out, and at that time ALL of the school buses go by our house heading to the school parking lot and back out again. And at that time, you can find Sam, sitting joyfully in the living room window eating his snack and yelling, “Look! Look! ANOTHER one!” And that, my friends, is a great investment.

I will say, however, we have not a window dressing to speak of, and no intention of doing anything about that until the weekend. The neighbors are getting to know us quite well.

And sorry for the comments being down over the weekend - my brother was moving us to another server and, of course, I didn’t know there was a problem because our computer wasn’t hooked up. Hope all are well. I’ll read blogs again soon, I hope, once we are functioning. I think I have like over 200 posts on bloglines . . . heh, heh.

Labels: House, Pictures, The Big One

All right - about to sign off and pack up the computer. Move is tomorrow. I leave you with a little reminder of how ridiculously horrendous our move from Chicago was two years ago. As long as we don’t get anywhere near that, I think we’ll be ok.

Labels: House

Today was your last day of being two.

(birth)

We went to the zoo, and you helped me push the stroller around.

(Halloween - 5 months)

We rode the train.

(crawling, first vehicle obsession)

You ran around with your friend and chased the geese.

(sick day)

You told me about nine times that tomorrow you wanted “chockat cake . . . with FWOSTING! And Thomas!”

(your sense of humor)

You had a tantrum about eating at the dinner table. I explained that we eat at tables.

(playing in the pool at Mimi and Poppy’s)

You pointed out that the train table is also a table, and that it also has two little chairs . . .

(your first steps)

Dinner was at the train table tonight.

(walking on your own)

As I put you to bed you told me you loved me “so much.”

(my favorite picture of you)

I told you I loved you so much too.

(Christmas - 19 months)

I told you that you were my big boy. You said Yes.

(second birthday)

And I asked you how you got so big, how it had happened so fast.

(Halloween - train engineer, of course)

You wanted to sleep with your “favorite cars: owange O twuck, bwue wace car, and big wed wace car,” as you have every night for the past three weeks. You always list them for me, despite the fact that I have known which are you favorites this whole time.

(first day of school)

I told you that “tomorrow when you wake up, you’ll be three.” How did this happen?

(last week at the carnival)

You fell asleep, snoring and exhausted from your last day as a two year old, with my hand rubbing your head, your arm slung over your eyes, and telling me that you really like cake . . . and pudding too.

Labels: Birthdays, Pictures, The Big One