Kids say the darnedest things. How should I respond?

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Eliza’s current state of curiosity has her saying some interesting things.  For example, she loves to kiss things to show her love, whether they are inanimate or not.  As she talks about her favorite people, for example, she’ll talk about kissing them.  But she’ll also hear a helicopter overhead and say, “Kiss el-i-pop-ter” or she’ll hear the jingle of the ice cream truck and say, “Kiss eye keem truck.”  Along those lines, our dog, Abbey, poops in the backyard.  I have to clean it up daily so we don’t step in it while playing outside.  Eliza walks around with me to help me spot the piles, and at every one, she says, “Eat poop.”  And I say, “No, Eliza, we don’t eat poop.  It’s gross.  Dirty.  Yucky!”  She’ll repeat me, but it doesn’t stop her from saying it day after day.  Nor has it kept her from sticking her fingers in it sometimes, just because, well, probably because I don’t want her to and it’s so darned interesting.

Now fast forward to this afternoon, when I was changing Zach’s diaper.  She’s really intrigued by his private parts, and I can tell she’s not quite sure why they’re there.  I’ve used the word penis with her.  So she was trying to wipe his penis off with a wipe today, and I said, “I think he’s okay.  His penis is clean.”  And she said, “Eat penis?”  And I said, “No, we don’t eat his penis.”  And then she said, “Kiss penis?”  And I said, “No, let’s not do that either.”

Am I just a loser at coming up with the appropriate things to say to her?  Should I have never used the word penis with her?  I want to call it what it is.  It seems like a waste of time to teach her it’s his “pee pee” only to make her learn a new word for it when she’s older.  And I’m sure she just as easily would be saying, “Eat pee pee” and “kiss pee pee” if that’s what we called it, which doesn’t fix the problem.  She’s entering that, “kids say the darnedest things” phase, and I have to say – I really love it!  Now if I could just figure out the right way to respond …

I get by with a little help from my friends. And Greg.

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This weekend was exactly what I predicted – magical.  But it almost didn’t happen.

Last week Eliza got what I thought were bug bites right along her diaper line.  They continued to get more red and actually enlarge, such that on Thursday, I started drenching them in Neosporin.  On Friday, the ointment didn’t seem to be doing much to help.  Also on Friday, I decided not to budge when Eliza didn’t want to eat what was in front of her.  So, when she didn’t finish her eggs for breakfast, I offered them – and only them – to her for her snack and lunch as well.  She refused to eat.  I told Greg we must not give in to her strong-arming antics.

On the way to the airport, and I mean, FIVE MINUTES from being dropped off for my weekend getaway, Eliza made a bit of a choking noise from the backseat, so I looked to see what was going on.  She had puked spinach and cheese omelet combined with milk all over herself and had tried to breathe in during the process.  It just kept coming.  When she was finished she whimpered, “Towel?  Towel?”  I grabbed napkins from the glovebox and tried to reassure her as she wiped herself off a bit.  And thus began the downward mental spiral.  “She has a stomach virus.  That’s why she hasn’t wanted to eat all day.  I’m a bad mother for forcing her to try to eat her eggs.  She must have been nauseated all day and I am the jerk who kept trying to make her eat.  How can I leave her at a time like this?”  We pulled up to the curb and Greg cleaned up the mess while I tried not to freak out, especially about missing my flight or leaving them in their predicament.  I knew Greg would have to come home and wash her car seat straps and cover.  Eliza felt hot.  She was going to have to ride home in a diaper.  And I just said, “Greg, can I go now?” in an annoyed voice.  I was afraid he would say, “You’re really going to leave like this?”  But instead, he just had me put Eliza in the car so she’d be safe and off I went with Zach, beginning to feel nauseated myself.

I spent the entire flight thinking I was coming down with whatever stomach virus Eliza had, making sure I had a barf bag at the ready.  I imagined Eliza yakking all over herself on the car ride home, and Greg trying to take care of her, and her crying out for me, the mom who had deserted her in her time of need.  How could this happen exactly when I was supposed to get a weekend off?  I sent Greg a text when I landed, and I didn’t receive a response.  I immediately assumed he was dealing with a hysterical child who was severely ill and could not be consoled.

We finally talked later on, and he told me Eliza hadn’t gotten sick again and was sleeping well.  He said her butt, though, looked awful and he was guessing it was a staph infection that was spreading rapidly.  My mind jumped to the worst.  I have a friend whose son has had a handful off staph infections in the past few months, and he has had multiple surgeries on them.  It has not been pleasant, to say the least.  In this moment, instead of being rational, I immediately got more concerned again, thinking she would need to be rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night and have emergency staph infection removal surgery.  Greg actually got annoyed that I was being so meddlesome because he was in control and was going to take her to the pediatrician in the morning.  I continued to wonder how I could be such a horrible mother, leaving them both at such a time.

Missy offered to drive me home, but I knew that was irrational.  I kept praying for God to protect Eliza and take care of her.  The next day, after getting seven straight hours of uninterrupted sleep, dropping Zach off to be babysat by a friend’s mom, and receiving a call from Greg confirming Eliza had impetigo but was being treated and in good spirits, I began my magical day.  I was finally, FINALLY, able to relax.

Why is it so easy as a mother to feel so guilty about leaving your children when you know you need the break?  Why did I immediately assume the worst when Eliza threw up?  Why does it seem so wrong to expect anyone other than myself to clean up barf, deal with sick kids who can’t sleep, or make doctor visits?  Why does it turn my insides out to imagine my sick child calling for me but for someone else to answer that call?

I needed that trip to remind me how to “let go and let God.”  I must remember, always, that taking a break doesn’t make me a bad mother and I can’t allow the guilt to creep in for needing “me-time.”  I can’t say nor believe bad things about myself because I am not perfect.  Because I have to tell you, this weekend was really awesome.  And Eliza’s impetigo is healing (praise God).  And this, too, shall pass.

How do you feel like “you” again? (And do you ever?) I might know.

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Because I went from being pregnant, to nursing, to being pregnant and nursing, to being just pregnant, and now to nursing again, I am currently at 2 2/3 years without having a “normal” hormone level.  I’m not really sure if there will be long-term repercussions of living like this (and I have no idea how Michelle Duggar has survived!), but I can say that I struggle daily with my identity as “Christine” and not just my identity as “Mommy” or “housewife” or “maid.”  So sometimes, no, often times, I find my sanity comes from doing things that I did before kids.  I must say that these little mini-breaks are my current life preserver.

Today’s time to myself was a visit to the salon for a cut and color.  There is something super-restorative about having someone else figure out how to make you look amazing and then do it for you.  I have the BEST stylist in the world (Holly, you rock!), and every time I get my hair done, I leave feeling like it has never looked that good.  And the process – OH THE PROCESS – of getting a head massage, and sitting and reading (yes, US Weekly or People, and no, I’m not sure why because now it seems like every page is full of “stars” I don’t know), or sitting and knitting (which I also did), is pure bliss.  Someone else was feeding and playing with Zach.  Someone else was entertaining Eliza’s constant chatter, demands for attention, and temper tantrums.  And I was doing … whatever I wanted to do.  It’s a flashback of what life was like before kids, and I would be institutionalized if I didn’t do this.  Some women have endless supplies of God-given mommy patience; some get medicated; I get a babysitter.

The point is that we all have to find what makes us tick and then make those things priorities.  I try to schedule a hair appointment for every 9 weeks, get regular pedicures, and go shopping with a friend once in a while.  But more often, I find respite by getting to the grocery store alone, or taking a bath at night, or having Greg take the kids for 2 hours while I run needed errands by myself.  This weekend, I’m taking a trip to visit my college roommate while Eliza stays back with Greg.  We’re taking a cooking class and going to tea, and having a babysitter for Zach while we do these things.  And it is going to be magical.

I know that I am a better mother when I get breaks from my kids.  My life changed forever nearly two years ago when Eliza was born, and though my hormones might not be the same (and I probably am a different person now), I take every chance to return to “normalcy” that I can.  What do you do?

Document life’s funny moments so you can remember them.

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It’s really hard in this information age to feel like I’m doing enough to document all the greatest, fleeting moments as they’re happening.  Never before have we had such easy access to photos, videos, blogs, etc. to mark milestones.  So far, I’ve found a few things to be helpful.  For example, I actually kept a calendar on my refrigerator when I introduced Eliza to solids so I could mark what days I introduced each food to her.  Of course, I did this to keep track in case she had an allergic reaction to something, but also because, remember, I’m a control freak, so I wanted to introduce her to every fruit, vegetable, meat, bean, herb and spice I could think of between six months and a year, and there’s no way to remember if your child has yet tasted, say, cardamom or kohlrabi.  (Maybe I was only that adventurous in my memory, but whatever.)

So, I haven’t had a calendar up yet for Zach, but I’m going to go get one now for sure.  It’s nice to have a record of food introductions that’s easy to read.  But the other reason to keep a calendar handy is that it makes it super easy to jot down the dates of first teeth, first steps, first words, first anythings, and of course, funny moments.  (My mom suggested this.)  I have not been using a calendar for these things (yet!), but rather several different tracking devices.  My problem is I am a perfectionist, which is a really paralyzing disease because I end up waiting to do a lot of things until I have time to do them exactly as I imagine I should do them.  What this leads to is inaction.  I’m trying to get better about this, so I have a nice journal I use to record my favorite moments.  But I also have a couple of random notebooks around in case I can’t find the journal or am afraid if I wait until later I’ll forget.  Shoot, if I were at a restaurant, I would use a napkin to document the moment and just put it in my filing folder later.  (I’m cured!)  And I’m okay about not having everything in one neat and tidy place because all I really need to know is that someday, if I wanted to make a perfect scrapbook or baby book, I’d have the resources at my fingertips.  And finally, I have Zach and Eliza’s e-mail addresses.

Just after my children were born, Greg set up an e-mail account for each one.  I try to send them notes whenever I think about it (sometimes every few weeks, sometimes every few months) to tell them how they’re doing, or describe their milestones, or their personalities, or just how much I love them.  E-mail is so nice because it automatically time stamps your thoughts, so someday my kids will know exactly what I was thinking on a particular day in history.  We decided on Gmail accounts because the messages won’t ever be automatically deleted.

So, don’t get paralyzed by perfectionism.  The important thing is to keep a record – somehow – of the truly important stuff.  If you have ideas on tracking your kids’ greatest moments and milestones, please post them!

My little mimic

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It’s pretty amazing how easily an almost two-year-old finds it to repeat words and sounds you make.  Greg likes to play a musical game with Eliza where he makes “bah bah bah” or “lah lah lah” sounds in varying patterns and she repeats them.  This would be an example of a good mime.  This morning at our usual diner for our weekly Saturday morning family breakfast, Eliza decided she wanted to take part in the conversation, so she kept saying, “So, um … “.  This she has picked up from me.  I think I start most conversations this way.  I would judge this to be neither good nor bad, but a sort of annoying habit (of mine).  Then there are the imitations you wish you didn’t know came from you.

Eliza and I were making hazelnut gelato this morning.  She wants to help with everything in the kitchen, and I’m embracing this as best I can by having her stand on a stepping stool by me while I prep or cook.  (You can see where this is going.)  She was so helpfully stirring the cream mixture on the stove when she decided that our sweet gelato needed some salt.  She dipped her left hand in the salt bowl I keep next to the stove, and as she lifted her hand to sprinkle a handful into the pot, I stopped her mid-move and said, “Oh, geez, we don’t want salt in our ice cream.  No thank you.  That would be bad” (or something like that).  Yes, she got a little in the pot, but most of it went all over the counter and stove top.  It wasn’t a big disaster.  But my tone and volume made it clear to her this was a no-no.  She looked at me and said, “Dammit.”  I said, “Wha-hut?”  And she said, “Dammit.  Dammit.  Dammit.  Shoot.  Dammit.”  I started giggling, which is probably not the best way to react to behavior you want to curb.  And as she continued to say it, I then explained to her that “dammit” wasn’t a good word and I was sorry for using it myself.  She probably picked it up  four days ago, when she grabbed my empty glass while I was nursing, started walking away, and after I asked her to bring it back and she didn’t, dropped it on the floor, breaking it into pieces around her bare feet.  Or perhaps she heard it three days ago, when I walked into the kitchen for TEN SECONDS to get my pumping supplies and I heard a crash, and she had knocked over my full cup of coffee onto the floor, breaking the mug and making a huge mess.

The important thing is not how she came to know how to use the word “Damnit,” but that she came to know how to use it.  In the salt mess of this morning, I realized just how much she is learning from me, whether it’s good or bad.  This is the only job I’ve ever had where every word that comes out of my mouth is unforgiving; where someone else’s development into the person he or she is going to be is dependent on my actions.  So, the first thing I’m going to do is switch to “Darnit.”  The second thing I’m going to do is start counting in my head to ten before I say anything after an accident.  She is a toddler and disasters big and small are part of the job.  And third, I’m going to count my lucky stars that at least it’s “Damnit,” and not an uglier word.  At LEAST I have that going for me.

Baby food suckers beware.

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Now that Zach is six-months-old (as of yesterday, sniff sniff) and started solids last week, there is a new pungency to his diapers.  (Incidentally, we are about to fast-track Eliza into potty training, which is another post entirely, but having two children creating such stenchy messes is too much to bear.)

As a type-A person, of course with Eliza I pretty much made all of her baby food because, well, it’s healthier, less expensive, and what any self-respecting woman who takes her stay-at-home job seriously would do (right?).  Now that I have even less time to plan and prepare Zach’s food, though, I’m looking for more shortcuts.  My mother-in-law bought me the Beaba cook baby food maker for Christmas with some of those individual, 1- and 2- oz. containers for freezing the food.  The Beaba cook is nice and convenient, easy to use, and easy to clean in the dishwasher.  I’ve already figured out that you don’t have to change the amount of water you are supposed to put in it for steaming depending on the amount of food you’re cooking.  And it’s nice that after steaming, you can then blend the food right in the contraption.

However, suckers beware.  From what I can tell, it is no easier than using a regular pot with a steaming insert on the stove, and then using my hand blender (I have the Breville handheld food processor) in the pot to mash up the food.  There are a lot of pieces in the Beaba cooker as well, versus an easily removable blender handle and a pot and a steamer insert for the other method.  And finally, the cooker only holds so much food.  It’s not conducive to making large batches of baby food, or cooking meals that have items that require varying cooking time.  So it’s lifespan is going to be short in my kitchen.  Thus, if you want to make baby food and save some money, buy a hand or immersion blender, which is much more multifunctional for years to come than a specific maker of baby food.

As far as freezing extra food goes (which is the point because for a little effort I get a lot of meals), these individual little containers are freaking frustrating and stupid.  You have to run each one under water to get it to pop out, which is highly irritating and time consuming.  Of course, washing them in the dishwasher is a pain as well because they could easily fall through.  For Eliza, I used ice cube trays I had on hand.  I wrapped saran wrap around them a few times, froze them, ran them upside down under a bit of water, and then easily popped all the frozen food cubes into a freezer bag.  Sometimes you really don’t need all these specialized contraptions.  This is one of those instances.  Just use your ice cube trays and some saran wrap.

Nor can I go #2.

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Toddlers know exactly when you are unavailable. It’s like they have innate radar that alerts them to do something naughty when you’re at your most vulnerable. How are they so smart?

This morning while pumping (clearly a case when I’m not able to jump at the drop of a hat), Eliza managed to find the small shells I had hidden from her in the bathroom drawer and do – I can only imagine what – with. I have found two of the five, and the other three? I honestly would not be surprised to find them come out the other end in her diaper tomorrow.

Which leads me to poop. Here’s another example of her craftiness, fresh from this morning. I sat Eliza down at the dining room table with her oatmeal, set Zach on his play mat in such a way that if he rolled 3 times in any direction he’d be relatively safe, and took the moment to head to the bathroom. Of course, tonight I’m supposed to make a French side dish for a fun girls dinner party, so I grabbed my “Art of French Cooking” masterpiece and sat for what I hoped would be 4 or 5 uninterrupted minutes to flip through the vegetable chapter. Not so. One of Eliza’s current annoying habits is calling my name over and over and over until I respond. I chose to ignore it (again, if she doesn’t get what she wants, which is a response, perhaps she’ll stop), but after about 25-30 “MAAAAAAA-MEEEEEEs” I finally got up and went to look. She had punished me. Her oatmeal was everywhere – on her clothes, the rug under her, her cloth-padded chair – and she was standing up in a pretty precariously dangerous position. She then proceeded to require me to feed her, probably because I started Zach on solid foods yesterday and she wants the attention.

The point is that I have to start giving her more credit than I do, and I must begin anticipating her antics. Both of these situations, at least to some extent, were avoidable. I have a child lock on the bathroom doorknob, but I had failed to close the door before sitting down to pump. Likewise, Eliza has this week decided to refuse sitting in her high chair anymore. It’s a timely choice because I now need it for Zach, but the only alternative we currently have is for her to sit in the Bumbo on a dining room chair. It’s not safe, for one, and she can’t be strapped. She’s also not tall enough to reach her food easily, which is part of why she threw the oatmeal everywhere. (Thank goodness we have the dog. In fact, I’m sure I will complain inexorably about Abbey, our mutt, so this is a good time to remember why I keep her around.) So I could have asked Greg, my husband, to sit with her and help her eat while I went to the bathroom, or I could have brought her to the bathroom with me before sitting her down to eat. Or I could somehow make the time to get to the store for a proper booster seat.

Part of being the parent of a toddler is accepting a lack of control. Things are going to get messy and that’s part of the fun. But another part is realizing she is learning how the world works, and because I already know the answers to that, I can prevent a lot of frustration. The best offense is a good defense, right? Eliza might have stealth radar, but I have the atom bomb.

I know why they’re called the “terrible twos.”

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How is it possible that every request requires some combination of squealing, crying, whining, and jumping up and down? Eliza is 22-months-old and knows how to ask for things appropriately. (For example, she knows how to say, “Apple juice, please,” “shoes, please,” “crackers, please,” etc.) Yet despite all my teaching, she generally scream-whines “AP-PAL-JOOS, AP-PAL-JOOS!” or “SHOES ON! SHOES ON!!!” or “GODEFISH, GODEFISH, GODEFISH!!!” Where did she learn this? Please don’t say from me, because although I do raise my voice sometimes, I don’t jump up and down or scream requests and then continue to “fake cry” to try to get what I want. Not only that, but every time she behaves this way, I either 1) ignore it until she calms down, 2) correct the behavior by getting her to calm down and ask the way I’d like her to ask, or 3) ask her to grow up. (Okay, maybe the third approach won’t work.)

So, if I didn’t teach this to her, and it doesn’t work to get what she wants, why on earth does she continue to act this way? Is there an innate truth here about her age? Is she just in her “terrible twos” and there’s nothing I can do? I believe she is trying to learn boundaries and she is also constantly testing me to see how much independence she has. I personally think the behavior continues because she is incredibly strong-willed, so it will take some time to break the habit. But if I’ve missed something, can you point it out? If you have any suggestions, I’m all ears. Because I can’t wait until she’s three to get through this. “HELP ME PLEASE!!!” (I’m stomping up and down.)

I really can’t even pee in peace.

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As a mother of two children younger than two, I find that many days I can’t even pee in peace. (In fact, sometimes I end up holding it far too long for the right moment when my 22-month-old daughter, Eliza, won’t try to shove something into my 6-month-old son, Zach’s mouth; I am convinced I will be in Depends in my 50s, and I will blame it on my children. But I digress … )

This blog is going to be about sharing successes, failures, and tips – from me to you and you to me. I know I am not the only at-home mother living in madness on this block. Before I became a mom, and then one who quit her job to stay home (wait a minute, why did I do that again?), I had my good days and bad days at work. But my life was my own. I made most of my decisions based on what I wanted to do. Things completely changed, and I know everyone warns you they will, but there is really no way to prepare for motherhood. Especially if you are a Type-A personality whose:

– idea of chaos was not having the laundry caught up (LOL!);

– concept of lack of sleep was based on going to bed at midnight and having to get up before 7; and

– idea of “put-together” changed overnight from having a pedicure, makeup applied, nice clothes, strapless bras, and 3-inch heels (I don’t know how anyone finds anything taller than that comfortable) to feeling pretty decent if I’ve managed to brush my teeth, get a shower and change out of my pajamas.

I could go on and on. But I won’t. (At least not in this first post.) I hope that if you visit, you will be affirmed, inspired, and perhaps learn or share something.  But I must go – BOTH kids are napping at the same time (hallelujah!) and nature calls!!