What the frick??  Seriously?

My solution?  I took his pajama bottoms, looped my finger under the fabric and wiped his butt.  I know, classy!

Unfortunately it was still tickling, so I told him to go into the bathroom and wipe again.  BC then informs me that it’s my fault that his butt was tickling because I didn’t wipe him good enough earlier.

My fault?  That my 4 year old’s butt was tickling??

Again…what the frick??

Once the problem was solved he ran back out to the living room to drop trough and show me his newly cleaned butt.  At this point I was simply laughing too hard to check it again.

Seriously, this was not in the handout when I decided to forgo birth control and become a mother!

I did not sign up for the ‘butthole check’!!!

Face Painting by a 2 1/2 year old

Wordless Wednesday

You little shit.

For weeks he’s been throwing the worst of tantrums at the mention of school.  Let’s not talk about the peel the child off the parent tactic that his teachers had to enact.

Friday?  Fine.

Part (a LARGE part) of me is thrilled.

Part (a LARGE part) of me is pissed.

Now if only he’ll ‘decide’ to take his time-out like a man. 

Stubborn much?

I like to pat my own back, toot my own horn, if you will, on occasion.  I generally think I’m gifted in the mothering category.  I got skills!  Or so I tell myself.

But just as I find myself getting cocky again, my dear children smack me down and throw off my equilibrium.  I quickly re-realize how many skills I still need to grow.

Take for example my four year old’s separation anxiety gone haywire.  A veteran mom has her set of tools, a solid bedtime routine, a vision of parenting that goes something like; start as you want to continue. We have routines.  We don’t vary far from the script.  My son knows what to expect.  Life trots along according to plan until *bam* I’m smacked in the face with a severe case of separation anxiety. Him, not me.

Wha…wha…what??  Um, excuse me, that’s not in my script.

This week I reached my breaking point.  I needed help.  Nothing I or my husband did helped calm or sooth BC’s nighttime/transitional fears. NOTHING.

In addition, hearing, “Mama” (A word I despise from the get go, I’m Mommy, thank you very much!) “I need you!” in the same tone and pitch repeated in the same rhythm for two straight hours is akin to Chinese water torture to me.  PAINFUL.

Earplugs didn’t even help.

I cried uncle and finally called the advice nurse Saturday night.  I was at a loss.  No great plan, no big picture, I was stuck.  I was called this morning and BC was scheduled an appointment with his pediatrician for 1:30 today.

I had a plan.  Relief was on the way.

At 1:30 I packed up my tired daughter and my hooky-playing son and headed off to see my lifeline, the doctor.  His doctor.  A woman, who I hoped, would realize that I’m a mom who doesn’t overreact or freak out over small issues.  That my concern was HUGE and WORTH her time.

1:30, I show up, exhausted and seeking help only to find out that I have an appointment scheduled with ANOTHER doctor, one with a reputation for a BAD bedside manner.

How could this happen? I exclaimed, I specifically said MY doctor.  My eyes welled up with tears.

No relief today. I left empty handed, with an appointment at the end of the week.  It was time to prepare myself for anther 2 hour kicking, screaming, scratching all out hysterical meltdown.

No relief.

After a good cry and a shower, I decided to pull up my boot straps and try again.

I formulated a temporary plan and did something different.  Instead of telling BC that I would lay with him for 5 minutes (part of our old routine), I decided to let him dictate the amount of time I’d lay with him.

I gave away my control.  And if you know me, you know how monumental that act was.  I. am. in. control. damn. it.  But I gave it away.

And I’ll be damned if that little stinker didn’t send me out of his room after only TWO minutes, promising me he was ready to sleep calmly without torturing me for the next two hours.

Two Minutes.  I gave up control and the problem, tonight, was solved.

Days like today, I realize that I, in fact, don’t have all the answers.  If I just take the time to listen to my kids, maybe they’ve been SREAMING their needs to me the whole time.

Skill Learned, BC, skill learned.

Separation Anxiety

Since this blog has basically turned into a photo journal lately…I thought I’d just continue the theme for one more post.

“Yes Mom.  I will rise to the occasion.”

The challenge: Five naps and bedtimes without sucking her thumb.

The result?: Success!!  eClaire successfully put herself to sleep 10 different times without sucking her thumb.  Unfortunately for us, her going to sleep routine which use to take less that 2.5 seconds extended itself to a little more than an hour each night.  Sigh.  All good things must come to an end.

eClaire’s End of Thumb Sucking Ceremony

“Look at me, Mommy, I did it!!  I don’t suck my thumb anymore. AND I can ‘fake smile’ with the best of them!”

The anticipation is killing her as Daddy takes the new doll out of it’s box.

Sweet success.

A proud Daddy with his daughter and her doll.  (Notice the real smile that’s now on eClaire’s face?  Precious..)

I’d like to say that this has been 100% successful, but in all honesty it has not.  eClaire still often sneaks her thumb at night,  Old habits die slowly.  This daughter of mine created a blister on her finger in utero because she was sucking on it even then.

But the success?  Both we and eClaire now know she’s not completely dependant on her thumb for sleep.  Armed with this knowledge, I hope that quitting the thumb once and for all is just around the corner!

Dolls with strings attached

The basics have been banned. You know, “What the hell” and “Damn it”. Even “Shit,” and “Oh my God!” are out.

But DAMage…not out. As passionately as BC tells me that it IS a bad word, I just don’t buy it. Yup, DAMage gets to stay.

Ya, we’re awful parents like that!

You know, the fact that our kids even know those phrases is a whole other topic that I probably shouldn’t get into today.

Ahem. But I digress.

“Shut up” and “Stupid” are crowd favorites here in the Bay Area.

But in our house? Yup. BANNED.

Poopyhead, MeanyPoopyHead, HeadyHeadyPoopyHead.

TOSSED like last night’s cookies.

A recent crowd favorite, “Goober.” GONE.

“What the HELL??” You might ask.

I know! Goober, of all words?

It was cute and all until BC got a timeout at the gym for shouting , “You’re such a goober!!” at a sweet little girl, promptly hurting her feelings.

OUT.

But the word that’s crept into our family’s mainstream vocabulary as quickly as my kids’ nails grow is DUH.

It was funny, like twice, which is precisely the reason that persistent little bugger has stuck around so long.

It’s always a solidifier when Mommy laughs her head off at her darling kids’ inappropriate behavior.

I’m not saying I DID that…but if I were to have been such a STUPID mommy, it might explain why my kids are so attached THAT word.

Hypothetical, of course.

Ahem.

Anyway, DUH is GONE. OUT. BYE BYE. Never to be heard from again.

…Until one day when I asked BC to put something on the sink.

“I already did that Mommy!! THE”

Excuse me??

THE??

As in DUH??

You gotta be kidding me!!??

So now I’m considering dumping one more word from our everyday life.

The.

But how can I get by without my the? It’s a handy stand by when I’m trying talk about THE situation at hand. Or when THE playroom is a mess and when I’ve asked my kids to clean it for THE eighteenth time.

X-ing out THE can really F*CK things up around here.

Wait. No, scratch that last sentence. F*UCK is automatically placed on the BANNED list of family life.

But you already knew that, didn’t you.…THE!!

The, the new Duh

I say, “Hub, I usually let BC dress himself.”

“Uh, Nette? He ‘s wearing tights.”

At that exact moment I was taking a sip of my tea.

My tea ended up all over my end table. Hub and I laughed until I almost peed. Then I asked BC to pose for a picture.

This is what I saw:

Just as I snorted, it’s the German in me-my mom says, eClaire pushed BC out of the way to say, “Ohh look at me, I’m sooooo cute.“

BC then eeked his way back into the picture to show me his HUGE muscles. And his tights. For the record, those “tights” are just long socks pulled up above his knees. His favorite way to wear them is with a pair of shorts and his Lightning McQueen Water Shoes… Zexy, I know!

Then eClaire is all, “Oh but I’m not just cute. I’m funny too! Look! Look! I’m FUNNY, Damn IT.” Well, she might not have said Damn It today.

And then she was all, “BC touched me!! He looked at me sideways, and I don’t like him.”  I rolled my eyes.

And she was like, “DON’T LOOK AT ME BC!! You ruined my life!! Why did you have to be such a pain in the butt brother!!???” Ahem.… excuse me. I may be channeling my own sibling angst here… I digress. Hi Uncle J… love you!

And then BC’s all, “OH NO SHE DIN’T“

And then eClaire decided she had enough, “MOMMY!!!! Waaaaa! Why are you laughing?? It’s NOT FUNNY!“

Aaaand Scene.
On a more positive note, when BC was asked to get a sweatshirt because it was still a bit chilly outside, he ran into his closet to get his favorite sweater.

Ya.

Bwhaahaahaa!! A future in fashion? I think not. Hey, at least he pulled his socks down, at Dad’s request!

The Evolution of a Meltdown

Hubby Santa had the genius idea to buy window markers and give it to the kids in their window stockings. In San Diego. At my parents house. With no less than 50 windows and French doors. I’m not exaggerating on that number either!

Smiling Mom Mrs. Clause knew her dad well enough and, let’s be honest, her kids well enough, to know that markers on a window and children at my parents house made for bad juju. (You are WELCOME Dad!) She made an executive decision not to put the those markers into their stockings.

Hubby found them yesterday.

Ahem.

Then eClaire found out that not only did the pink marker make for great abstract art, but it also made for a great lipstick color.

Ya. So.… That was fun!

My kids are such budding artists!

Oh! Oh!

And then today! My daughter thought she’d “help” (quote fingers implied) me make cupcakes for her upcoming birthday party! It was so much fun!! Having her help, I mean!! Look at what she did!!

Fun huh??!!

Yes. That is a bite mark. But wait there is more!

FIVE Cupcakes!! Thank goodness for frosting. No one will ever know the difference. hehehe

Frosting solves all problems.

Well..

Except for this one.

You see, I have this incredibly cruel sense of humor. I love to take pictures at totally inappropriate times.

Like just after eClaire gets off of time-out for EATING MY CUPCAKES!! Do you see the chocolate up on her forehead?

So funny!!

…I mean, so sad

But really, you couldn’t get a more pathetic picture if you tried!

And to answer the question that’s on all your minds, Yes. I’m already saving for her looming therapy sessions.

Here’s to lipstick and chocolate cake!

eClaire: AHHHHHHHH

BC: OK Santa, I know I wrote you, but I want some Lightning McQueen water shoes.…Ice Skates… NOT a Barbie Princess Doll!!  But you can give that to my sister.…..

eClaire: AHHHHHHHHHH

BC: And.…Also.….One more thing.…

eClaire: AHHHHHHHHHH

The Santa Torture

When he was two, booooy was he two.

I believe that God made BC an adorable angelic like sleeper to remind me that I wanted to keep him in spite of his more difficult days.

Two was a year of extremes.

BC was bad.  So bad.

but

He was also good, so good!

He learned incredible things while two.  His letters, compassion, kindness.

Sometimes, however, those lessons appeared in the form of .…let’s see.. 15 to 30 time outs a day.  A DAY.

On more than one occasion.

My son is a spirited soul.

But happy.

When I’d roll my eyes and say, “Ya, he’s two and has been since he was about 18 months old.  I’m looking forward to three to hit. Soon.”

The recipient, usually a mom of older kids, would say, “Ya?  Just wait until three. You’ll wish two would make  a comeback.”

Great.

Not what I wanted to hear.  Where was my gold at the end of the rainbow?  The light at the end of the tunnel?  Where was my relief?

Well, we made it through the twos, relatively unscathed.  Now we are smack dab in the middle of the threes and it has dawned on me what an amazing child I actually have!

BC’s behavior is not nearly as erratic as it was last year.  He’ a fantastic communicator and loves to talk to anyone, preferably older then him.  He is so gentle and kind to younger kids, just about always.  He rarely gets timeouts anymore, just one to two a day!

And he can clean.  Hubby, in his months long hiatus from work to recover from his shoulder, has turned my son into a cleaning machine.

Three has been great.

Sure there are the attitudes, the angry roars, the glares, the pouts.  But BC forgives me for them and we all get on with the day!

So next time someone tries to swipe your gold at the end of the rainbow, just remember, three has been better than two for us!

Ya? Just wait ’till he’s three