Global warming may save us

I took my kids to the playground today, in February. Instead of being locked in the house with them as they made an increasingly insane circuit of TV, kitchen cabinets (good for crawling into and pulling things out of, dontcha know) and playpen - good for cage matches - the kids and I were chasing each other around a playground. It's always fun to see kids back at the playground after a long break. Katie was delighted that she could walk from the playground equipment to the swings, and that she had finally trained me well enough that I would push her in the swing if she walked up to it and started smacking it. Christopher and Matthew spent very little time on the playground but a lot of time chasing each other around the adjoining tennis court. Kiddie handcuffs that I had picked up at the grocery store on a whim were the best $4 I ever spent. They turned the tennis courts into the police station and spent an hour arresting each other and me. Of course, when we got home, there was still running, screaming and wrestling in the playpen. But after an hour at the playground on an unexpected sunny February afternoon (thank you, carbon output!), it was all more ... sane.

Fluffernutter

Tomorrow is Christopher's fourth birthday. In 43 minutes, he will turn 4 and I will feel the world shift a little as my baby takes another step toward adulthood, toward becoming his own person, toward leaving me.
Tonight, though, is about me. At least, it is as much about me as it can be when I'm devoting a few hours to making cupcakes, cutting fruit and combining cream cheese and fluffernutter to make fruit dip.
Four years ago I was in labor. It was pretty painless at this point, after 30 hours of intense pain, followed by a break, followed by intense pain, followed by a longer break, followed by what-the-hell-is-going-on-here confusion. I never feared the pain of labor. I had my first baby 16 weeks into the pregnancy. It was so early that I hadn't started to worry about the pain yet, far enough along that I was too heartbroken that I had lost my baby to worry about or care about the pain. I wanted to die, too. Contractions were nothing.
So I went into Christopher's labor with a strange mindset. I was convinced that a baby of mine could never live, so his birth, while perfectly normal, was rather fraught. I hit the nurse's button and screamed at them in a panic when the heartbeat monitor slipped off my belly and I could not hear him. I didn't need to be told to push. I never thought to say, this is too hard, I don't want to do this anymore. I wanted to get that baby out of a body that had proven so dangerous for my other children.
And then he was here, and staring at me with those who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are eyes, ones that make me struggle to stifle my laughter when I see them today. He is a strong, healthy boy now. He swims, he runs, he yells and throws fits and wants to be read to all the time. He is perfect, and closer every day to being grown. And I love him more than I ever knew I could love anyone.

Kids can find fun anywhere

It was a good idea. The Waterman's Appreciation Day in St. Michaels had several things I look for in a day out: all-you-can eat crab, the chance to see a new place and a boat-docking contest. I had no idea what it was, but it sounded...interesting, with a touch of the redneck flair that I've come to enjoy since leaving North Carolina.
Twenty minutes into the trip, it was looking more like a questionable idea. Rain was coming down in sheets, the kids were whining, and the GPS was pointing out that St. Michaels wasn't an hour-and-a-half away; it was more like two-and-a-half hours away.
Then we got there, and it seemed like a no-doubt-about it bad idea. It was still raining. The crab tables were soaked and getting wetter. And we witnessed a near fight that made us wonder what kind of event we had wandered into.
But the kids looked around and saw possibility. A small, child-sized skiff to climb in. Oyster rakes to try out, crabs in a holding tray to poke at. The museum had several exhibits that might not have been made for kids, but that they certainly liked: an authentic lighthouse with old-time stoves that opened and closed, a luxury cruiser from the 1950s that they could climb in, an old Pilot House boat that they could....climb in (is there a pattern here?).
Taking them around to the different places took a long time - longer than the rain lasted. Pretty soon we were sitting at a relatively dry table, eating crabs and hot dogs and thinking this place wasn't half-bad. Then we moved to the side of a dock, where we shared corn on the cob and cheered on the crews of boats in the docking contest (we're still not sure what that was about).
Against the rain-soaked odds, the kids were able to look around and find the fun in what seemed like a hopeless situation. I knew there was some reason we were keeping them around.

"Mommy, I had a great day."

I was lugging a Rubbermaid container out of my bedroom, thinking about the pile of outgrown kids' clothes in the spare room that needed to be sorted by size, the unwashed dishes next to the sink and the schoolwork waiting for me downstairs. I muttered "Goodnight" to Christopher as I walked out, wondering vaguely why the hell he was in my bed.
But his little voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Mommy, I had a great day today."
I put the container down and turned slowly to face him. "What?"
He was grinning at me sleepily. "I had a great day."
I would have thought that he had...kind of a crappy day. He woke up with a fever of 102. His brother pulled his hair and pinched him about six times. I wouldn't let him go outside to play, and he wanted to see his friends so much that he kept picking up the phone and dialing random numbers, hoping to miraculously find one.
But we also made his first paper chain so that he could count down the days to his birthday. He did his first scavenger hunt, following pictures torn from an IKEA catalog around the house until he came upon the Emperor Zurg toy that I had hidden from him. We read a million books. And he watched about three hours of TV somehow, which is always a good day for him.
But really, we didn't do much of anything. And maybe that's what made it such a good day for him. I think he likes to just hang out more than I do. Maybe because he sees the house as a giant toy-filled playground to explore, and I see it as a building full of chores I haven't done yet. Maybe, maybe.
I walked over and kissed him on the cheek, told him I had a great day too, and went downstairs to start on my night's work.

So happy together

Suddenly Christopher has realized that Matthew is a real, full-fledged person who can...play.
They spent 15 minutes on the playground today, figuring out new ways to go down the slide. Matthew realized he could climb the steps and slide down headfirst without crashing in a disastrous end at the bottom...then take two steps back to the stairs, up again, down again, successfully.
Christopher was trying to go down in every dangerous way possible: laying down, headfirst, and even backward. All while shadowed by an over-anxious mother who does not like it when her offspring engage in any kind of experimentation, even on a four-foot high slide.
It was while contemplating this last stunt (the kids' equivalent of the redneck "hey, watch this!") that Christopher got blindsided by Matthew. Their rotation had been working out fine until Christopher stopped to ponder physics. Matthew caught up to him, and - again earning his "Little Bulldozer" nickname - just put his head down and forced his brother down the slide. They went down slowly, giggling the whole way. Then they went back up together, and down together the same way - Christopher going backwards, Matthew playing the part of the plow - about a million times, until someone got distracted and they ran their separate ways.
Of course, Christopher lost interest in Matthew as soon as friends his own age arrived at the playground, but it was still a nice preview of things hopefully to come.

Two big steps

Christopher is having one of those weeks when he is starting to really get things that we've been working on for weeks.
Yesterday, he stayed dry all day. No accidents, no need for diapers, no real problems. He wore one pair of underpants all day, and when he took them off to put on his nighttime diaper and pajamas, we seriously considered framing them. Did it go that smoothly today? No. There were a few cases of "got to the bathroom in time, but didn't get naked in time." And a few temper tantrums. But he seems to get that when he has to go, he should head for the bathroom. And that's something we were starting to think we'd need electroshock to accomplish.
I have been telling Brian that once he gets the potty thing, a lot of other stuff will start to fall into place. As if to prove my point, he and his daddy started yelling for me to come outside and see something. The something was Christopher pedaling up and down the sidewalk on his tricycle. Not using his feet to motor along at frighteningly high speeds, but actually pedaling. While steering. Right before dinner, he even threw in a little line tracing with his new book and dry erase marker.
Any way you look at it, that's a big day. And he proved it when his little head suddenly sank onto the table during dinner and he was out for the count - at 6:45.

Big day

We had a big day here.
Matthew has been scooching, creeping, rolling, doing everything imaginable for months to get where he needs to go. But today, he finally did IT: got up on his hands and knees and made a few tentative forward motions. He crawled.
He wasn't too impressed with his accomplishment, probably because a) I'm assuming he's done it before when I wasn't looking and b) he can get around much faster through his tried-and-true methods. But I laughed and clapped and cheered for him. His feat was particularly impressive because he did it for the first time - or at least I saw him do it for the first time, which in the world of parenting is the same thing - on his nine-month birthday. Which is the exact time that his big brother crawled, too. Hilarious, and so much easier to remember for the baby book.
His big brother had a memorable day too. He had his holiday program at school. It was supposed to be performed a few days before Christmas, but it was postponed by the snow. He was all dressed up in his Christmas outfit, and so excited about his big show.
Christopher strolled into the multipurpose room and immediately looked for us. "Hi, mom and dad!" he yelled. Other kids were crying, fidgeting, looking at the floor. Christopher sang, gestured and jumped. He called out "Hi, Allie! Mrs. Owen, I said hi to Allie!" halfway through the show. (I have no idea who the hell Allie is.) He ran over and hugged his teacher at the end. Then he ran around to Brian and I to hug us. I had to bury my head in his shoulder to hide my tears. I just can't believe how lucky we are.

He loves it

I knew I'd be eager to pick up Christopher from preschool every Tuesday and Thursday, but I didn't suspect why - he has some really fun stories to share.
"So, the nurse came in and made breakfast, and it was really good!"
"Yes, and then...wait, what?"
Our drive home is full of these little tidbits, many of which make me wonder if the kid is having acid flashbacks in his carseat.
There is a small window of coherence when I first pick him up. Today, I found out that he did "everything" - he drew, wrote, played with the cement truck. He had a great art project of a fall tree - "I painted, Mommy!" - and he did a wonderful job outlining the letter E on a sheet of paper. He had pretzels and juice for snack, and asked for more juice - and said please! - and they gave him more.
There was also something about going to the potty, but I didn't catch all of it because he related it right on the cusp between coherent and crazy. Right about halfway down Clopper Road, he loses interest in the morning, switches gears, and any hope of finding out more about preschool go out the window.
While Christopher was being served breakfast by nurses, Matthew and I tooled around town like a couple of toddler-free fools. The pharmacy for Christopher's school inhaler, the grocery store for milk and Home Depot for a chain lock to contain the larger beast. Finally we rewarded ourselves by going to Borders for a quick cup of hot chocolate and some children's books. Yes, we were wild.
It's amazing how easy it is to run in and out of stores with just a small beastie who is strapped into a container. There is no bribery needed, no threats, no mad dashes to grab the last cart-with-a-car.
But, it's also pretty boring. No one asked why there is a ramp cut into the curb, who the man buying bacon is (how the hell would I know?) or why we can't watch two hours of Bugs Bunny when we get back in the car. So it's always a relief to pick up Christopher and get my newest dose of coherent/crazy stories.

Mr. Christopher goes to preschool

He started pleading to go to school at 8 a.m.
"Mommy, put me in the car? Put me in the car to school, please?" he said. And 30 minutes later, we did. He was off to school.
Christopher hopped out of the car confidently as soon as we arrived and walked toward school. He told me he'd show me where his classroom was. He wanted to see his teacher. He couldn't wait to start.
When Christopher got to the classroom, he was a little less impatient, a little more anxious. He stood uncertainly, not sure about where to go.
His teacher took things firmly in hand, saying an enthusiastic "Hi!" and showing him where to sit - "Right next to Lilly!" There was a lump of playdoh already at his place, and he attacked it happily. Brian and I snuck out - walked out, actually, since he wasn't even watching - and went to another room to do some paperwork.
Then we had the brilliant plan of going back to say goodbye. The cry of "Where are you going?" echoed through the halls as we raced out of the building.
But two and a half hours later, he came flying down the hill from the playground. His teacher said he did great. He had a start sticker on his shirt, artwork in his cubby and wanted a banana and TV at home, not necessarily in that order.
It was a good start.

Playground for two, please

Last week, in a rare interval when the tiny people in my house weren't trying to cough up a lung, we went to a playground at an elementary school. It seemed like the safest option; not many people go there outside of school hours, so my kids' germs would be long gone by the time kids returned the next day. Teachers and a soccer team were hanging around, so it wasn't deserted and creepy.
Matthew for the first time seemed to realize that playgrounds are places for, well, fun. He went down the slide (sort of; with me holding him) and smiled tentatively, sensing he was supposed to love it (he didn't, but he's very polite.) Then he sat down with Christopher and I while we made his backhoe - his "Scoop" - shovel up the small leaves that already littered the ground. Matthew, for some reason, found this hilarious. He laughed and laughed. Christopher laughed with him. The day is still far off, but it was possible to see a time when the two of them will actually play together and have fun.
The downside of the loving, happy brotherhood is the germs. My God, the germs.
Matthew and I got sick last Monday. Slight fever, cough, cold. The doctor sent him to the ER for tests. Fortunately, they confirmed that it was a really bad cold. She looked at Christopher suspiciously, but he spent his time huddled behind a bench and screaming "Don't do that! Matthew doesn't like it!" and was clearly not sick. Not then at least. But Christopher loves his brother. And he really loves to kiss his brother.
On Saturday, when I was fully recovered and Matthew was getting better, Christopher got it. Things went downhill from there. Christopher is now taking prednisone, antibiotics and albuterol. He and Matthew will both be taking maintenance respiratory medicine for the foreseeable future.
The whole experience was - is - awful, but the worst is knowing that it's just the first in a long string of shared illnesses. Especially when Christopher starts bringing home more than art projects from preschool. By January, he may be sadly resigned to getting to the car and taking a dip in the Lysol bath in the back before buckling up next to his brother.

Making the most of it

Today is Christopher's last day in the Terrible Twos, and he is making the most of it. Tantrums, refusal to eat, denying that he needs a nap...it's like he read a textbook and is following the typical two behaviors exactly. It's almost cute.
But when we took a trip to Homestead Farm, a pick-your-own farm that has barnyard animals, I got a glimpse of the future. Christopher went around a quizzed each animal "Goat, can you say 'meh'? Cow, can you say 'moo'?" He warned me to watch out for cars. And after I rubbed a peach on his cheek to show him how soft and fuzzy it was, he turned around and did the same thing to Matthew. "Baby brudder, can you feel that? It's soffft."
He's really getting to be a big boy.
But I wish he'd just take the nap already.

Look! There he goes....

Matthew had a doctor's appointment today...his one-month checkup already. Brian had to take him because I am laid low by mastitis (I can't breastfeed, but still managed to get the most dreaded breastfeeding ailment through pumping. Great.) He's gained a pound in the last week (!) and is now 10 pounds, 15 oz, which puts him in the 75th percentile for weight. He's 22 3/4 inches, which is the 90th percentile. The DNA results are pending as we wait to see if they switched babies at the hospital.
Anyway, Matthew has been put on a bit of a diet - no more than 5 oz. at a feeding - and was fussy when he got home and ate his allotted amount and then didn't get anymore. Finally we put him down on his stomach on his activity mat.
He decided he didn't like that - so he rolled over. At one month, one day old. From belly to stomach, just rolled over. Then he looked around in triumph and stopped fussing. Maybe he was cranky because he just wanted a chance to show us what he could do.

One More

Mr. Christopher has company...a new little brother, Matthew Robert. So far they're getting on amazingly well. Christopher ignores Matthew 95 percent of the time, then dive-bombs him, kissing and cuddling him while cooing "Baby brother is so sweet...Mommy, come here! Isn't baby brother sweet? Awwww." Matthew usually tolerates it pretty well, as long as he's asleep.
I've been buffeted from the true difficulties of having two kids until yesterday, when Brian went back to work, leaving me alone with the two beasties for the first time. It was surprisingly calm. I just have to keep reminding myself that everything will be a mess and will be chaotic at some point...at least now I have an excuse.

Well, that was unexpected

Christopher got a big-boy bed today.
We had already moved him into the bigger room and put the stuff from there into the smaller room (sorry, visitors; you've been downgraded). He slept in his crib last night, but after he jumped out and hit his head on Saturday, we decided a change was needed. Hence the bed.
We went to Ikea and picked out a toddler bed. It has a cat and dog carved on the headboard; he loved it. We got the sheets and everything, and while they were being washed, he had a great time "sleeping" on the bed and playing on it. We had a lot of talks about how he was going to stay in his bed all night and sleep. He got more and more excited as bedtime got closer. We cuddled up together in his big boy bed to read books. But as I reached down to kiss him good night, he matter-of-factly said "I go in crib now."
That was that. He wouldn't hear of sleeping in the bed. He was going to sleep in the crib, and that was it. He climbed out of the bed and stood by his crib, waiting. Worried about him jumping out, we decided to lower the side, but he very firmly said "Side up."
Then, he went to sleep in his crib.

What I've been dreading finally happened.

Last night Christopher woke up screaming around 3 a.m. Brian went in to see what was wrong, but Christopher just wanted to get down, so he came back to bed. I was laying there, about to go in myself, when I realized the screaming was getting louder and louder...I sat up and almost fell over when I saw a small screaming munchkin come running into our room. He climbed up on the bed, shouted "I sleep there" and threw himself down between Brian and I.
My sleepy brain could not process what had just happened. Why had Brian let him out of the crib? Why was he running around loose at night? What happened to the crib, the ultimate toddler containment system?
Brian summed it up in one terse sentence: "He climbed out."
The last vestiges of babyhood are gone.

We might be homeschooling

I tried taking Christopher to a class at the Community Center again today. After the Funfit debacle - he made it through just one class without running out, screaming - I had vowed never to go back. But this was an open class for people who were thinking of enrolling in the winter, and his friend Anna would be there, so I figured I would try it. Despite the fact that he is exhausted, still having not caught up on his sleep after the wedding.
It may have been a mistake. The class was about sports, and they were doing football today. Christopher did fine until about 20 minutes into the class, when he abruptly stopped throwing the football, curled up on the floor and refused to get up.
We ended up leaving early - I am trying to recover from a stomach bug, and not in the mood to convince a squirming toddler to throw things. And it wasn't early enough. He threw a major tantrum on the way out.
So, homeschooling tips would be much appreciated.

I'm training a ringer!

I have gotten a little obsessed with Christmas cookies.
Every year, I hassle people - Brian, my mother, my grandmother, friends - to make Christmas cookies. Typically people are not exactly brimming with enthusiasm. Something about calories, or fat, or having delicious things that have a lot of calories and fat hanging around the house during the bleakest, most housebound time of the year.
But I'm still obsessed. And this year, three things are coinciding to make it the best Christmas cookie year ever.
1. I'm pregnant. Fat? Calories? Hahahahaha. Already there.
2. My mom's group is going to have a Christmas cookie exchange. Excuse to bake!
3. I'm training a ringer.
Christopher has discovered a new love - baking. It allows him to sit on the counter (under close supervision, of course) and "help" me measure ingredients, pour them into the bowl, spill things all over the place. He loves it. I can tell myself I'm introducing him to reading, following instructions, and math (he looked at me blankly today when I asked him to add 1/3 and 2/3, but he'll catch on soon). He was grouchy this morning, until we started to make muffins. By 8 a.m., we had a batch in the oven and he was happy as a clam.
I think it will be pretty easy to transition him to cookies, especially since he's become obsessed with the subject (thanks, Cookie Monster). So, I'll be able to set up a sweatshop and feed my obsession - literally. Let the countdown to Christmas season begin.

They let young'uns vote here

Christopher, Daddy and I went to the polls at 7:15 a.m. today - and walked out with our precious "I voted" stickers at 9 a.m. Yes, Christopher got one too - make of that what you will.
Christopher did fairly well with the long wait. Lots of books and goldfish crackers, and riding on daddy's shoulders. Afterward, we celebrated his coming of age at Borders, then let Jack loose in the woods while we played outside. Alas, he always comes back. (Jack, I mean. Not the kid. I don't let the kid go anywhere in the first place. I don't want to know if he would come back.)

Naptime is now helltime

Christopher has decided he doesn't like naps. He still needs them - gets grouchy, falls asleep in the car without them - but he certainly doesn't like them.
We have had every kind of disruption possible. He has taken off his diaper, peed in his crib, taken the sheets off of his crib. And the throwing the stuff out of the crib every day is pretty much routine.
Today, he emptied his water on the floor. And the crib.
Tomorrow, I'm going to put him into the dog crate for his nap. (Kidding, I kid. Probably.)

Fatherly Love

When I was little, we went to the beach every year. And every time we went, my dad built sand castles, took me in the ocean and, once every trip, he dug a fabulous tunnel in the sand.
I didn't know until years later that my dad actually hates sand. Passionately hates it. Learning that was one of the first things that made me start to understand what being a parent - a really good parent - really means, and how much my dad loved (well, loves) me and wanted me to be happy.
On our way home on the Metro on Wednesday night, Brian played with Christopher while I read. After a few minutes, he said quietly "Look at this."
Brian's arm was covered in farm stickers. Christopher was taking them out of his sticker book and putting them on Brian's arm while he worked on finding the right pictures to match them to.
Brian hates stickers more than just about anything in the world. But he was just sitting quietly and watching Christopher put stickers on his arm and take them off again and not even flinching. I felt like my mom must have when she watched my dad, elbow deep in sand and not letting on in any way that he wasn't too happy about it.
I didn't get a very good picture of the scene, but I'll always remember it.