Thanks to a Facebook app, I was able to review most of my status updates for the year, and decided to recopy most of the ones pertaining to the boys for this blog. Enjoy :D
March 2010
Superhero: Look at my picture mommy!
Me: Very Nice. What is it?
Superhero: It's a dead talking shoe monster. And these are the ants it ate--this one is a big leaf cutter ant and this one is a small usual ant.
Me: So, he ate the ants? Is that why he died?
Superhero: No, he's a stinky shoe monster. Soap and water killed him. And now he's all dead.
Things I never dreamed I'd hear myself say: "Please stop putting banana in your eye. I promise, it's not going to hurt any less the fourth time."
Superhero: I wish I had a jet pack like this one (points to his giant Buzz Armstrong)
John: I'll see if I can find you one. Maybe a nicer one.
Me: WHAT did you just tell him?
John: What? He broke his Buzz Armstrong and wants a new one, right?
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a perfect example of the dangers of not listening to your children.
April 2010
Woman at store: Are they twins?
Me: Yes (internally: No, I just wanted to be ironic by dressing them in identical blue outfits.)
her: How sweet! A boy and a girl!
Me: Two Boys.
Her: Are you sure?
Me: *flabbergasted murmurings in the affirmative*
Her: That one looks like a girl.
May 2010
Dear Fighter: That new textbook cost more than a four month supply of diapers for you and your brother. Go near it with that crayon again, and you'd better be prepared to use the potty. Love & kisses, Mommy.
Superhero was sobbing a few minutes ago because he couldn't figure out how to fly. When John pointed out that he didn't have a wishing stone, he switched his focus to that, and is now begging his daddy to tell him where and how to get a wishing stone. I love my life.
June 2010
Is really close to instating the 'don't touch your brother, ever, no matter what' rule.
is finding it difficult to study with Fighter on her lap, but it's even harder to put him down.
July 2010
Call from front desk in the middle of the night--are we missing a child? As it turns out, the answer was yes, yes we ARE missing a child. We'll be right down to collect him.
Superhero: Daddy, I'm sucking on my toes but I can't put my foot in my mouth. It's too big.
John: It's ok. Your mouth will grow, and in a few years you'll be putting your foot in your mouth all the time.
Superhero: Can I watch the Zoboomafoo about humans please?
Me: What are humans?
Superhero: You know, humans are like me, and you, and daddy.
Me: What about your brothers?
Superhero: I skipped them because they're not humans. They're brothers.
Me: Superhero should have been asleep hours ago. Why was he crying?
John: He stuck his fingers in Artist's mouth, and Artist bit him.
Me: Wow, that's shocking.
John: Was to Superhero apparently.
me: Why'd he stick his fingers in Artist's mouth in the first place?
John: I don't know, I didn't ask. I just told them both to go to sleep.
I couldn't make this stuff up.
August 2010
broke a nail AND taught Fighter a new word. yes, those two events WERE connected. Welcome back, Monday, welcome back.
Superhero: Mommy, I don't think I like these squishy round things with the yellow stuff on them.
Me: That's cheesy potatoes, and you don't know if you like it because you've never tried it. You know the rule, three bites.
Superhero (1st bite) YUCK! I told you I didn't like it.
Me: Two more bites.
Superhero (2nd bite) Yuck YUCK YUCK! (3rd bite) MmmmMmmmmmMm. You're right mommy. The third bite made the squishy potatoes taste yummy.
Kindergarten orientation this morning. Mommy filled out lots of paperwork while Superhero and most of his class discussed shapes and colors, wrote their names, drew pictures, and apparently had a grand time, since Superhero didn't want to leave when it was time. I'm glad they're easing me in to this, though--I didn't cry yet, but it's coming :D
is taking Fighter for an X-ray to make sure he didn't break his leg. Life is never dull around here.
Dear sons: 1. Saturdays are for sleeping in. 2. Seven thirty is NOT sleeping in. Learn these two rules now, or I promise they will come back to bite you in ten years when you're a teenager. Love & Kisses, Mom
September 2010
I love how excited Artist & Fighter get when they hear the word 'crayons'. Fighter claps his hands and Artist babbles excitedly until I give them the paper and the crayons . Artist then carefully examines his color choices to decide which he wants to use first. Fighter examines his selection to decide which will be most tasty.
Artist: Knock knock
John: Who's there?
Artist: CHEESE!!!
John: Cheese who?
Artist (a little confused): Cheese say knock knock?
6am. That's the time all THREE boys decided to get up this morning. On a SUNDAY!! I'm beginning to think my children have no sense of self preservation.
Superhero: You know what I don't have? Night vision. I think I need a scope and goggles. I think I should talk to Nana about that. She likes buying me cool stuff.
Yesterday, I thought Superhero was exaggerating his 'illness' so that he could stay home from school. This morning, he threw up in my bed. Guess that showed me.
The 'little bug' morphed. We're off to the pediatrician.
No strep or meningitis, some other random virus. Superhero feels horrid, the twins are feeling bad, and John & I both have that look people get when they see the tornado coming.
Superhero(watching TV) Mom, I want that thing on the commercial for my birthday.
Me: That thing? (commercial change)
Superhero: Yeah, and that thing too. Actually, I want all the commercials' things I've seen this morning.
Me: ALL of them?
Superhero: Yes. *COUGH* Mommy, I feel SO sick . . . .
I think my munchkin knows how to manipulate me.
October 2010
Superhero, on the phone with my mother:
Guess what musical instrument I'm playing? *plays it* I'll give you a hint. It's metal, two pieces, and it's shaped kind of like a triangle, but one vertex is disconnected.
*pause*
A vertex is a corner or point on a triange, rectangle, or square.
He's not even six yet!
Earlier, Artist had a screaming fit because he broke a nail. Literally. Then Fighter climbed up on top of a shelf in their room and threatened to jump if John left the room (it was nap time). So come clean--who snuck an extra Monday into my week?
just said "Superhero, put down those swords and finish your homework right now!" For real.
Me: Artist, do you want pancakes or eggs for breakfast?
Artist: Pizza!
me: Artist, you cannot have pizza for breakfast. You are not a frat boy. Do you wa--
Artist:(in full meltdown mode) Artist frat boy! Artist frat boy! Artist Pizza! Artist Pizza! Pizz-- (changes from meltdown to supersweet) Peeeeeeese pizza Mama?
Superhero: Daddy, next time I want ribs, please cut them into even smaller pieces. My mouth is so tiny and my teeth are so small that I need little food, see? *opens mouth so wide it looks like he's swallowing his own head*
November 2010
An HOUR past bedtime, and Artist just fell into a flat wall and got the worst, bleeding black eye I have ever seen in my life! Life around here is many things, but it is never, EVER dull!
Me: Superhero, what's this piece of paper in your backpack?
Superhero: That's an invitation to R's birthday party.
Me: Who is April? Her name is on this, too.
Superhero: April is a month. R's birthday is in April, so I made her say she would have her party at Billy Bob's and invite me. That's the contract I made her sign.
Artist: Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama
me: Yes Artist?
Artist: doin'?
Me: Slicing this bread I baked.
Artist: K. *2 second pause, repeat series. 5 times*
Me: Artist, Mommy really likes having you in the kitchen, but saying Mama, mama over and over annoys me a little.
Artist: K. *2 second pause* Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy . . .
Superhero: Sky diving is easy.
me: Did you just say "sky diving is easy"?
Superhero: Yes. Really, mom, it's the landing that's hard.
December 2010
John (to Artist): You look cool.
Artist: I am cool
said with the gravity of a legal proclamation:
"Artist, PeePee is serious business."
Superhero: Pretend this backpack I'm wearing is a jetpack. And these bug glasses are training goggles. And that this xylophone hammer is a light saber. And that I have clothes on.
My wonderful Artist just decided to have a tantrum on the stairs. Now he's crying because his head hurts (he banged it on the stairs) and his very sensitive daddy is saying "Yeah, I bet that does hurt. Maybe next time you'll think it through."
Popcorn popped. Cute ChristmasjJammies on (everyone who isn't old enough to drive, anyway). Everyone settled. Lights off. Operation Family Movie Night: How To Train Your Dragon edition can commence! (and yes, I DID get outvoted on movie choice)
Just overheard this bedtime story: There once were three little boys. Their Daddy gave them a bath and put their pajamas on them, read them a story and sang them a song, and told them it was time to go to sleep. But the boys didn't go to sleep; they kept playing and playing even though Daddy told them several times to go to sleep. Then a monster ate them. Good Night!
Artist: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
Artist: Poopy
Me: Poopy who?
Artist: Poopy STINKY!! *pause* That funny, mommy. That funny. You laugh now.
Me: Did you guys just put a spaceship on my Christmas tree?
John: It's a Star Wars X-Wing Fighter.
Me: Awesome. 'cause nothing says Christmas like a Star Wars X-wing glider made of multi-colored, metallic pipe cleaners.
Superhero: It's also a puppy.
John: Oh, yeah, it's also a puppy.
Superhero: Mom, I want epic monkey.
Me: What is that?
Superhero: It's a video game about a monkey with a gun.
Me: The video game is epic MICKEY, it's a mouse with a paint brush.
*pause*
Superhero: Can I have my game instead? Yours sounds boring.
Me: Superhero, I thought I told you to let your brother nap?
Superhero: I did. He woke up all by himself
Me: It doesn't count as waking up by himself if you're hitting him over the head with a light saber.
Superhero: Oh, well how was I supposed to know that. Nobody told me!
Me: Superhero?
Superhero: Yes mommy?
Me: It's time to get up for school
*pause*
Superhero: mommy, why do I have to get up in the middle of the night? Can't school wait 'til morning?
Superhero: Hey, on Wednesday, I won't have school tomorrow!
This is technically true, as he doesn't have school on Thursday, but it took me a while to puzzle that one out. He's like a little mini sphinx. Only human (sort of).
The irony of living in my house it that you find yourself saying things like 'Stop reading that book and colour RIGHT NOW!"
Slept thought my alarm and woke up to Superhero saying 'Mommy, I think I heard my bus go by." Then realized I couldn't just dress him and put him in the car, because no one would be here with the twins. Then I realized the van was nearly out of gas ($3.09 a gallon!!))). I miss my husband :(
Reflection
I always get reflective around this time of year. After all, my boys are fall babies--the twins were three on September 1st, and Superhero will be 6 on October 28. In addition, the new school year starts, so in our household, there are two 'beginnings' to each year--one on January first, one in late August.
The day we found out we were having twins, I cried in despair. We had only found out a few weeks before that I was pregnant, and even then only because I had an ear infection. I hoped that the constant nausea and vertigo were left over from the ear infection, but when the ultrasound confirmed twins, I knew it was only going to get worse, and I had no idea how I was going to survive it :D. But survive it I did, along with the exhaustion, the extremely low blood pressure (so low during the first trimester and the beginning of the second that I literally fainted lying down. On more than one occasion), and the constant nagging from my husband to eat something. And then came the second part of the pregnancy--the exhaustion, constant contractions, the HUGE belly (I wore the same maternity outfit to my 5-month checkup with the twins that I wore to the hospital when Superhero was born--and he was almost three weeks late!), the slowly rising blood pressure--I survived that, too. And then I survived three months of visits to hospice to visit with my grandmother with two newborns and a three year old in tow. I survived the next six months, when the twins were diagnosed with severe acid reflux and were two steps from failure to thrive. And at some point, I stopped surviving and starting enjoying. I don't know if it was because they were my second birth, or because I had Superhero to share it with, or if it was because Superhero's birth was so traumatic, or if I was just a little older and wiser, but I enjoyed their babyhood so much more than I did Superhero's. Every milestone was a cause for celebration, and every day I smiled, laughed, or cried over some amazing thing they had done. And yet I worried, particularly, for some reason, about Artist. The boys had twin to twin transfusion--a mild case, just enough that Fighter needed some fluids as soon as he was born and oxygen for the first ten or twelve hours. Artist had been the recipient twin, Fighter the donor twin, but I purposely did NO research those first few months, preferring to just follow our pediatrician's suggestions and enjoy my healthy boys. But there was something otherworldly about Artist, and it terrified me. John and I talked about it a few times, and we both felt it--this unnamed fear in relation to Artist. Then one day his lips turned blue, for no apparent reason. We were terrified, and yet somehow just had this 'this is it' feeling. We were sure that this was the reason we had that odd feeling in relation to him.
In the two and a half years since, Artist has seen a virtual platoon of specialists. We have ruled out everything 'life limiting'. At this point, all we know is that it is something circulatory, it's aggravated by cold, and Fighter has similar attacks (though less frequently and less severe). Most importantly though, Artist has lost that 'disconnected' affect, and is a normal (if trying) three year old. He's slightly speech delayed, has physical abilities and strength to rival Superhero's, and is the most dramatic little demon I have EVER met. While I am concerned about his speech delay, I am no longer sitting up all night worrying about him.
That worry has been transferred to Fighter. My Fighter is an amazing little boy. His laughter is almost maniacal--when he laughs, it's because he is enjoying something so totally, so completely, that there is room for nothing else but sheer joy. He loves to sing, and will frequently copy the rhythm and cadence of a song he has heard perfectly. But he rarely talks to me. He will sometimes play with each of his brothers, but for the most part, if all three are in the same room Superhero and Artist are playing together and Fighter is off by himself. He is an amazingly loving little boy who will spend half an hour at a time just giving kisses. But he clearly does not experience the world the same way his brothers do. He rarely responds when spoken to, occasionally refuses to meet the eyes of whomever is speaking, and gets overwhelmed very easily in noisy or chaotic situations. And every single thing he touches MUST go in his mouth. He is now the source of most of my worry.
And yet they both--all three--are the source of an amazing amount of joy. Even on the worst days--the days when Superhero has talked back and been defiant all day, when Artist has thrown a dozen tantrums, when Fighter has climbed, chewed, or written on every single object he has come in contact with--even on those days, I feel so joyous, so blessed to be their mom. Artist's smiles light up a room, Fighter's kisses are gifts from above, and Superhero's reasoning skills are the most amazing I've ever seen. It's difficult for me to remember my life before them, and impossible to imagine a future without them. My life is so much fuller, so much more joyful, with them in it. The sky is prettier when Artist points it out, flowers smell better when Superhero shoves them under my nose, and the wind is more amazing when I see Fighter close his eyes, toss his head back, and smile in enjoyment. It's an amazing life I live, and I am the luckiest mom in the world.
The day we found out we were having twins, I cried in despair. We had only found out a few weeks before that I was pregnant, and even then only because I had an ear infection. I hoped that the constant nausea and vertigo were left over from the ear infection, but when the ultrasound confirmed twins, I knew it was only going to get worse, and I had no idea how I was going to survive it :D. But survive it I did, along with the exhaustion, the extremely low blood pressure (so low during the first trimester and the beginning of the second that I literally fainted lying down. On more than one occasion), and the constant nagging from my husband to eat something. And then came the second part of the pregnancy--the exhaustion, constant contractions, the HUGE belly (I wore the same maternity outfit to my 5-month checkup with the twins that I wore to the hospital when Superhero was born--and he was almost three weeks late!), the slowly rising blood pressure--I survived that, too. And then I survived three months of visits to hospice to visit with my grandmother with two newborns and a three year old in tow. I survived the next six months, when the twins were diagnosed with severe acid reflux and were two steps from failure to thrive. And at some point, I stopped surviving and starting enjoying. I don't know if it was because they were my second birth, or because I had Superhero to share it with, or if it was because Superhero's birth was so traumatic, or if I was just a little older and wiser, but I enjoyed their babyhood so much more than I did Superhero's. Every milestone was a cause for celebration, and every day I smiled, laughed, or cried over some amazing thing they had done. And yet I worried, particularly, for some reason, about Artist. The boys had twin to twin transfusion--a mild case, just enough that Fighter needed some fluids as soon as he was born and oxygen for the first ten or twelve hours. Artist had been the recipient twin, Fighter the donor twin, but I purposely did NO research those first few months, preferring to just follow our pediatrician's suggestions and enjoy my healthy boys. But there was something otherworldly about Artist, and it terrified me. John and I talked about it a few times, and we both felt it--this unnamed fear in relation to Artist. Then one day his lips turned blue, for no apparent reason. We were terrified, and yet somehow just had this 'this is it' feeling. We were sure that this was the reason we had that odd feeling in relation to him.
In the two and a half years since, Artist has seen a virtual platoon of specialists. We have ruled out everything 'life limiting'. At this point, all we know is that it is something circulatory, it's aggravated by cold, and Fighter has similar attacks (though less frequently and less severe). Most importantly though, Artist has lost that 'disconnected' affect, and is a normal (if trying) three year old. He's slightly speech delayed, has physical abilities and strength to rival Superhero's, and is the most dramatic little demon I have EVER met. While I am concerned about his speech delay, I am no longer sitting up all night worrying about him.
That worry has been transferred to Fighter. My Fighter is an amazing little boy. His laughter is almost maniacal--when he laughs, it's because he is enjoying something so totally, so completely, that there is room for nothing else but sheer joy. He loves to sing, and will frequently copy the rhythm and cadence of a song he has heard perfectly. But he rarely talks to me. He will sometimes play with each of his brothers, but for the most part, if all three are in the same room Superhero and Artist are playing together and Fighter is off by himself. He is an amazingly loving little boy who will spend half an hour at a time just giving kisses. But he clearly does not experience the world the same way his brothers do. He rarely responds when spoken to, occasionally refuses to meet the eyes of whomever is speaking, and gets overwhelmed very easily in noisy or chaotic situations. And every single thing he touches MUST go in his mouth. He is now the source of most of my worry.
And yet they both--all three--are the source of an amazing amount of joy. Even on the worst days--the days when Superhero has talked back and been defiant all day, when Artist has thrown a dozen tantrums, when Fighter has climbed, chewed, or written on every single object he has come in contact with--even on those days, I feel so joyous, so blessed to be their mom. Artist's smiles light up a room, Fighter's kisses are gifts from above, and Superhero's reasoning skills are the most amazing I've ever seen. It's difficult for me to remember my life before them, and impossible to imagine a future without them. My life is so much fuller, so much more joyful, with them in it. The sky is prettier when Artist points it out, flowers smell better when Superhero shoves them under my nose, and the wind is more amazing when I see Fighter close his eyes, toss his head back, and smile in enjoyment. It's an amazing life I live, and I am the luckiest mom in the world.
What's on the menu?
I just gave the boys lunch. It wasn't something I serve them often, and the twins have probably had this particular dish less than a dozen times in their entire lives, so I wasn't surprised when Artist looked at his food, then looked at me questioningly and waited to be told what it was. After I told him, he immediately starting fussing and crying and saying "NO NO NO!" Artist's more than a little dramatic, so I calmly said, "What's wrong honey?" His reply?
"Woof Woof NOT yummy. Woof Woof NOT Yummy. NO NO NO!" Then he started blowing on his lunch to cool it down.
Next time, I'm serving frankfurters and buns instead of Hot Dogs.
"Woof Woof NOT yummy. Woof Woof NOT Yummy. NO NO NO!" Then he started blowing on his lunch to cool it down.
Next time, I'm serving frankfurters and buns instead of Hot Dogs.
Niagara Falls
We took the boys to see Niagara Falls. Artist didn't seem to care one way or the other. Superhero was ecstatic, as he had been looking forward to this for a few weeks now, since Daddy showed him pictures online. But Fighter--my Fighter was in heaven. He stared at the falls, with a patented Fighter smile that is a private expression of joy, and is somehow both closed off in such a way that you feel like you're somehow invading his privacy by looking at him and simultaneously so joyful that he almost seems to glow with it, and you have difficulty looking away. He tilted his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and held out his hands to feel the spray. After fifteen minutes or so of just enjoying the sight and the feel of the falls, Fighter seemed to come back from wherever his area of inner peace lives long enough to hold out his wet hand to me and say 'water'. He then leaned forward, put his wet hand against my cheek, and smiled as he gave me a kiss, like he was thanking me for sharing this new, wonderful thing with him. Recently, Fighter frightens me more than my other children, with his firm refusal to talk much, his random and sudden weight loss, and a myriad of other tiny things. But there are also moments when I am convinced he feels things more deeply than the other two, and I struggle to remind myself daily of his sensitivity without labeling him as a 'sensitive' child.
This parenting thing? Not for the weak of heart.
This parenting thing? Not for the weak of heart.
The truth, or the whole truth?
Last week, while visiting John's grandmother, she took Superhero to visit the grave of one of her pets that had died since our last visit (for the record, I wasn't consulted first, and I'm not sure what my reaction would have been if I *Had* been asked. Sometimes, I'm glad the decision is taken out of my hands--reduces my second guessing and anguish immensely). This week, one of my aunts died. So Superhero has been asking us lots of tough questions about death and dying. Once again, some of our basic parenting philosophies were called into question, specifically our beliefs that you should be as honest with your children as possible, and what I call the Jim Lile rule--never answer more question than the child has asked. The second part is generally the easiest--just remind yourself to answer exactly what you've been asked, get a clarification of the question before answering if you're not sure how much the child wants to know, and give the child lots of open air after your short explanation, because if they want more details, they'll ask for them. Surprisingly, I'm finding the first half more difficult. I never dreamed I would WANT to lie to my children, but I find that my instinct is to protect them at all costs, even from the harsh realities of the world. I was in a funk for weeks after having to explain to Superhero a few years ago that there were people in the world who would hurt him--for the first three years of his life, it honestly never occurred to him that every single person in the world wouldn't want to love and care for him, and as his mother, it was horrifying to me that *I* was the one who took that belief in the inherent goodness of the world and the people in it away from him. I had a similar dilemma when talking about death this week. Especially when he said 'I'm glad I'm never going to die,' and after a gently delivered statement that all living things die, and therefore he was going to die at some point, it was agonizing to hear 'but mommy, I don't want to die!!'. I'm ashamed to admit that I chickened out a little--rather than delivering the 'None of use knows how much time we have, so we should make sure every day that we have lived a life we can be proud of, rather than waiting until some point in the future to do all those things we want to do' which is a basic tenant of my own life, I simply explained to him how old and sick the people he knew who had died were, and reassured him with a child's belief in the infinite nature of time. In his reality, the 57 years my aunt lived and the nearly-90 years John's grandfather lived before dying is such an incredibly long length of time that he didn't have to be concerned with dying, as a nearly-six year old would take two days past forever to be 90. I didn't LIE to him, exactly, I just left out the possibility of illness or accident or one of the other things that keep me up at night with the knowledge that they exist, they could hurt or kill my children, and there's really very little I can do to protect them. The truth, but not the WHOLE truth. So, I followed both tenants--I told him the truth, without answering a single bit more of the questions than he had asked. And yet I worry. I have built an insulated world for my children, a world where the news is read on laptops so that they won't overhear more than I want them to, a world where they are safe and protected. A world where death is an 'other' event, effecting their lives only marginally. A world where I tell them the truth, always--but rarely the whole truth. I tell myself that I am giving age-appropriate answers, but in reality, I'm not just protecting them, I'm protecting myself. The truth is important, but it's also harsh and often painful. While life is about fear and pain, and the measure of a person is how they deal with all the harsh realities of the world, I still hate to see my children hurting or frightened. And so I tell them the truth, and I leave the whole truth to be discovered at some point in the child-time-version of the future. I guess only time will tell if the truth is the best course of action, even though it leaves out a world of knowledge, or if the whole truth would have been a better choice.
Sleep is overrated
Artist has decided he's a frat boy in training. Even if I get him to sleep at a reasonable hour, he gets back up sometime between midnight and one, and stays up until four or five. Even worse, he wants to be downstairs, and if we try to keep him in his room or ours, he throws a tantrum that wakes his brothers, so we have THREE cranky boys up in the middle of the night. He does this no matter how much or little sleep we allow him to have during the day, whether he gets up early or sleeps in late, whether we've had an action packed day or a laid back day. I am exhausted, John's having trouble sleeping even without the demon-like screeching in the middle of the night, and the wear is even starting to show on the other two boys, though you'd never know it with Fighter's continued desire to greet the sun with a smile as soon as possible after it appears. I know that conventional wisdom says a child begins to have difficulties sleeping just as they're about to have a major advancement (in Artist's case, I'm hoping for a language explosion) but I honestly don't know how much more of this our family can bear!
Hold the slime, please
John: What would you like for dinner little man?
Superhero: ooooh, spaghettios!! (not ten minutes after I read aloud a spaghettios recall notice)
John: Dinner is real food. How about steak?
Superhero: Can I have that slimy steak that I like?
John: What?
Superhero: You know, that slimy steak, with the slime all over it? The kind I like?
Me: You mean 'salisbury steak', Superhero?
Superhero: Yeah, salzberry, you know, with the brown slime all over it. I want that kind.
Superhero: ooooh, spaghettios!! (not ten minutes after I read aloud a spaghettios recall notice)
John: Dinner is real food. How about steak?
Superhero: Can I have that slimy steak that I like?
John: What?
Superhero: You know, that slimy steak, with the slime all over it? The kind I like?
Me: You mean 'salisbury steak', Superhero?
Superhero: Yeah, salzberry, you know, with the brown slime all over it. I want that kind.
A Jedi you are not
It's been a fun--but crazy--weekend. We visited with our nieces and nephew--it was our nephew's 6th birthday, one of our nieces was two a few weeks ago, and the other is brand new, not yet two weeks old. The boys had a blast at the party and visiting, and I of course tried to get over my 'baby-itis' by monopolizing the newborn as much as possible. But after the party and the traveling (which included a side trip to visit great grandma on the way home) we decided today should be spent doing absolutely nothing. So we lazed about the house all day. I've done a couple of quizzes and some discussions, as well as some reading for school (yes, that IS a day off for me--I'm trying to get far enough ahead that I don't have to worry while we're on vacation), but otherwise, nothing. So now we're settling down for the evening. Superhero has asked his daddy several times if he can have video game time, and daddy keeps saying he can, and keeps playing his own video game (some medieval role playing thing that is too complex for Superhero). This went on for about an hour, until Superhero finally sighed in that world-weary way that only a five year old can get away with, looked up at his daddy and said "Daddy, you're SO not a Jedi." In Superhero's world of late, there is no greater insult!
Oh, Canada!
Those of you who know our boys well (or even just chat with me sometimes and end up listening to me worry) know that our twins are speech delayed. The jury is still out on whether or not it's at a level that is worrisome, and we are certain it is within the range of 'usual' for twins, but it's become a fact of life around here that Superhero talks enough for all three boys, Artist chatters sometimes and uses sign language most of the time, and Fighter sings a lot but rarely utters a real word. Today, we had to run some errands to get ready for our trip to Canada in a few weeks. Superhero has been asking us almost daily for MONTHS now if it was time to go to Canada yet, and we've talked about it quite a bit due to the need for passports and other arrangements necessary for transporting two two year olds, a five year old, and all their assorted necessities 1400 miles each way to an unairconditioned cabin with a HUGE body of water nearby, but of course we assumed the twins were oblivious.
Today, we took them to buy their fishing poles (I insisted they have those crappy cartoon character things with the plastic plug so they can cast and reel in without risk of catching a real fish) and Artist surprised me by saying 'sponge bob fish!' when choosing his reel (no, he doesn't watch that show, but he does watch Superhero play the sponge bob game on his V-smile and the XBox). But the true gem came when John and I were chatting about all those last-minute things that come up before a trip of this size, when suddenly from the back seat, so clearly I thought it was Superhero at first, Fighter yelled "CANADA!". Instantly, the stress of planning, the work of packing and organizing, the nightmare of a drive that is ahead of us are all worth it. My Fighter has some powerful magic--with a single word, he can completely change his mother's perspective.
Today, we took them to buy their fishing poles (I insisted they have those crappy cartoon character things with the plastic plug so they can cast and reel in without risk of catching a real fish) and Artist surprised me by saying 'sponge bob fish!' when choosing his reel (no, he doesn't watch that show, but he does watch Superhero play the sponge bob game on his V-smile and the XBox). But the true gem came when John and I were chatting about all those last-minute things that come up before a trip of this size, when suddenly from the back seat, so clearly I thought it was Superhero at first, Fighter yelled "CANADA!". Instantly, the stress of planning, the work of packing and organizing, the nightmare of a drive that is ahead of us are all worth it. My Fighter has some powerful magic--with a single word, he can completely change his mother's perspective.
My IQ is called into question.
Last night, after fighting with statistics until my brain was mush, I stumbled upstairs to what should have been three sleeping boys. Superhero was asleep. Artist and Fighter had both climbed into their crib (they haven't slept in it in weeks--usually one sleeps on a small cot while the other shares Superhero's bed. They take turns on some schedule I can't crack, but it seems to be a pretty even split). They were lying on opposite ends of the crib with their feet occasionally touching, both curved around so that they could see each other, chattering away in their private language. Both were completely naked, their pajamas in a pile on the floor right beside their diapers. I came into the room and asked them what was going on (no matter what you may imagine, I wasn't the least bit upset. First, I'm used to their nudist lifestyle. Second, as much as I wish otherwise, since it's probably not good for them to be so indulged, I have a LOT of difficulty being angry with them when they are clearly happily and contentedly enjoying being twins.) Fighter, of course, immediately smiled happily at me, mumbled 'Ov oooo mama' around his thumb, then pulled his blanket up by his face and waited to see what I would do. Artist, on the other hand, stood up with a challenging squeal and waited for the question he seemed to know was coming. "Why are the two of you naked?" Artist then excitedly explained to me, using words, syllables, gestures, sign language, and I believe a little bit of song, that he had pooped in his diaper, so he took it off, and since he took off his clothes, Fighter wanted to be 'no diapie' too, and then they were playing and got sleepy. I stood there, staring on my mostly nonverbal child, utterly shocked at how much detail he had managed to communicate to me. Artist, apparently, understood my silence to be confusion, so he then repeated his story, more slowly, more loudly, and with more emphatic gestures than the first time--you know, exactly as you would see a person trying to explain something to another who did not speak the same language. Or, of course, someone of lesser intelligence than yourself. I may be the mommy, but I think most days *I* learn the most.
My Blessed Life
I had an epiphany standing in my kitchen today. I had just finished a marketing quiz and put the twins down for a nap (they, of course, were not sleeping). Superhero had decided to pick at his lunch after not eating any breakfast--he informed me he doesn't like food today (I suspect this is due to the fact that he has eaten like a baby elephant for the past week--even growth spurts need a break). I was cleaning up the twins' lunch mess, doing some laundry, loading the dishwasher, and thinking how much I wish my mommy-job had BREAKS. Then I stopped and thought, "What would I be willing to trade for breaks?" Tantrums and messes, of course, but no negotiator would go for THAT deal. So only the good stuff. Hugs, kisses, smiles? A sticky hand reaching up for me with delight written on an upturned, grubby face? A new word, the excitement in the eyes of one of my sons as he discovered something new? The sound of laughter on one of those unique times when they play peacefully together rather than play the 'that's MY toy' game? No, thank you. I don't sleep much, personal style is a thing of the past, and the work never ends. But I wouldn't trade one "uv ooo mama" for a week at the best spa, a vacation in the most beautiful location, the most expensive jewelry. So, the next time you see me exhausted, mismatched, and stressed to the max, just remember that it's a temporary condition, and under the tangled hair and broken fingernails is the happiest, most blessed mommy in the world.
Ninja Toddlers ... or Toddler Ninjas?
Superhero: Where are *Artist* & *Fighter*?
Me: Umm, sleeping.
Superhero: No, they've been gone for an hour.
That's preschooler time-I had just checked on them 10 minutes before, and I THOUGHT they were finally going to sleep. They had to walk right by my open door to get to the stairs-they did so silently. I found them in the bathroom downstairs. Two of daddy's credit cards were in the toilet, some cash and a handful of receipts in the tub, his mostly-empty wallet had been discarded on the floor. Both the twins were in the tub, too, water running, pajamas soaked. I guess my little ninjas like bathtime.
Me: Umm, sleeping.
Superhero: No, they've been gone for an hour.
That's preschooler time-I had just checked on them 10 minutes before, and I THOUGHT they were finally going to sleep. They had to walk right by my open door to get to the stairs-they did so silently. I found them in the bathroom downstairs. Two of daddy's credit cards were in the toilet, some cash and a handful of receipts in the tub, his mostly-empty wallet had been discarded on the floor. Both the twins were in the tub, too, water running, pajamas soaked. I guess my little ninjas like bathtime.
I haven't posted in WAY too long. To be honest, I forgot this blog existed! The boys are doing well--growing, laughing, making us crazy, and generally making life worth living. We just had spring break, and it's back to school for Daddy and Superhero tomorrow. We're all sad to see it end--it was a great week. We spent Easter with my parents, Nana & Papaw came for an overnight visit on Thursday (and Nana gave all three boys haircuts!), and Grandma and Papaw Ellison came to visit Saturday. Oh, and we went shopping with Great-grandma Barton the day before Easter. As usual, though, none of the visits were long enough, and we're all sad that we didn't get to visit with the cousins. And now it's off to bed with the HOPE that we'll all get up on time in the morning!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)