How Kids Punish You

Posted on September 1, 2013 by middleofthemadness

In the adult world, we tend to reciprocate nice things for other people, especially people we love and care about. We think – wow, it was really nice that Jane sent me a letter last week (wish people did that still), I’m going to give her a call. Or my office mate and I who take turns buying lunch each week. Niceness tends to be met with niceness. This is not necessarily (read “rarely”) the case in the parenting world!

For some insane reason (maybe the same one that leads a woman to face labor pains another time), I continue to take my boys to the Great Geauga County Fair year after year. Mind you – the fair is really a great time. There’s pig races to see which of the four swine reach the Oreo cookie first. A fireman battle of water jets pushing a ball across a wire to the opposite side. A big sandbox with hundreds of little green army men and “big” army trucks to play with. There’s fire trucks to climb into, combines and tractors to climb on, firemen to dunk with a thrown softball, and lots and lots of animals to pet and daringly walk past before being hooved in the chest. And of course, the ultimate event at any fair is the eardrum-numbing, motor-revving, dust-kicking, smoke-billowing Demolition Derby. Yes, every youngster’s dream (and adults, too, apparently) – drive as fast as you can to smash into as many cars as you can. Last wreck moving is the winner!

This is all good. But this goodness that mothers endure on behalf of their offspring typically comes at a high price (and I’m not even talking about the cost of food at the fair!). I’m talking about the incredible exacting cost of emotional energy to survive over-stimulated, under-slept, over-sugared, greased out, muddy, potentially disease infected animal petting kids. By 8 pm, my voice was cracking after continuous exposure to dust and smoke and smells….but mostly from repeating similar phrases again and again: “get back here,” “do not run ahead,” “stop touching that,” “don’t put that in your mouth,” “get back here,” “put that down,” “don’t touch that,” “get back here,” “stop running,” “get down from there.”

I sometimes think that the worst part of the 24-hour experience is trying to get them to settle at night in a new place as I’m spewing out threat after ineffective threat, praying they don’t break the accordion room divider of my friends’ RV or would stop playing with the window, or really – have I never told you not to shine a bright light into your eyes?!? RVs are just so dang fun!

But that’s a momentary punishment when it comes to the 6 hours I must endure the following afternoon with two over-stimulated, under-slept, over-sugared, greased out, now bathed little maniacs. (Yes, it was just two….I wisely decided that The Little Guy would be much happier….I mean, his mother would be much less stressed if he decided to spend the night with his loving grandmother instead of playing in the mud at the fair. He naturally dished out his version of punishment by virtually ignoring me for a bit once we got home just to show his displeasure…and of course, by running to his aunt for a hug instead of me….little bugger!) Mr. Ornery and Super Tall Guy regaled me hours and hours of noise, sibling fighting, squabbling, yelling, and general disobedience as a thank-you gift for the trip.

I stood in the shower this evening (washing off the mud and potentially disease infected animal substances) pondering how these little creatures repay “fun times with mommy” with “torture mommy” until she throws her hands up and practically swears “I’m never going to take you to do anything fun ever again!” (….until the next fun event).

And of course, I know that they are not trying to punish me. They are decompressing from a wonderful weekend, experiencing the disappointment of knowing that high intensity fun is over and “life” returns to normal, dealing with additional siblings in the house, coping with drastic changes to a generally well-aligned schedule, and of course, just being really, really tired.

So, just like the woman who faces labor again having “forgotten” (not really) the pains of last time, I shake off the “pain” of the day, wash away the mud, and prepare eagerly for the next Labor Day weekend. After all, we have more pigs to cheer for, firemen to dunk, ponies to ride and cars to smash. But they better not punish me the next time we do something fun!

‘Twas the night before First Grade

Posted on August 25, 2013 by middleofthemadness

Seems like a pretty big first-grader!

‘Twas the night before first grade

And all through the house

The boys were all tucked in

Quiet as a mouse

(which is baloney, because I had

a pet mouse and they are never

ever quiet!)

The eldest is heading

To school the next day

The summer is over

Much to my dismay.

(I still have a list of things to do

this summer – ride bikes in

Ohiopyle, visit Presque Isle….)

I’m standing here staring

At an empty box for his lunch,

Wondering what to put in it

To satisfy his munch.

(Sadly chicken nuggets aren’t going

to cut it at this school – poor boy

is going to be starving!)

We visited the school

He left in a panic –

I’m hoping he sits still

Because usually he’s quite manic,

(and never sits still unless there’s

a television on….or he’s asleep!)

He picked out a t-shirt

With a shark in plain view;

My “boring” alternatives

Clearly just wouldn’t do,

(though I did win out on the

“Totally Jawsome” and other

monstrous -looking shirt choices)

I warned him there’d be pictures

And probably some tears

My first-born little boy

Is getting on in his years.

(I don’t know – I cried at Kindergarten

drop-off….we’ll see how I do in the

morning. You might want to check out my

red puffy eyes a little later.)

Name change

Posted on August 18, 2013 by middleofthemadness

We spent the week at the beach. Little Seth survived this excursion with all remaining teeth intact. He has however developed a much greater vocabulary since the first vacation and is now able to say, “I fell on rock” when you ask, “where’s your tooth?”

It was a very nice week from which I walked away with a few insights.

Some people say that they take their kids outside or to a playground or somewhere to let them run around for a couple hours and tire them out so that they sleep better. I realized that to tire out my boys, we have to spend 2 hours on the beach, 2 hours at the pool and hot tub, back for 1.5 hours on the beach and 2.5 hours in the pool/hot tub. Sunshine, sand castles and surf-boards definitely required. Then and only then will they fall asleep. (In fact, after 3 days of this schedule, Micah fell asleep at 5:12 pm one evening and slept through the night….until 5:30 the next morning!)
My mother and sister are fantastic! They let me get out 3 mornings for a run – it was delightful to have a break from the boys (especially the morning that Micah decided to have a fit).
In general, I have a rule of “no TV on vacation” – this rule, however, has a couple exceptions, such as “except when you’re really bothering me and I need some quiet” and “except when we’re staying in a small condo with glass furniture and you are really being a pest to the other boys,” and naturally “except when it’s a continuous rain day.”
I spent one of my runs pondering names. I realized I have trouble while writing this blog remembering what the boys’ “fictional” names are, so I’ve decided to start using their real names:
- Little Guy is the tiny little two-year-old. He gets that name because he really is very small….in comparison to the rest of the boys around him. He probably looks quite huge, though, if you’re a long-haired teddy bear hamster.
- Mr. Ornery is the four-year-old, who is actually more impish (mischievous) than he is ornery (ill-tempered), but let’s face it – “Mr. Ornery” has a better ring than “Mr. Imp” so I plan to use it despite Merriam-Webster’s definitive definition. Mr. Ornery likes to run around in cahoots with my sister’s 3-year-old son, henceforth to be referred to as “The Rascal.” The Rascal is really a mix of Dennis the Menace, Curious George and Tansmanian Devil. He is brilliant and knows exactly what he should and shouldn’t do….and therefore does all the “shouldn’t do’s” in as rapid a sequence as possible. I have often said that The Rascal has a “two minute leash” – if you can’t see where he is and what he’s doing within 2 minutes, you better get off your bum and go find him. Of late, I’ve noted that Mr. Ornery and The Rascal have a “1 minute leash” whenever they disappear together. The Rascal has had 2 haircuts in the past 2 weeks by a Mr. Ornery who denies the very possibility even when the evidence is within his own hands.
- Super Tall Boy – this is my attempt to be edifying towards the 7-year-old, because I’m more likely to call him “The Grump” than any other descriptor….but that seems a bit judgmental. Actually, I have told Super Tall Boy several (and I mean MANY) times now, that I am going to officially change his name to “One.” Now that he knows my joke, he actually gets grumpy when I say it, but I do remind him that I can call him by his “real” name 4 or 5 times, but I never get a response. However, if I say “O-n-e” in just that tone, I get an immediate “what?” I used to consider this a joke until this afternoon, when The Rascal had disappeared for 117 seconds and I thought I better find him. I called his name 7 or 8 times as I walked around the house. Finally, I said “Rascal, I’m going to put you in time out if you don’t come out……One….” As soon as the word “one” left my mouth, ST Boy who was playing a video game in the other room said “What?!?” I laughed – deny it as much as you’d like, but your name is “One.”
By an eagle’s flight, the beach is 10 hours from our house. It took us over 15 hours to get home yesterday. We reached our driveway around 1:20 am and I carried the younger two boys up to bed. This woke them up and they chattered and played for a few minutes until getting to sleep. Consequently, I have little alertness tonight and off to bed….hoping for more than 4 hours tonight. I am a night owl….I wish my boys weren’t morning birds!
Guess which print is Mr. Ornery’s!

Oh Drat – this is really all up to me?!?

Posted on August 11, 2013 by middleofthemadness

At a late dinner tonight, I turned to my sister and asked, “So, did you sign up for any school lunches yet?” She said that’s one of her biggest disappointments so far in the new school the older boys will attend in two weeks – a lack of a real cafeteria to make hot lunches. I mentioned I really hated making school lunches as Micah has such a limited array in his diet (hmm, strawberry or grape in his jelly sandwich?). She agreed that it was good when the school provided lunches because it gave the boys exposure to foods they normally wouldn’t eat at all.

And then it hit me….

The absolutely incredible responsibility I have for how these boys turn out on so many different levels! (Well, this isn’t the first time it did, but it’s another time it did.) From the miniscule of what foods I offer to the boys….to the grandiose of what places we visit on vacation. From the school that they enter….to the music that they listen to. What I provide shapes so much of their life. Playing sports, appreciating art, learning an instrument. I mean, why would they ever eat a mushroom? I never serve any.

And part of what I do in shaping their scale of choices is such a function of my own experiences and likes. And I’m particularly conscious of the fact that although my boys are biracial (equally Caucasian and African American)….they are growing up “White” for that is what I know. So when a man passing us on the beach today remarks about Noah, “what a great tan he has,” I just smile and say “wouldn’t his skin be great?” …knowing that his beautiful coloring is more natural him than the sun’s effects.

I know that the boys have true rhythm within them, but I don’t dance. I know that I say Micah should play basketball rather than football when he grows up, and yet we all watch the Steelers together and rarely turn on a basketball game. My boys wear the clothes they wear because my sense of style fills their drawers. They eat what I generally eat (sometimes) because I put it on the table. They are learning my comfort level.

We are at the beach this week. It gives me a small bit of time to wane philosophic in the midst of stressing to make sure the head pops back up after the wave passes, balls remain an “outside toy” rather than fly through the “adult-focused” beach condo, and keeping a close eye out for any rocks or other hidden obstacles that might attempt to knock Seth’s other front tooth out!

My mothering bucket list:

Travel into and/or through as many states as possible
Visit the National Parks
Make sure they learn piano no matter how much they hate it and how expensive the bribes become
Model more reading for pleasure
Camp in a tent for at least two nights in a row (sleeping in a friend’s backyard and sneaking into the house in the middle of the night doesn’t count, does it?!?)

Help me….what else needs to be on my bucket list?

Thankful for who they are

Posted on August 5, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I wasn’t trying to stare. But I kept stealing glances. Looks a lot like a stroller, but definitely a wheelchair. Somewhere around age 6 to 8. Large head. Thick glasses. Spastic stiff legs. The mother sat beside me. We were waiting for the eye doctor. Seth was back for a check-up about his left eye which tended to drift off and find its own interesting things to look at, but was now behaving and working as a team player with the other eye.

The doctor was running unusually late. We mentioned that to each other. Slowly we chatted a little more – she’s 5, 77 pounds, can’t walk, doesn’t sleep so the mother is up for two nights and sleeps two nights. “You going to be here for a few minutes?” (apparently!!) “Oh yes,” I responded and she went off to the bathroom. She was so thankful when she returned, saying that she never does that – leaving her daughter alone – but she just had to. I commiserated that she must spend a lot of time at appointments. I’m not sure I could do that.

My boys jump off couches (even the 2-foot-24-pound 2-year old), dive into pools, and climb trees…all today. They cut each others’ hair, spill milk on the carpet, and kick in glass windows. They irritate each other. They irritate me. They fuss, they whine, they yell (well, so do I). Yet, they are (generally) healthy and full of life. They are exhausting, but they are full of life.

We visited with a friend of mine at a new pool today. Micah and Noah ran in and out of the water (the lifeguard says “no running,” the Mommy says “no running,” the paint on the cement says “no running”)….Micah and Noah ran in and out of the water and up and down a little hill. Seth chased them except whenever they got close to the water and Mommy blocked his goal. As she left with her two small quiet children, my friend remarked, “wow, they are really active. I don’t know how you do it.”

I guess if I would pause to think of what an energy drain they are (as I am now), I would be totally and completely exhausted (as I am now). Throw the football. Throw the baseball. Hit the birdie. I think I have lateral epicondylitis (pain) in my right elbow tonight after a full day of throwing.

And sometimes I pause and wonder if I’m just being too carefree with them. Should I reign in some of that energy? Should I be more firm? Are they too rambunctious? These are questions that are probably too reflective, too serious for someone in my exhausted condition….

Instead I might ponder some of my favorite quotes of the day:

Overheard in the other room: “Look, I have painted fingernails….isn’t that awesome?”

“I love you this much, Noah.” “I love you to the sun.” “Oh, yeah, well I love you to Pluto, Noah.” (still wanting it to be a planet) “Yes, but I love you to New Jersey…that’s far isn’t it?”

“Mommy, when I grow up, I’m going to be Mr. Incredible. He’s stronger than the whole earth!”

“You had a really good day today, Micah.” “I know – I was only in time-out one time, or maybe two times. That’s good. That’s much better than 6 or 7 times.”

3 Things you absolutely positively cannot control, so quit trying!

Posted on July 27, 2013 by middleofthemadness

And the sooner you learn this, the better parent you will be.1. You cannot control your child’s sleep. This you learn pretty early on. You can help your baby fall asleep by rocking and soothing. You can try to make sure the room is a perfect temperature, dimly lit, comforting, and definitely not too noisy. You can put a sign on the door bell that asks people not to ring it during nap or evening time. You can even have a video monitor of your child’s crib to make sure all elements are under control. But the little being inside that crib doesn’t really care about your efforts at all. If he’s tired, he’ll sleep (in your arms, in the crib, in the car seat, on the floor, on the back of a donkey – he doesn’t care – he’ll sleep!). If he’s not tired, he won’t – even if you’re tired, even if you’ve controlled every single possible aspect of the environment around him, even if you threaten him (or promise to reward him). He doesn’t care. If he doesn’t want to sleep yet – he won’t.

So calm down, grab a book, sit on the floor outside the room and wait it out!

2. You cannot control your child’s “waste” systems – neither of them (well, not the third – the vomitus system – either!). He will eventually learn to control it himself, when he wants to using whatever reward/consequence system that he wants to. You have no control over this. Come now – imagine going through two whole years of your life with some absorbent thick elasticky material between your legs to “catch” you know what. And the changing of said messy “diaper” was completely random and usually involved being laid down at times in which you definitely were involved in something else and not what you wanted to do. And sometimes you’d be subjected to this indignity when you were dry, sometimes when it was coming down your legs, and sometimes you just had to endure “the sniff.”

But…. then sometime around 2 to 3 years of age, you’re expected to suddenly stop messing up this diaper thing and instead there is whooping and hollering every time your urine and excrement land in a pool of water that whooshes petrifyingly in an ever-narrowing circle until a huge swallowing glug rings out. And this is thought to be “normal”….hmmmm…..

So let’s face it – you, the parent, have no control over when this child decides to transition from “yep, done” to “Mommy, mommy, I have to go pee!”

3. The third, and probably my most frustrating, is the realization that you also have no control over the child’s vocal activities! And, by golly, they figure this one out pretty young – screeching repetitively and annoyingly in the back seat of the car out of the reach of your sweeping hands. Sharing “sensitive” information — “Mommy, that man has no hair” — in the middle of the silence of the congregations’ prayer. Or, “That man’s smoking, he’s going to die” as we walk past. Or the Little Guy who just stands in the middle of the kitchen floor screaming and screaming and screaming ….

Nothing can stop the determined disturber of the peace. Somehow, yelling at a yelling toddler to stop yelling just doesn’t seem to have the right effect. And shoving their mouths full of Kleenex would likely impair breathing and not be such a good thing. Even sending them to the time out stairs does not affect the chalk-on-board volume level emitting from their vocal cords.

It’s particularly frustrating when you have no idea why the illogical youngster is melting in a fit of whines, tears and screams. It happened to 4 out of 5 boys one morning this week, during the 15 minutes before getting all five shoed and shooed out the door. My strategy – pretend not to hear anything, pretend my frustration level is not skyrocketing and my blood pressure not soaring. Guide, cajole, demand, plead…anything….anything to get them in the car and deliver them to the substitute caregivers for the day. Then smile and say “good luck.”

Yes, once you figure out in the early years that you actually cannot control these little creatures, you’ll be quite ready for the teen years!

Ps….you also can’t control the number of stickers they choose to decorate with, the number of windows they break, or how much water they splash out of the tub!

Love is patient, love is kind. It…

Posted on July 21, 2013 by middleofthemadness

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8Love never fails.

The other day I was playing “catch” with Noah – which essentially means that I try my very best to throw a baseball directly into his half-open stiff baseball glove despite him occasionally jumping out of the way when he judges that the ball could possibly touch him. Throw after throw, I reminded myself that “this” is what it means to be patient…and suddenly the 1^st Corinthian’s verse (13:4-8) popped into my head. And I began to wonder why it is used in almost every wedding ceremony I know to describe the love of two adults….

…..when clearly it was written as encouragement for parents.

Love is patient – and that’s not just in playing catch, it’s in repeating 3 times “do not spill the water, Do not spill the water, DO NOT spill the water…..ahhhh! You spilled the water!” Right. Big breath. Patience.

Love is kind – it is going out of your way to do things for your kids. For example, we’ll just say that maybe the chocolate flavoring was empty and the other night I ran to Target to get some chocolate for Noah’s morning cup of milk….just because I know how much he likes it. Wow – that was nice of me! (boast)

It does not envy – okay, let’s be honest, sometimes it does envy the single friends who go home and sit on the couch, have a quiet dinner, watch some TV and sleep in late on a Saturday morning….

It does not boast. It is not proud. – I certainly don’t boast (too often) about my “love” for my boys – but I love to “boast” about my boys! There’s something so delightful in being proud of your children. When they take their first step. Pedal on two wheels instead of four. Ride a roller coaster solo for the first time. Jump off the diving board. The heart flutters and the mouth wants to scream “that’s my boy” – and you know that usually the only one who understands the depth of this pride is another parent (or grandma!).

This though – this is a hard one. “It is not easily angered.” This one can be a struggle for me. We had a lovely day at Idlewild Park today – just perfect – and I knew we should probably have left around 4pm for the hour drive home. But we were doing “just one more ride” and letting Noah get on the roller coaster for the first time….and it was closer to 5 when we headed to the car. By that time, though, Micah had surpassed his coping threshold and sat on a bench refusing to walk to the car. Threats. Bribes. Cajoling. Tons of energy and finally he dragged along behind me as I pushed the stroller and kept Noah beside me.

When Micah picked up a handful of rocks, though, Noah began nervously looking over his shoulder – I knew he was wondering if Micah would throw them at him. We got to the car, I opened the doors to tuck Seth in….. Micah showered the rocks against the back of the van. I flipped….long streams of meaningless words….got him into the van, demanding that he get in his seat and buckle up. It took 15 minutes and two stops alongside the road “to rest” before his tears and my anger subsided.

“It keeps no records of wrongs” – oh yes it does! Actually, the behavior (“that was really a bad decision, Micah” – substitute in the word “stupid” a couple times, though I keep trying not to) receives consequences (no TV for the next 3 weeks unless you earn some time back), but I have to be able to let it go. I have to work through the frustration of “you ruined a perfectly good day by having a fit at the end.” I have to think through how I could have helped that transition go more smoothly. I have to figure out how to not “flip out” the next time myself.

I sit here still this evening, saddened by the darkness that reared in ugly fury. Frustrated. A true dragon.

Yet, I cling to these words – for these are the words of a parents’ love: “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” Read them again.

We hug. We snuggle into bed. Kiss goodnight.

Tomorrow we will do better.

Love will not fail.

The Little Guy

Posted on July 13, 2013 by middleofthemadness

Sometimes I think it must stink to be “the Little Guy” in this household. At just barely cruising along the 3^rd percentile line for height and weight, Seth is just starting (at age 2) to fit into 18-month size clothing, while Kenny (age 3) is rapidly overtaking Noah’s clothing (size 4) and Noah is trying to push Ryan out of his 5T size….while Micah just laughs at all of them from his 4 ½ foot, 76 pound frame. And then he flicks the wind in Seth’s direction….and Seth blows over.

And yet, Seth doesn’t take any crap from any of them. He’ll jump right onto Micah and goes for the throat – well, the face actually….and just as effective. He’ll push Kenny right back, while stumbling to the ground. He’ll screech at Noah when a toy is taken. And….hmmmm….he and Ryan pretty much ignore each other.

Tonight the “older” boys (Micah and Noah) spent the night at their grandparents. I ran a couple errands with Seth and found myself making silly faces and blowing bubbles on him and chatting away with him. He rarely (RARELY) gets that kind of attention that Micah got ALL the time when he was little and Noah got a ton of. Now in the car, the other two are so busy talking over each other (9.25 minutes post) that I can barely hear, much less talk to, Seth.

I tucked him into bed tonight and sat beside the crib/bed (one side has been removed due to climbing hazards) and sang him to sleep. I can’t remember the last time we had one-on-one at night – probably sometime when he was a tiny baby….yep, like at 2:00am when I would feed him and we’d both fall asleep! I stayed with him until his eyes closed, watching him breathe and thinking about how little time over the course of the day, if I were to actually measure it, he would have with me, with undivided attention.

Probably….regretfully….really miniscule. I spend a great deal of time managing and strategizing how to manage Micah’s behavior and emotional outbursts. I am constantly trying to outwit and outpsych the 4-year-old who is trying to push me over the edge. I often look at Seth and say “oh, hello, little guy.”

So, if your line of vision was someone’s knee caps….and the people whose bellies you had visual access of were constantly trying to flatten you to the floor….do you think you might develop an annoying screeching whine as an attention-getting mechanism? And if you feel constantly ignored and yet having to defend whatever object is in your possession from sudden attackers, what kind of adult would you grow up to be? Strong and Stubborn?

I’m wondering if I might need to be a bit more patient with Seth…..

And I know for sure that he could use some more one-on-one time….rather than my pure surprise that he’s made it through another day in the middle of the boy madness and is ready to be tucked into bed.

And if he would cool it with the 5:30am wake-up times, he and I could become best of buddies…I’m pretty sure!

How my 4-year-old Tries to Torture Me

Posted on July 9, 2013 by middleofthemadness

“Give me rules

I will break them

Give me lines

I will cross them”

I paid attention to the words of the song “More like Falling in Love” by Jason Gray today. This is my Noah: “Oh, I’m sorry, Mom – did I just walk right over your line?” “Did you really mean ‘no’ or was that just a little suggestion?” “You’re kidding? You’ve told me a 100 times not to touch your dental floss…that stuff that goes on and on forever?”

I was out of town last week for an overnight. I struggled with going away. I miss the boys. I know that I will miss the boys. I also know that it is delicious to have a night away – I slept until 7:20 – and could have gone back to sleep if I didn’t have a meeting to get to.

So Micah was on strict orders to “be good for Grandma” as he is the one who often gets off-kilter when the schedule changes up in any way. In fact, I told him that if he did behave, I would reward (read “bribe”) him with a Nerf gun to play with our good friends that we were going to visit for the 4^th. As Nerf toys generally “disappear” in a household where we “don’t shoot people” (why is that such a hard concept for little boys to understand?!?!), this “reward” seemed quite enticing to him.

In fact, when I returned on Tuesday, Gammie reported that “Micah was an angel”….. “your Noah, on the other hand, was a terror.” Oh, so I had this confused. Apparently (I learned from my mother), Noah has decided that the fact that “everybody loves my curly hair” now gives him total and complete leeway to “break the rules and cross the lines.” He really is stinkin’ cute, but….

Now I hate to start invoking the “second child” phenomenon as I am one (and thereby close to perfect!)….but this little 4-year-old is certainly working on creativity.

Not only does he talk nonstop – as evidenced in last week’s “bonus post” (which makes up for this week’s late post?) – but he is the most frequently occurring name on the House Damage List, particularly in the broken glass domain.

He is the sneak who drops candy wrappers behind the couch.

He is the voice in Kenny’s ear telling him to “push that button,” “pull that string,” touch the forbidden fruit.

He is the whine of “Micah hit me, pushed me, pulled my hair, did something to me that I don’t even know but seems like a good way to get a bit of attention.”

He is also becoming nightmarish at bedtime:

Me: “Pee, wash hands, brush teeth” – my nightly mantra (trying to reinforce this proper order)

Read books, Say prayers, Tuck in

N: bounce up, jump out of bed, walk out the door

Me: Tuck in

N: jump out of bed

Me: Threaten time-out

N: jump out of bed

Me: Ignore

N: wake up Seth and Micah

Me: (face red) threaten anything that pops into my brain

N: follow me down the stairs

Me: close door to the upstairs and fume

N: pound on door

Repeat the cycle until I wise up and walk away. I usually just ignore bumps and bangs and groans, unless followed by blood-curdling noises. An hour or two later, I get up and go try to find him. I’m developing a nice photo album called “Noah Sleeps” – on the floor, on the stairs, on his bed, on Micah’s bed, on my bed, did I mention on the stairs?

Last night I heard him sobbing and I went up to find out what was wrong. He stood naked at the top of the stairs (why?!?) and sobbed, “I fell down the stairs.” Unfortunately, I was not really in a very sympathetic mood as we had just had 3 or 4 rounds of the above chorus, but he was clearly traumatized by an unknown number of tumbles and melted my heart when he said “I need a hug.”

For he is also the little guy who when I call to check in the night I’m out of town says, “Mommy, I still love you.” The one who plays with me back-and-forth a little game of who loves who more (but not in the creepy pathological way of Disney’s Tangled movie!). The one who tries really hard to get his fingers into the “I love you” sign position and then calls out, “look, Mommy.” The one who demands that I sit next to him every morning for his cup of milk and a good snuggle.

My incredibly sweet torturer. Wonder what tomorrow holds?

9.25 minutes

Posted on July 3, 2013 by middleofthemadness

9:25 minutes

That’s how long it takes to get to my mom’s house from ours….give or take a few seconds depending on the sequence of the stop lights and whether we shoot through one of the back alleys or not.

This is the sound track in the Odyssey for a very very small portion of those 9+ minutes (to the very highest degree of accuracy that my memory might allow….which probably isn’t great):

N: Mom, when we get there are we going to eat dinner? I’m hungry.

M: I want chicken nuggets and….

N: I didn’t pee in my pants at naptime today.

Me: That’s great N….

M: I kept my pull-up dry last night

N: Is Auntie behind us?

Me: M, that was your second pull-up, we changed…

N: Why is Auntie not behind us?

N: Are they coming?

S: arrghgh

Me: Yes, Sam, that is a boat

N: Can we buy a boat, Mommy?

Me: I don’t have enough…

M: When we go to Tim & Ben’s tomorrow, will we see fireworks?

N: I’m going to stay up to midnight.

Me: We’ll see how your behavior is. You should probably nap…

N: Is Auntie behind us now?

M: Can we play in the pool at Gammie’s?
Me: Yes. We are going to have a birthday party for K.

N: Are they coming yet?

N: Oh look, there’s a black hic-cup truck!

S: Op-day to you, Op-day to you…

N: I want a big hic-up truck!

Me: That’s right Sammy…

N & M: Mom, can Is I Tim have bigger a than cupcake me??

Me: Tim is older

N: Mom, can I?

M: You promised you were going to take me to the store.

N: Oh, I see the fireman

Me: I know, honey….

M: I’m almost bigger than you, Mom.

N: and the fire truck

M: Can we go the back way?

Me: Which way is the…

N: the men are sitting on the bench

S: blargh, grapth

N: I’m going to put on that big helmet at Tim & Ben’s.

N: Can we buy them a big fire truck?

M: We need a big dog

S: Doggy

N: Is Auntie going to beat us there?

M: My seat keeps falling over.

N: I was a good listener this day.

N: Is Auntie there yet?

I turned off the radio long ago…..and sometimes just drive along listening to the cacophony….wondering why I even bother to interject at all….

And sometimes I wonder – how can anyone expect me to have sustained attention at work anymore? After all, I am being constantly conditioned to listen to 3 different things and process none of it.

But I sure would like to know why 4-year-olds talk so much?!?

N: Mom, are we there yet?