The universe has a way of balancing itself. I lived with Sam for over two years before he chose to speak. I'm now having trouble getting Matilda to be quiet. Her vocabulary list is short but certainly different from Sam's at that age.
Mama
Dada
Ba (ball)
Nana (banana)
Num (food)
Yay
Ni (night/sleep)
Uh-oh
Ooooooh
And my favorite - go. My daughter isn't yet one year old and she is always telling me to go. I try to change her diaper. "Go!" she yells at me. I take away a toy that is too small for her. "Mama!" she screams. "GO!"
Today I was trying to teach her some sign language. We were playing the game where we handed a toy back and forth to each other. Each time she handed it to me she'd clap and cry, "Yay!" and I'd say and sign, "Thank you!" We must have done it a million times. She tried to leave and I stayed in her face trying to get her to sign thank you.
"Tang too!" she said, annoyed, and dashed off.
Matilda - 23; Mom - 0
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Brain Freeze
I have a bit of an ice cream problem. Even when I was doing Weight Watchers I saved my points so I could end each day with a bowl of ice cream. It's my favorite thing in the world and a staple at our house. In between shopping trips I have to make a quick stop for milk, bread, diapers, and ice cream.
Last night I told Sam he could have a bowl of ice cream with chocolate syrup. He has it very rarely so he was of course excited. I used a regular spoon to scoop bite-sized bits out of the carton for him. Watching this slow process drove Sam crazy. He ran to the drawer and pulled out my four-pound, take-no-prisoners, no-ice-cream-is-too-hard-for-this ice cream scoop.
"Here, Mom," Sam said. "I got your ice cream shovel."
He understands more than I give him credit for.
Last night I told Sam he could have a bowl of ice cream with chocolate syrup. He has it very rarely so he was of course excited. I used a regular spoon to scoop bite-sized bits out of the carton for him. Watching this slow process drove Sam crazy. He ran to the drawer and pulled out my four-pound, take-no-prisoners, no-ice-cream-is-too-hard-for-this ice cream scoop.
"Here, Mom," Sam said. "I got your ice cream shovel."
He understands more than I give him credit for.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Just Horrible
Eric was gone on Friday night so I did bathtime by myself. Sam was in his room, picking out a toy, and I turned on the water in the tub. I walked the six feet to Matilda's room to get her pajamas and then I heard her scream.
In exactly two seconds, Matilda had walked in to the bathroom, shut the door, and then opened the drawer that is right next to the door. I was able to get the door open less than an inch before hitting the drawer. I felt so dumb and had no idea how I was going to get the door open.
I tried asking Matilda to close the drawer. She just screamed at me. I tried reaching through the crack in the door to shut the drawer myself but I couldn't get my fingers through the crack. I honestly thought I was going to have to call the fire department. I wondered to myself how quickly they'd be able to get here and if the tub would have overflowed by then. Then I realized - Oh God - Matilda could heave herself into the tub at any moment. I had no way of getting in there to save her!
I pushed against the door as hard as I could. I was able to just get my fingers through the crack. Only the tips of my middle fingers reached the drawer. Unable to bend my fingers I tried pushing the drawer in by nudging it along its side. I had to lean on the door so hard to get my fingers through, the door was pressed against the drawer and holding it firmly in place.
I ran to the kitchen and got a spatula and a knife. I tried pushing the drawer with the spatula but it didn't have anything to grip. I tried jamming the knife into the side of the drawer in order to push it, but I couldn't do it at that bizarre angle. I listened to the water pouring into the tub and thought about tiny women who are able to lift cars when it means saving their children. I decided the least I could do was shut a drawer. (As God is my witness, if we owned a sledgehammer I would have smashed that door down.)
I again managed to wedge my fingers through the crack in the door. I was able barely move them, side to side, along the side of the drawer. Every 10th swipe managed to slide the drawer 1/100th of an inch. It seemed like it took forever but I finally got the drawer shut. I swung the door open and picked up Matilda, who was still screaming and crying. The water in the tub had just reached the very top. It would have been overflowing within seconds.
I never expected that keeping my kids alive would be this hard!
In exactly two seconds, Matilda had walked in to the bathroom, shut the door, and then opened the drawer that is right next to the door. I was able to get the door open less than an inch before hitting the drawer. I felt so dumb and had no idea how I was going to get the door open.
I tried asking Matilda to close the drawer. She just screamed at me. I tried reaching through the crack in the door to shut the drawer myself but I couldn't get my fingers through the crack. I honestly thought I was going to have to call the fire department. I wondered to myself how quickly they'd be able to get here and if the tub would have overflowed by then. Then I realized - Oh God - Matilda could heave herself into the tub at any moment. I had no way of getting in there to save her!
I pushed against the door as hard as I could. I was able to just get my fingers through the crack. Only the tips of my middle fingers reached the drawer. Unable to bend my fingers I tried pushing the drawer in by nudging it along its side. I had to lean on the door so hard to get my fingers through, the door was pressed against the drawer and holding it firmly in place.
I ran to the kitchen and got a spatula and a knife. I tried pushing the drawer with the spatula but it didn't have anything to grip. I tried jamming the knife into the side of the drawer in order to push it, but I couldn't do it at that bizarre angle. I listened to the water pouring into the tub and thought about tiny women who are able to lift cars when it means saving their children. I decided the least I could do was shut a drawer. (As God is my witness, if we owned a sledgehammer I would have smashed that door down.)
I again managed to wedge my fingers through the crack in the door. I was able barely move them, side to side, along the side of the drawer. Every 10th swipe managed to slide the drawer 1/100th of an inch. It seemed like it took forever but I finally got the drawer shut. I swung the door open and picked up Matilda, who was still screaming and crying. The water in the tub had just reached the very top. It would have been overflowing within seconds.
I never expected that keeping my kids alive would be this hard!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Faux Infection
This morning, as Sam was dumping his cereal bowl in the sink, he suddenly gave a cry and clapped his hand over his right ear. "Mom, OW!" he said, turning to me.
"Your ear hurts?" I asked. "Did you bump it on the counter?"
"No!" Sam said. "THIS doesn't hurt (pulling on his earlobe), it hurts in the hole!"
Well, that couldn't have been any clearer. I didn't mention it again, in case it was a fluke, and a few minutes later he cried and held his ear again. I called the clinic and got an appointment with his doctor for early afternoon. Sam became hysterical and cried that he did not want to go to the doctor. I spent several hours with Sam on my lap, holding his ear and crying that it hurt and that he didn't want to go to the doctor.
I eventually told Sam that he could pick out a toy if we went to the doctor. Horrible, I know, but I assumed we'd be going to the store for a prescription anyway. I got the kids loaded up and headed to the clinic. I spent several minutes in the parking lot standing next to Sam's door as he sobbed uncontrollably. He finally got out and we went in.
We didn't have to wait long (thank goodness!). The nurse called us back and Sam sadly told her that his ear hurt down in the hole. She sympathized with him. As we waited for the doctor Sam continued to cry and beg to leave.
Then Dr. Arndt walked in. "Hi!" Sam said brightly. "My ear hurts down in the hole."
Dr. Arndt checked Sam's ears. "All clear," he said.
"Wait - what?" I said. "He's been crying for six hours."
Dr. Arndt cleaned out Sam's ears and checked again. No fluid, no redness, nothing. Perfectly healthy. "Does it hurt right now?" he asked Sam.
"No, it's better now. Thanks!" Sam said as he cheerfully jumped down from my lap.
I could have just left him there. Even worse, I had to follow through and take him to the store for a Hot Wheels car. He's been happy and giggly ever since.
Sam, you drive me nuts.
"Your ear hurts?" I asked. "Did you bump it on the counter?"
"No!" Sam said. "THIS doesn't hurt (pulling on his earlobe), it hurts in the hole!"
Well, that couldn't have been any clearer. I didn't mention it again, in case it was a fluke, and a few minutes later he cried and held his ear again. I called the clinic and got an appointment with his doctor for early afternoon. Sam became hysterical and cried that he did not want to go to the doctor. I spent several hours with Sam on my lap, holding his ear and crying that it hurt and that he didn't want to go to the doctor.
I eventually told Sam that he could pick out a toy if we went to the doctor. Horrible, I know, but I assumed we'd be going to the store for a prescription anyway. I got the kids loaded up and headed to the clinic. I spent several minutes in the parking lot standing next to Sam's door as he sobbed uncontrollably. He finally got out and we went in.
We didn't have to wait long (thank goodness!). The nurse called us back and Sam sadly told her that his ear hurt down in the hole. She sympathized with him. As we waited for the doctor Sam continued to cry and beg to leave.
Then Dr. Arndt walked in. "Hi!" Sam said brightly. "My ear hurts down in the hole."
Dr. Arndt checked Sam's ears. "All clear," he said.
"Wait - what?" I said. "He's been crying for six hours."
Dr. Arndt cleaned out Sam's ears and checked again. No fluid, no redness, nothing. Perfectly healthy. "Does it hurt right now?" he asked Sam.
"No, it's better now. Thanks!" Sam said as he cheerfully jumped down from my lap.
I could have just left him there. Even worse, I had to follow through and take him to the store for a Hot Wheels car. He's been happy and giggly ever since.
Sam, you drive me nuts.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
My New Best Friend
I am not a pet person. I do not hate animals; in fact, I wish them all the happiness and health in the world. I am just weirded out by the thought of sharing my home with something that isn't human.
Eric and I have been planning on getting Sam a fish since his third birthday. I kept putting it off (see above) but finally Eric broke me down. We all went to the pet store to find Sam's fish. Matilda was crabby and I was really grossed out by the containers of fish so I ended up waiting in the car. Eric and Sam came back with a tank and a little plastic container containing - gulp - a wriggly, wet, dead-behind-the eyes fish.
I had to hold it on the way home. I remarked out loud that I was so happy the container was inside a plastic bag so I couldn't see the fish. If I looked down at my hands and saw it squirming around in there I'd have started screaming and never stopped.
Once we were home and I saw the fish my mood brightened a little. Eric had talked Sam into a blue betta fish. I watched Eric get the tank ready. I did scream a little when Eric dumped the fish into the tank. Once the fish was in there, though, he seemed okay. We watched him swim around and I asked Sam what he was going to name him.
"I don't know," Sam said.
"Just name him," I pushed.
"Ummmm...I think his name is Flounder," Sam guessed.
"Okay," I said. "Do you THINK his name is Flounder or are you SURE his name is Flounder?"
Sam thought for a moment. "I am SURE that I THINK his name is Flounder," he replied.
Well, that could have gone on all day, so Flounder it was. Sam immediately stopped caring about him. Eric makes sure he's been fed and checks on him once in a while. I, on the other hand, am completely in love with this fish.
Seriously. I love him. He is so pretty! I am often in the kitchen chatting away with Flounder when no one else is around. In the afternoons I put his tank on our windowsill so he can be in the sun. He really likes that. He starts zipping around his tank like a crazy fish. I could watch him for hours.
Flounder...I love you!
Eric and I have been planning on getting Sam a fish since his third birthday. I kept putting it off (see above) but finally Eric broke me down. We all went to the pet store to find Sam's fish. Matilda was crabby and I was really grossed out by the containers of fish so I ended up waiting in the car. Eric and Sam came back with a tank and a little plastic container containing - gulp - a wriggly, wet, dead-behind-the eyes fish.
I had to hold it on the way home. I remarked out loud that I was so happy the container was inside a plastic bag so I couldn't see the fish. If I looked down at my hands and saw it squirming around in there I'd have started screaming and never stopped.
Once we were home and I saw the fish my mood brightened a little. Eric had talked Sam into a blue betta fish. I watched Eric get the tank ready. I did scream a little when Eric dumped the fish into the tank. Once the fish was in there, though, he seemed okay. We watched him swim around and I asked Sam what he was going to name him.
"I don't know," Sam said.
"Just name him," I pushed.
"Ummmm...I think his name is Flounder," Sam guessed.
"Okay," I said. "Do you THINK his name is Flounder or are you SURE his name is Flounder?"
Sam thought for a moment. "I am SURE that I THINK his name is Flounder," he replied.
Well, that could have gone on all day, so Flounder it was. Sam immediately stopped caring about him. Eric makes sure he's been fed and checks on him once in a while. I, on the other hand, am completely in love with this fish.
Seriously. I love him. He is so pretty! I am often in the kitchen chatting away with Flounder when no one else is around. In the afternoons I put his tank on our windowsill so he can be in the sun. He really likes that. He starts zipping around his tank like a crazy fish. I could watch him for hours.
Flounder...I love you!
Hee hee...this is Flounder looking at me critically. He is, by nature, a disgruntled fish, and that just makes me love him all the more.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Pop Quiz
What do you get when you take one 3-year-old with a fever, a teething 11-month-old, a broken washing machine, and a toilet that not only overflowed but dripped through the ceiling downstairs?
The answer: my day yesterday!
My favorite thing about hitting rock bottom is coming back up. This morning the ceiling is dry and Eric was able to fix the washing machine enough for it to wash clothes, just not spin them dry. Sam is fairly cheerful as long as I stay on top of his Tylenol and Matilda is already napping. Compared to yesterday, this morning I feel like I've won the lottery.
The answer: my day yesterday!
My favorite thing about hitting rock bottom is coming back up. This morning the ceiling is dry and Eric was able to fix the washing machine enough for it to wash clothes, just not spin them dry. Sam is fairly cheerful as long as I stay on top of his Tylenol and Matilda is already napping. Compared to yesterday, this morning I feel like I've won the lottery.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na...Halloween!
We celebrated our second Halloween in Rochester with another visit to IBM's trick-or-treat event. It really is fantastic. It was very cold this year and we were able to stay indoors and enjoy ourselves. Sam made out like a bandit. There was definite weight to his pumpkin bucket by the time we were done.
Grandpa Mark met us outside. The costume doesn't have the full effect without the eye mask and covered by his coat.
I had to fight Sam to get him to wear this. I finally convinced him to wear it for 10 seconds so a few people could see it. He shocked me by wearing it the rest of the day, even when it slid down so the eye holes were over his cheekbones. He could only see by tipping his head all the way back.
Matilda was, of course, mildly annoyed. Her shirt says, "I'm skin n' bones...NEED MORE CANDY!"
When we were done trick-or-treating Sam played on Grandpa's phone. It is Sam's favorite thing in the world.
Meanwhile...Matilda continued to be mildly annoyed.
Thanks, Grandpa, for another fun Halloween (and for taking pictures)!
Friday, November 6, 2009
I'm Not Giving Up
As God is my witness, I am going to get a picture of my son with a normal smile on his face.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Eye Of The Beholder
I have gazed at Stonehenge, floated down the canals of Venice and stood at the top of Pike's Peak. I've delivered two healthy babies and got to witness the birth of my nephew. I have stood in awe in front of classic paintings and read works of literature so amazing they brought tears to my eyes. Considering all I have experienced, it's easy to name the most beautiful thing I've ever seen:
a wet pile of potato peels.
When Sam was born and I stopped working I put a lot of pressure on myself to deliver. I knew so many moms who managed full-time jobs in addition to keeping beautiful homes and raising amazing children. I felt like I would have to do so much more in order to feel validated.
In addition I was raised by an incredibly gifted stay-at-home mom. My sister and I had homemade matching Christmas dresses every year. My mom made me dolls that came with their own homemade wardrobes and linens. (One of my dolls had her own little crocheted afghan and quilted sleeping bag.) We did not eat junk food - EVER - and our house was always spotless.
I have tried so hard to attain that level of perfection. I've clumsily sewn pillows and hand puppets. I've spent hours in the kitchen making meals from scratch. I've designed and executed preschool lesson plans for Sam. I have swept, mopped, washed, and scrubbed every inch of our house. None of it works. My sewing is atrocious, we have boxes of Froot Loops and Pop-Tarts in our cupboard, and Sam knows all the words to the theme songs of PBS Kids. Most frustrating of all is that my house is NEVER CLEAN!!
Last spring my mom flew in for the weekend to stay with the kids so Eric and I could go to the cabin. She laughed when I showed her the 12 pages of instructions I was leaving with her, complete with a map showing the fastest route to the hospital (my mom lived here for 18 years). I spent the whole weekend worrying about what she'd find when she'd inevitably clean under the refrigerator or reorganize my Christmas decorations.
When we got home the house was pretty quiet. Sam was watching TV. His clothes didn't match, his hair was standing up on one side, and his face was dirty. Upstairs I found toys all over the living room. Mom walked out of Matilda's room, where she had just put her down for a nap. Mom looked a little rough. Her hair looked like Sam's and her eyes were spinning independently of each other. She was already packed to leave. She spent just a few minutes answering my questions about the weekend and she left. She got pulled over for speeding on her way to Red Wing - that's how badly she needed to get out of my house.
I walked through the house, picking up toys and throwing in a load of laundry. As I started to clean the kitchen I saw it: the bottom of the sink covered in potato peels. At some point Mom had peeled potatoes and NOT CLEANED THEM UP. My mom! She had made a mess, and being so busy with the kids, had had to leave it. I can't stress enough how shocking that was to me.
That pile of potato peels was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It was validation for everything I've managed to do in the last 3+ years and an invitation to cut myself some slack. I am not perfect but I can confidently say that I am a really, really good mom. It just took some garbage to make me realize it.
Thanks, Mom.
a wet pile of potato peels.
When Sam was born and I stopped working I put a lot of pressure on myself to deliver. I knew so many moms who managed full-time jobs in addition to keeping beautiful homes and raising amazing children. I felt like I would have to do so much more in order to feel validated.
In addition I was raised by an incredibly gifted stay-at-home mom. My sister and I had homemade matching Christmas dresses every year. My mom made me dolls that came with their own homemade wardrobes and linens. (One of my dolls had her own little crocheted afghan and quilted sleeping bag.) We did not eat junk food - EVER - and our house was always spotless.
I have tried so hard to attain that level of perfection. I've clumsily sewn pillows and hand puppets. I've spent hours in the kitchen making meals from scratch. I've designed and executed preschool lesson plans for Sam. I have swept, mopped, washed, and scrubbed every inch of our house. None of it works. My sewing is atrocious, we have boxes of Froot Loops and Pop-Tarts in our cupboard, and Sam knows all the words to the theme songs of PBS Kids. Most frustrating of all is that my house is NEVER CLEAN!!
Last spring my mom flew in for the weekend to stay with the kids so Eric and I could go to the cabin. She laughed when I showed her the 12 pages of instructions I was leaving with her, complete with a map showing the fastest route to the hospital (my mom lived here for 18 years). I spent the whole weekend worrying about what she'd find when she'd inevitably clean under the refrigerator or reorganize my Christmas decorations.
When we got home the house was pretty quiet. Sam was watching TV. His clothes didn't match, his hair was standing up on one side, and his face was dirty. Upstairs I found toys all over the living room. Mom walked out of Matilda's room, where she had just put her down for a nap. Mom looked a little rough. Her hair looked like Sam's and her eyes were spinning independently of each other. She was already packed to leave. She spent just a few minutes answering my questions about the weekend and she left. She got pulled over for speeding on her way to Red Wing - that's how badly she needed to get out of my house.
I walked through the house, picking up toys and throwing in a load of laundry. As I started to clean the kitchen I saw it: the bottom of the sink covered in potato peels. At some point Mom had peeled potatoes and NOT CLEANED THEM UP. My mom! She had made a mess, and being so busy with the kids, had had to leave it. I can't stress enough how shocking that was to me.
That pile of potato peels was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It was validation for everything I've managed to do in the last 3+ years and an invitation to cut myself some slack. I am not perfect but I can confidently say that I am a really, really good mom. It just took some garbage to make me realize it.
Thanks, Mom.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
So Sue Me
Trying to come up with a post after ignoring the blog for a while is like trying to get in touch with an old friend. I have every intention of doing it but dread the preliminary explanations and catching up. So I wait and it gets worse. (I am a bad blogger and an even worse friend.)
I have so many posts in my head - Halloween, a friend's new baby, Sam's first pet, and the drunken brawl that was last Sunday's Vikings game come to mind - but I don't have the energy now.
Good things come to those who wait...right?
I have so many posts in my head - Halloween, a friend's new baby, Sam's first pet, and the drunken brawl that was last Sunday's Vikings game come to mind - but I don't have the energy now.
Good things come to those who wait...right?
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