Growing Up

I noticed this week that my children are no longer babies.

You see this kid?  Super Stinker?  He's finally not sitting in a high chair with a sippy cup.

At one time in my life, I would consider other things success, but this week in my life THIS is a huge success.

And he's so proud of himself.

He was making a crazy mess in his high chair and throwing everything on the floor.  But put him at the counter with a real cup of milk and he's so careful.  He even smiles and claps for himself after almost every sip.

Up until a couple of months ago, I pretty much thought most everything I was doing with my children was wrong.  They weren't doing enough for themselves.  Mimi wasn't interested in learning to write letters and numbers.  Mack wasn't talking much.

But after a revolving door of therapists (Mack is getting speech therapy, occupational therapy, AND developmental therapy), I have learned two things:

ALL CHILDREN ARE DIFFERENT.

ACCEPT CHILDREN FOR WHO THEY ARE.

Whoa.  Heavy stuff.  Of course I should know this.  Duh.  Every person is different.  I should be accepting.  But not with my children.  They will be exactly who I mold them to be.

Yeah, right.  So what I'm learning through all of Mack's therapy is that children are not all nurture.  Of course I should do my part in trying to teach them to be wonderful little people, but there is a whole lot going on in their little bodies that I cannot control.  It's just the way they're wired.

So now I can let myself off the hook.  It's not my fault!  I'm not such a bad mom after all!!  Yay, me!!

Anyway, the reason all this therapy started is because Mack has something called Sensory Processing Disorder.  It's not cancer.  He's not going blind.  We will be okay.  But our little family has some things to work on because Mack is wired a little differently.

This is going to sound crazy, but I was sooooo relieved to hear that D word -- disorder.  I wanted to shout from the rooftops "This is not all my fault!  The tantrums and the not talking and the social issues.  Not all my fault.  Hooray!"  Many moms put too much pressure on themselves and I have been one of those.  I have tried not to, but there were just so many things with Mack I couldn't "fix."  Have you met my family?  My husband, my daughter, and I know how to talk.  Why can't we teach Mack?  I was an English teacher.  Why can't I teach him to talk?  Why does he shy away from social situations?  The rest of us like people.  Why does he destroy every freaking toy in sight?  His father and I don't do that.  I tell him no.  What gives?  Why can't I raise him exactly the same way I raise my daughter and get the same result?

Because I can't.  Because all children are different.  And I need to accept my monkeys just the way they are.

If you know anything about this SPD business, please hunt me down because we need to talk.  I know no one who has a child with this (other than the over-sensitive kind, which he is not), and totally thought it was made up bologna until I took a little test on-line and holy moly I checked every single box for his type.

Does he crash and destroy?  Yes.
Does he grind his teeth and stomp?  Yes.
Does he shy away from eye contact?  Yes.
Does he stuff his mouth when he eats?  Yes.
Does he barely react to hurting himself?  Yes.
Does he have trouble regulating himself?  Hell Yes.

And the list goes on and on and on.  Basically, Mack doesn't process sight, touch, and sound the same way most of us do.  He may hear what I say, but it totally doesn't register if a lot is going on.  He sees so much that he can't focus on one thing.  He doesn't feel comfortable sitting still and must constantly move to feel everything around him.  And if he isn't regulated, then he can't learn to talk or be social.  Therapy is already helping me see exactly what this is and how to help him cope with these symptoms. I've learned that we need to keep his environment as calm and comfortable as possible, and then he will begin communicating.  Remember sitting in Biology when you were hungry, tired, and upset from a recent break-up?  How could you focus to learn when your needs weren't met?  So now I just need to make sure his needs are met.

One thing the therapists told me to chill out about is the pacifier.  Mack's strength is knowing that he is about to freak out, and he tells us this by asking for his paci, trying to leave the room to get away from too many people, or other ways.  In the past I tried to make him deal with whatever was bugging him, but now I've learned to let him have his minute and he can rejoin the group after he has a break.

So the Darby home has been a bit calmer and the little guy has begun talking more.  His favorite phrase is "Dere you go" in a sweet little sing-songy voice.  He finally says "milk" instead of pointing and crying at the refrigerator.  Also, he's paying a bit more attention to others.  He occasionally walks up to random kids (usually really cute girls) and gives them a hug and pats their heads.  He also pushes, but he has a sweet smile on his face as he's doing it.  Somebody needs to explain to the crying victim on the floor (and the parent) that he's just saying hello . . . 

He's still as sweet and snuggly as always, and Clint and I were relieved to hear that it's okay to "baby" this one for a little bit longer.  Being hard on him isn't the best solution like it may be with his sister.  

Yes, he is standing on the counter.  And, yes, he would totally jump if I wasn't standing right there.  I can't take my eyes off this one for a second.  Which is why I am exhausted All. The. Time.

While this does affect the way he communicates, he is still taking in a lot.  Mack is a smart little boy.  He is very visual and can figure out puzzles and memory games quickly.  He likes to clean up and organizes his Goldfish Rainbow crackers by color.  He has many of the Gangnam Style moves memorized.  And so does his daddy.

He's obsessed with electronics and knows how to find anything (and change settings) on our phones and computers.

But most importantly, he is so, so very sweet.  He lets me hold him and sing to him, and he rubs his sisters eyes and hugs her when she cries (even if he caused it).  He likes to laugh and dance and he smells really, really good.

And moving on to this little girl.  She never ceases to surprise me.

Just a few months ago I was so very frightened that she would fail preschool (if that's possible).  She didn't care about learning and just wanted to play.  Kindergarten is serious business these days, and I was very worried my daughter who barely meets the cut-off date would make it with the older kids.  The list of items she needs to know before starting kindergarten was a lot longer than her attention span.  She wouldn't sit for ten seconds to finish coloring a picture.  She didn't want to attempt to do anything for herself.  And she didn't care.

During Christmas she wrote her name.  Then she randomly started asking me if mouse and house rhyme or dog and log.  If she hears a long word like situation, she wants me to clap out the syllables with her.  She asks me who the author of her bedtime story is.  She wants to know if frozen pizza is healthy (and I say of course).  She wants to know why we don't hibernate and how long it takes for a Halloween pumpkin to decompose.  Tonight she sat at Fernando's and colored the entire Mickey Mouse eating a salad page INSIDE the lines and didn't touch her food until she finished.  And there it is.  Her curiosity has gotten the best of her and she's ready to learn.

I have always known Mimi is smart -- but I had begun believing that maybe academically not so much.  I had dinner with a friend recently who told me that she just wasn't ready and that learning would happen suddenly.  And suddenly it has.
  

When I was in first grade, I sat at my big square desk with my gigantic pack of Crayolas (with the built-in sharpener) and worked on my coloring pages like it was my J-O-B.  I pretended to be interviewed for a segment on Sesame Street or the Disney Channel about my amazing coloring abilities.  Wow.  We've never seen a six-year-old able to choose such the perfect shade of Cyan.  But somehow that was pretty much all I did for the first half of the morning in Mrs. Shumaker's class.  I had forgotten about this until recently.  I didn't want to learn to read early.  I still wanted my mom to tie my shoes.  I had no interest in phonics or telling time or adding buttons in a jar.

All children are different.  Accept them for who they are.  And suddenly it has happened for me, too.

On raising bebes French style. Oh, and my son was kicked out of preschool yesterday.

Since both of my children turned four and two years old in August, I felt it was finally time for their check-ups, um, at the end of October.  My four-year-old daughter measured around the 12th percentile for height and weight while my two-year-old son is in about the 90th.  This equates to Mimi being only about an inch and a half taller than Mack and one pound heavier.  No wonder strangers ask if they are twins.  I really should start saying yes, but the girl is quite precocious.

During this exam Clint and I learned that Mimi is completely healthy.  We also learned that she is quite dominant.

No . . . you've gotta be kidding me . . .

Clint and I smiled with a little pride and a little embarrassment, and the exam continued with Mack.  While he is also quite healthy, we knew a certain question was coming.

"Is he putting together two or more words-- "

"No."  And I completely cut her off.  I then went on to justify my worth as a mother by explaining how Mimi was saying many words by her first birthday and could recite her ABC's by 16 months.  At Mack's age, we were easily having conversations with her.  I couldn't just stop there so I kept telling her how I've worked with small children and was once an English teacher.  I talk with him and read to him and narrate his every move.  Oh, and he has significant hearing loss in one ear.

The doctor didn't seem a bit concerned about my insecurities and told me that he has two things working against him -- since he does have normal hearing in one ear, this shouldn't hinder him much but it could.  We discussed following up with an ENT, but this wasn't her main concern.  She said that the main cause is his dominant older sister.

Oh.  Cue inadequate mommy guilt.  This girl who we've molded to be so entertaining and outgoing could possibly be keeping her brother from talking.

She asked if we'd heard about the book titled Bringing up Bebe, which we had not, and she gave a small explanation.  Basically an American who was trying to raise a child in Paris noticed that French children were calmer than American children in public yet were still bright and happy.  She pointed out how we were constantly giving Mimi attention during the check-ups -- both positive for being funny or negative when she was interrupting -- but when we finally ignored her, she stopped begging for our attention and found a toy to entertain herself.

I always do a little eye-rolling when someone recommends a parenting book to me.  How to potty train, how to sleep train, how to let them cry, how to breast feed, how to introduce solids, how to teach toddlers to read, how to teach toddlers calculus.  I mean, really, who has time to read all these books that each contain overwhelming yet vague strategies?  All of their information contradicts another expert and most of these authors had pretty crappy childhoods themselves from what I've read.  And now this pediatrician wants me to read about Parisian babies?  Really?

But there was something about her that seemed very warm and motherly, so after a week of procrastinating I ordered the stupid book on Amazon.  And it's not half bad.

Let me start by saying that I am only half-way finished, but I think I get the gist.  I'll summarize what I've gathered:
-Americans are too in our children's faces.  We overstimulate.  We feed too often.  We worry too much.  We're too attentive.  We stop our lives as women to transform into mothers.  We do not feel like worthy mothers unless we're exhausted, overweight, and have completely given up the idea of having a normal conversation with another adult until our children move out of the house.
-Parisian children are not picky eaters and eat only at family mealtimes.  They rarely interrupt their parents.  The moms are skinny AND babies are sleeping through the night by 3 months old.  They pause before attending to their children.  Moms do not make a big deal out of breast feeding, forcing the child to read early, or having to go back to work.  It's okay for the mothers to still be fabulous women while still being loving, nurturing mothers.

So far, so good, right?  As I read, I noticed that I once lived somewhat within this realm.  Both of my children slept through the night relatively early -- Mimi around 16 weeks and Mack around 8.  I owe much of this to forcing myself to listen to their cries, going to the bathroom, and then getting some water before actually picking them up.  I tried to calm them and check their diaper before feeding them and eventually they realized food wasn't necessary when the rest of the world was sleeping.  Two points for me.  Clint and I continued going out to dinner when Mimi was small (I didn't cook, so this was sometimes necessary), and attempted to go and do as we always had.  I had a job, which gave me other purpose than being a mom, and it forced me to have more balance.  Mimi was happy with us and happy at day care, and I felt that her life was balanced and wonderful.

Then I got pregnant and hormonal with Mack.  My job wasn't a happy place for me anymore, and I began feeling that maybe I would get more out of my only job being to raise Mimi.  Then I also realized that while she was bright some other children were involved in activities and learning things that she didn't know yet.  This combo turned me into the stereotypical American mom.  Overstimulating, overanxious, worried, obsessive, and insecure.

Sigh.  So I'm re-evaluating exactly what kind of parent I want to be for the umpteenth time.  I want my children to be happy and have fun but also have some healthy boundaries.  I want them to be able to play by themselves or with each other and not always need attention from me.  I want to make them feel important but not that they are the most important.  Because I am important, too.  As is every other human.  In order to do all of this, I must, of course, make a list.  I love a list.

1.  I will be clear about rules without yelling or freaking out.  I will speak to them as if they are actual humans.  Mimi, you WILL stop at the alleys and corners to wait on me before crossing.  Mack, you will NOT throw your food in the floor.
2.  I will not interfere when they are playing quietly by themselves.  Do you do this, too, or am I the only attention-hungry mom?  Mack will be quiet and happy pushing a toy car back and forth on the floor, but I feel like a terrible mom if I'm not in his face asking him to repeat words.  "Wheels.  Those are wheels.  Mack, can you say wheels?  And they're round.  Like circles.  Can you say circle?"  Seriously, Mom, get out of my face and let me play with my car . . .
3.  I will encourage them to play with each other instead of me.  Mimi constantly wants me to watch her do her freakish ballet moves or to tell me a joke that always ends with the punchline, "Banana Pants!"  I just realized I never say to her, "Why don't you show your brother?  Why don't you teach him how to do it?  Wouldn't that be a fun game if Mack joined in?"
4.  I will sit on the couch with a good girlfriend and coffee without interruption from my children.  This one will take a while and may never happen, but I'm making it a goal.  We had a play date at the home of a wonderful friend this morning, and it was a bit crazy at times.  But most play dates that include my children are a bit crazy.  All of our children love each other and had so much fun, but looking back I realize one of the times that the friend and I were able to have a conversation was when we were cleaning up toys in her son's room and our children were running around like banshees in the den.  I kept calling for them to come help, but then I thought Why interfere?  They are finally having so much fun together and letting us be adults.  They can help clean in a few minutes.  Also included in this goal is having an uninterrupted meal and phone conversation.  I realize these might also never happen while my children are awake.
5.  I will hold my children more accountable.  Mack can totally climb up the stairs and walk down the street by himself.  Mimi can get her own snack and milk out of the refrigerator.  Mack can clean up the crackers he spilled on the floor.
6.  I will pause before responding to their every whim.  Mack has learned to throw a fantastic fit, and he continues to throw them because Clint and I always respond quickly to get him to shut up.  Yes, Mack, you can have ANYTHING you want, but for the love please stop freaking out!!!
7.  I will stand my ground and not let snobby North Side moms dictate how I raise my children.  My other Chicago friends know exactly what I'm talking about.  That mom who gasps when my children are too rowdy at the park or find out I haven't enrolled them in gymnastics, Spanish, Mandarin, theater, and the Latin School.  Those moms who love to point out that my child may have offended hers (yet failed to notice how her own child instigated it all because she was too busy talking with her designer on the phone).  That grandmother that yelled at Mimi, that mom who attacked my sweet friend at Little Beans while she was nursing her baby, that mom who accused my former nanny of ignoring a child because she wasn't in his face nonstop.  Those stupid women can shove it.

And on another note, Mack was kicked out of preschool yesterday.

I can say that I'm exaggerating, but I suppose it's true.  He has been attending a once a week, 2 1/2 hour class at the private school that is at our church.  This is the same school I discussed a few posts back, and I even toured it for Mimi.  I didn't feel it was the right fit for Mimi, and now I must face the reality that it's also not the right fit for Mack.  Honestly, it's not the right fit for me either.

I told my mom about this on the phone this morning, and she immediately said, "Wha??" to which I responded, "I know, right?"  When I tried to talk with Clint about it last night, he got all reasonable and devil's advocate on me, and then I shut down and said forget it.  So this is why a girl should just call her mom first.  We need reassurance that we're fabulous and perfect moms and how dare they?!

So anyway, the story goes like this.  The class is called "Time for Twos."  Not "Time for Almost Three-Year-Olds."  Yet almost every child in the room is at least 7 months older and acts more like a three-year-old while Mack acts exactly like a boy-with-a-dominant-older-sister-and-a-slightly-neurotic-mom who just turned two.  I was SO excited about this class because Mack dearly needed time away from me.  Let me get something straight -- I do NOT do attachment parenting.  You can co-sleep and nurse until your toddler is four and never have a babysitter and home school and what-not, but I do not.  Studies show and African tribes and yada yada yada, but I do what I know.  My mother was knocked out when she delivered me.  She barely nursed.  I was in Mother's Day Out (this is a 2 day a week, 9-2:30 type of preschool at many Southern churches) from as early as I can remember.  She dropped me off at the door without tears, and I couldn't wait to play with my friends.  I love my mother dearly and I never had attachment issues.  Stay at home moms in Chicago have no such option as Mother's Day Out (how much have I complained about this?) until the child can attend preschool at three, which I think is just waaay too late.  Other than babysitters, these kids are up their mom's butts until three and then they have to figure out how to deal with it.  So I wasn't shocked when Mack threw a fit each time I had to leave him in this class.

Anyway, the teacher immediately pointed out how Mack was not able to communicate or join the group like the others, and she was constantly trying to make sure he was safe while keeping the others engaged in group activities.  I'm sure I did some eye-rolling the first time we had this convo because, seriously, she expected me to believe she could keep a two-year-old engaged in a group activity?  Moms are required to volunteer once a session, and I did notice that he was more immature than the others in the class because, well, he is several months younger and not talking much.  All of the children played well and explored, and they appeared to act like normal two-year-olds.  The girls played quietly and wanted to be read to while the boys jumped from activity to toy to activity.  I expected Mack to be awful because I was there, but the only trouble he seemed to cause was trying to take pretzels from others and punching buttons on the radio.  I didn't quite see this safety issue that the teacher kept telling me about but whatever.  He didn't seem to be at the others' maturity level, but as a former teacher I know that younger children will eventually learn from the older ones.

She and I had this convo several times, and I continued putting my foot down.  He met the requirements of being a two-year-old, I was not going to show him that his crying will get him out of my leaving him, and he will eventually learn from the older ones.  Yesterday, he was especially clingy and fussy when I dropped him off, and I was having trouble getting Mimi out of the room, which made my stress level ridiculous.  When I returned, he was so focused on him painting that he didn't even notice I had arrived.  Mack was happy to see me and to show me his blobby painting.  He didn't cling to me and he didn't try to pull me out of the door.  He was happy and painting just like the others, so I thought this was encouraging.  I asked the mom who helped that day how things went, and she said he did cry for a few minutes after I left but then played well.  I was feeling we had finally reached a new milestone when his teacher came over to me with a kind smile but then said, "Mack is just not a good fit for this class right now.  Why don't we try in a few months in the spring session?"

On a different day I may have continued my fight, but yesterday was not the day.  "You know what -- you're right.  This is not a good fit."  She tried to justify and comfort and sugar-coat, but I stopped her because I didn't need an explanation.  She was completely right.  This was not a good fit for any of us.  She is a kind person and wonderful teacher who has devoted so much to this school, and while I may not agree with this two-year-old mold, I need to respect her opinion and vision for this class.

I will continue with Little Gym and the occasional YMCA swim class because we totally fit in these places, and I'm okay with that.

In the meantime, I'll just ignore my children, smoke cigarettes, and eat pain du chocolat.  Hey, it works for the French.    

        

Why in the world have I not been updating my blog?

Ugh, once again life has gotten in the way of my blogging about, well, my life.

So, so many wonderful things have taken place since my last post about my absolutely perfect marriage to the most perfect man in the world (have you vomited yet?) that you can read here.  And I have absolutely no idea where to begin . . .

The weather has finally gotten warmer in Chicago, and so we spend at least half the day playing in the dirt at one of the amazing parks near our home.  And the rest of the time we're playing in the dirt at another park.  I've become more adventurous and have actually started using public transportation, which is SO MUCH FUN.  I'm officially a CTA nerd now, and it feels super cool to know how to get a double stroller on a bus or a train.  Go me!!!!

Hotel Darby has already opened its doors with my in-laws visiting a couple of weekends ago and a sweet friend this past weekend.  I loooooove having guests and cooking and going fun places and dancing on elevated surfaces.  Wait, what did I just say?  Don't worry -- I didn't take my in-laws to that place . . . although I think my mother-in-law may have enjoyed that (we'll go next time, Shirley).  Anywho, a lovely summer has begun, and I am in heaven.

I have so, so much to rave about and complain about and inform my readers about, but for today I want to write about what is on my mind.  

Or rather who is on my mind.  Here she is.  My tough, little independent sassy girl, Mimi.

     

She is my first child and my guinea pig with this whole parenting thing.  My goal as a parent is to give her all the guidance and tools to allow her to become loving, kind, selfless, hard-working, and just plain awesome.  And guess what.  Achieving this goal ain't easy, but every day I'm trying.

Our latest struggle has been learning how to deal with conflict -- AKA the mean kids.  This has been a learning experience for both of us, and it all came to a head yesterday at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

This zoo is our happy place.  We take the train or bus to make it more of an adventure, I pack a picnic lunch, and I allow Mimi to decide what we will see.  And then both kids pass out in the stroller on the way home, and I get to have a few quiet moments.  Oh, and the zoo is free, so I get the Frugal Mom Award in the end.

Yesterday we ran into one of Mimi's sweet friends from preschool during Mr. Singer's performance in the zoo barnyard, and they both decided to play in the big red barn.  As the other mom and I were getting our strollers situated, the girls jumped in the big tractor tires that are filled with fake dirt and giggled like crazy.  Within maybe 4 seconds, I heard a grandmother yelling, "No!  YOU need to apologize!!!"  I turned to see what all the drama was about, and I saw her finger pointing right in little Mimi's face.  Both Mimi and her friend looked confused as she turned her fuzzy, blonde head to me, turned the corners of her mouth down as far as they could go, and ran to me crying.  As soon as I could pull her off my leg, I held her and knew something was very wrong.  My tough girl doesn't cry unless she is extremely hurt, so I asked what happened.

She told me, "Mommy, the little boy threw dirt, and I said, 'no, thank you.'  He wouldn't say he was sorry, and then, and then she yelled at me!"  She could barely get these last words out before digging her wet face into my knees again.

I pulled her away and because I still had no idea whose fault all of this was asked if she was also throwing dirt, and she said she was.  I asked if she liked having dirt thrown on her, and her response was, "Yes."  Okay, I guess I needed to take a different route.  I then asked if she wanted dirt in her eyes, and she decided that wouldn't be a good thing.  I asked if she would think about this and then consider apologizing to the little boy because maybe it got in his eyes (I'm trying really hard to not force her to apologize but rather decide to do it on her own.).  She nodded and slowly walked his way with her knees shaking.

When Mimi got near him, she stopped and turned to look at me with a "do I really have to?" look.  Right at that moment the grandmother got in her face again while yelling, "You need to apologize to him RIGHT NOW!!"

Oh, holy shit.  No she didn't just yell at my baby.

I had a split second to decide how I was going to handle this crazy grandmother.  Lots of other parents and children were watching.  Mimi's friend who she adores and her mother were watching.  Most importantly, Mimi was watching.

I decided to handle Mimi first, so I went to her and asked if she had apologized.  She told me that she had and that she was so very sorry.  Before I could finish, Crazy was bent over in my face asking if this was my daughter.

getoutofmyfacebeforeicutyou, grrrrrr.  Deep breath.  My child is watching.

"Yes, this is my daughter," I said with a smile.

"Can you believe she had the NERVE to tell my grandson to apologize?!!"  Crazy said.

whaaaaa????? Deep breath.  Stop looking for sharp objects.  Mimi is watching.

"I'm not exactly sure what happened.  Mimi just told me she apologized for throwing dirt.  Maybe she asked him to apologize because she thought he was also throwing dirt like everyone else . . . "

"OH NO, no, he wasn't throwing dirt!"  she spit out while profusely shaking her head from side to side, "YOUR DAUGHTER was the one throwing it."

"Okay,"  I said.  deepbreath, deapbreath, deaapbreath.  "Did she hurt him?  She did apologize, right?  She told me she apologized."

Then Crazy nodded her head confirming Mimi had apologized, and turned to some other random mom who seemed unusually interested in the nonsense, "Can you believe she had the nerve to tell my grandson to apologize, too?  Oh, THE NERVE!"

At this I had to giggle.  I realized the crazy granny didn't give a shiz about Mimi getting dirt on her grandson.  She was completely offended that a three-year-old had placed some blame on her precious little guy.  Oh, honey, welcome to the real life drama of the playground.  Mimi Darby isn't going to be the first cute girl to hurt that boy's feelings.

With a smile on my face at the realization that there weren't razor blades in the dirt and no one was actually hurt, I said to the grandmother, "I talked with my daughter, she understood what she did wrong, and she apologized.  She's three years old."

Crazy kept looking to the other parents for validation of her fury, shaking her head, and repeating, "oh, the nerve."  So once again I calmly said, "She apologized.  She's three years old."

I wanted to hit her.  I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up and chill out.  They're kids.  They play in dirt.  They throw dirt.  I encourage my child to have fun and get dirty, but I am also trying to teach her that she only needs to do this to herself -- not everyone else likes this.  She's slowly learning, and we'll continue working on it.  But holy crap.  It was just dirt.  And it wasn't even real dirt.

The grandmother finally picked up her confused grandson and left the barn.  After the other mom and I had moved to another area, I realized my stomach had turned to Jell-o as self-doubt had set in.  I quickly asked the mom, "Did that just happen?  Did you see what Mimi did?  Did I handle it okay?  What would you have done?  Please don't think I'm a terrible parent!  I know Mimi is wild, but did she intentionally hurt the little boy?  I don't even yell at her like that!"  I was nervous about how the mom would respond because I didn't know her well, but our daughters are crazy about each other.

She told me that I stayed calm, I explained to Mimi what she did wrong, and I asked Mimi to apologize.  She never saw Mimi do anything more than just throw some of that fake dirt into the air, and the grandmother completely overreacted.  Mimi learned that if she throws dirt then she might get yelled at by a deranged grandmother . . . and the little boy learned that if a girl hurts his feelings then his grandmother will make her cry and attempt to embarrass her mother.  Then she added, "And the little boy needs to grow a pair."

Geez, I guess we all have different goals for our children.  I don't want Mimi to be a jerk, but I know that sometimes she will be and will have to suffer the consequences.  It's hard for me to watch, but I can't always step in and save her.  Good for Granny for trying to end all injustices among the toddlers in the zoo barn, but what did she achieve in the end?  And I think she was standing around waiting to get a big apology from me and see me punish Mimi, but I don't think so.  This momma has even more pride than she does, and I will NEVER apologize when I feel forced.  Normally, I do apologize to the other parent for not stepping in quickly enough to stop a problem and will put Mimi in a time-out, but not today, Miss Crazy Granny.  I wasn't the one to throw dirt at her grandson . . . but maybe I should have thrown it at her . . .

So this is one of the dramas of being a mom -- dealing with people being mean to our children.  If you want to see a girl's fangs come out, just hurt her child.  And we should stand up for injustice -- especially if someone could get seriously hurt, but in many cases I'm trying to give Mimi a little freedom to figure all of this out on her own.  It started with some mean, older girls at the playground last fall who were pushing little ones out of their way, not letting them on the swings, and pushing them down the slides.  I bit my tongue and observed before acting.  I saw their nannies chatting in the corner and the girls running the show.  They were calling Mimi a baby and telling her she couldn't play with them, but she didn't even notice because she thought she was having so much fun chasing after these wild girls.  When I had all I could stand, I told the girls that they were being very ugly and someone was going to get hurt.  I put Mimi in the stroller and we headed home so I could explain to her why she shouldn't play with those girls.  She was so mad at me for making her leave, and I was completely fuming over these little brats.

The next day a few of the girls were at the same park again, but they were completely different.  Without all their friends, they were very calm and sweet with the little ones.  I had to take a chill pill and realize this -- they were only children.  They didn't realize how they could hurt my daughter's feelings.  They didn't realize why the other moms were so mad at them and taking their children home.  But they will learn when no one wants to play with them.  They will learn by seeing good examples from adults.  Yikes.  That means I have to be nice to them.

Over the past month we've had several run-ins with the big, mean boys at several parks, and of course I always know that Mimi will be drawn to them (you better believe I see junior high flashing before my eyes).  She jumps in the middle of their game, they call her a baby, and then one of them pushes her or tells her to leave.  The first time this happened she cried and ran to me.  I told her that I am not their mom and cannot tell them how to act, so she has to make a decision -- play with the mean kids and get hurt, or play with the nice kids.  She can tell them "no, thank you" and ask them to play nicely, but that doesn't mean they will.

So it happened again.  She spotted the wild boys throwing sticks in a pile, and she couldn't help herself.  She jumped in the middle, and yelled, "Hey guys!  Watch this!" and she started singing and dancing.  The biggest boy called her a baby and got a couple of others to join in.  She told him, "No, thank you!  That's not nice.  Let's dance instead!"  And guess what.  A couple of the boys joined her.  Before I knew it, she had at least five big boys chasing after her and doing her silly dance.

That's what I'm talking about.  Mimi Darby runs this playground.

So I breathe a sigh of relief that maybe I'm doing something right as a momma.  Raising a girl with such a strong spirit is no easy task, folks.  But it is incredibly rewarding when I see her encouraging other kids to have as much fun as she does.

I mean, why wouldn't everyone want to stick a leftover from Easter gooey-filled chocolate egg on her big toe?

Enough of Mimi, here's her sneaky little brother.  I'm still eating up this little guy.

Oh, and by the way, they love each other now. :)

Ring around the roses,

Pocket full of posies,

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!

Sweetest daddy ever.  Want to fall in love with a guy?  Just watch him fawn over his kids.  Swoooon.

Stinker.

Abbo?  Jibba boo boo?  Adda babda ka?  Gee gee oh?  Ah!  Bye bye!

The even play well with toys.  And they sort of share.

Aw, this is our sweet neighbor who just moved to the burbs.  Sniff, sniff.  He and Mack share their love of Woody and Buzz.

Precious little things.

Okay, I'll try to not wait so long before the next post.  But I make no promises.  I may not be so nice to the next overprotective granny, and she may end me . . .

Things My Momma Did NOT Teach Me

It's Monday morning, which around the Darby home is "ballet day."

Mimi loves all things ballet, but I always dread these mornings just a bit.  The first few classes she was amazing, but now she would prefer to dance to her own drummer.  I love that about her.  I promise I do . . .

BUT I still feel the need to shake my head and repeat phrases such as, "Oh my word, Mimi.  What the heck are you doing?" as I see her running around the studio like a wild banshee.  She has been known to strip down and lick the mirror and totally cut in line to get her stamp at the end of class.  Very rarely do I hear Miss Taylor get onto another child as much as she does Mimi, but she's very patient and has never asked her to leave the class or anything.

The other moms giggle at her and tell me they're happy to see a child with her spirit, but something in me makes me say things like, "I have no idea where she gets that crazy energy."  And then I feel bad about myself . . .

Pride.  I have such pride in myself as a mom that I need to let the other moms know that I DID NOT teach her to act that way!  I don't like this about myself because I am not at all ashamed of my daughter.  I love her spunk and independence, and I vow today to stop this way of thinking.  So what that she acts a fool in ballet?  At least she's not standing in the corner with a finger up her nose or gripping my leg crying for dear life.  Good for her for being exactly who she is.


Whenever I say things like "can you believe she does that?," Mom always giggles and responds with, "but all four of you did the same thing to me."  It's true.  We were just as nutso as my two monkeys, but she NEVER acted like we didn't belong to her.  She was patient and loving, and I feel that I owe an early Mother's Day gift to her -- an apology.

Mom, I'm very sorry if I ever acted a fool in public.  I know you don't care and that you're giggling at me right now, but I still feel I need to tell everyone that . . . 

THESE ARE THE THINGS I'VE DONE THAT MY MOMMA DID NOT TEACH ME:

To drink too much beer.
To cuss.
To dance on elevated surfaces.
To smoke cigarettes in college.
To lie on the couch and watch reality TV.
To buy designer jeans and Lululemon that is NOT on sale.
To leave the house without full make-up and hairspray.
To be a snob and go a whole day without learning the entire life history of a complete stranger.
To wear pants to church.
To wear ragged jeans.
To stay up past 10PM.
To sleep past 7AM.
To sometimes be a mean girl in middle school.
To write papers for my friends in college.
To procrastinate.
To take my father's side occasionally.
To leave dirty dishes in the sink over night.
To ride in cars with high school friends who drove waaaay too fast.
To not clean out the tub or shower every. single. day.
To not iron absolutely everything I wear.
To not wear lipstick.

Sigh.  She's probably rolling her eyes about now.  I have learned my lesson about some of these things (smoking is really, really gross.  I promise I didn't do it too much.), and I'm sorry I didn't listen the first time. Since I'm stubborn, my mom let me learn some of these things on my own, and I guess I'll have to let Mimi do the same.

I'm proud to say that these are the things my momma DID teach me:

To see the cup as half full.
To always trust my gut over a book with my newborns.
To not be disappointed but to giggle when my toddlers act like toddlers.
To take care of my husband.
To let my husband also take care of me.
To cook meals AND dessert for my family.
To be silly.
To help my neighbors.
To teach my children by example.
To have live plants in the house.
To go to the doctor when I'm sick.
To not worry that my children might get their clothes dirty.
To be creative.
To not argue about politics or religion.
To not be afraid to strike up conversations with complete strangers.
To not give up the chance to hold a newborn.
To wake up early to have time for myself.
To not be afraid to ask for help.
To stay active.
To laugh at myself.
To hug often.
To eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired.
To be interested in others' conversations.
To love unconditionally.

Most importantly, she taught me that I want my daughter to have a list almost exactly like this when she's 32-years-old.

Well, except for the smoking.  Mimi, please never smoke.  Gross.

How to Survive While Daddy is in The Big Grape

Clint left yesterday morning for New York City.  I think that sounds really, really cool, and I'm a tad bit jealous.  I can remember a time before we moved when I could say, "Clint's working in Chicago this week," and I thought that felt really cool to say.  Don't worry -- the Darbys are not moving to NYC.  And it still feels cool to say that Clint is working in Chicago.

So, anyway, Clint is in "The Big Grape" as Mimi likes to call it, which means I've been the single parent while he's been gone.  I'm always a bit nervous that I'll run out of ways to keep the kids entertained (and patience) while I'm on my own.  Clint usually doesn't get home until 6:30 or later at night, but he is pretty helpful with bath time and playing with the kiddos while I can get some things cleaned up and put away.  Even though he hasn't been here, everything has gone quite smoothly, and as long as he brings back a really fancy gift for me, I guess I can let him go again (I mean, a cupcake would be fancy enough for me.)

Yesterday morning Mack had his 18-month-old check-up.  Do I need to repeat that?  Yes, I did write 18-month-old.  I KNOW!!!!  When did he get so big???  He's in the 50th percentile for weight (25lb, 11 oz) and 75th-90th for height, and Dr. Chang told me he's perfectly healthy and very, very busy.  He's a bit obsessed with his Toy Story toys right now, and he played and pretended with them nonstop while she was checking him.  I told her that I didn't remember Mimi playing like this when she was his age, and the doctor said that he is totally a second child.  This is why he crawled early and climbs like a monkey and makes his toys pretend to talk to each other.

For a while I expected less out of him than I did out of Mimi.  Mimi walked well from the beginning and was talking nonstop early, but she was in daycare.  I assumed Mack would do most things later because I'm home with him and because boys are sometimes a little slower in the beginning (and sometimes for the rest of their lives.  What?  Did I just actually write that?).  The same questionnaire I filled out for Mimi's 18-month check-up was the same as the one I filled out for Mack, and I was a bit surprised at my answers.  He seems to be doing everything that she was and maybe even a little more.  She didn't care for blocks at his age, and he has become OBSESSED with Legos.  Not the big ones.  The tiny, little ones that I should probably put away because they're choking hazards.  He searches the pile for the smallest ones and then builds a tall tower with them over and over and over.  His intensity makes us giggle because he screams at us if we get in the way or try to help him.  He wants to do it all by himself.  This all started several months ago when he tormented Mimi by taking all of her Lego towers apart.  I guess because Mimi didn't have any older siblings with Lego towers then she wasn't as interested as early.      

Mack also likes to play games with us.  He loves to randomly pull on my hands to make me get up to play Ring Around the Roses with him.  Whenever someone comes to our door, he runs to the couch so he can jump out and play Peek a Boo.  He was even hiding behind my knees yesterday and yelling "Ah boo!" at Dr. Chang.  He's really into songs with hand motions like "Wheels on the Bus," "Twinkle Twinkle," "Pat a Cake," and "Head and Shoulders," but I don't recommend trying to do these to make him happy while driving.  Hands on the wheels at all times . . but that's another story.  

He doesn't talk a lot, but over the past month I've noticed a lot of new words to add to his list.  He likes to squeal "Ididit!" like it's one word.  He's saying more names like Poppaw (my dad), Top (Clint's dad), Coco (my neice), Nick (my nephew), and Amy (my sister).  His favorite names to say lately are Woody and "Jeshie" and Tigger and Pooh.  He's also been pointing at things that he doesn't have words for and saying "dat" or "dis."

Mack is such a little ticklish guy and laughs at EVERYTHING.  Mimi is a great big sister for a boy because she's so wild and never takes it easy on him.  She will run into him and knock him over, and the little guy just gets back up while laughing hysterically.  Even when I put her into time-out for almost breaking his neck, he checks on her to see if she's coming back for more.  Tough little guy.

I had my first class ever with just Mack this morning -- Gym and Swim at the Y.  Basically, the toddlers play in the gym for 30 minutes and then have swim class for 30 minutes, which is just enough to make us all want to nap for the rest of the day (except I can't because Mimi no longer naps.  Grrr).  He pretended to be shy for about 5 seconds, and then he ran around the gym and laughed and laughed and laughed and slid and climbed and kicked balls.  He was a little clingy in the pool, but he giggled nonstop at all the silly songs and being thrown in the air.  He screamed "Yay!" and clapped excitedly when every song was over.  Little happy stinker.

Meanwhile, Mimi is still a wild monkey.  When I arrived at preschool yesterday, Miss Norah met me at the door to tell me that Mimi didn't get to participate in Show and Tell because she had pulled someone's hair.  Ugggghhhh.  She's been a bit feisty lately, but pulling hair is just mean.  I wanted to march over to her and yank on her hair for a minute in hopes that she would get it, but I'm pretty sure not being able to have an audience during Show and Tell was more than enough punishment for my actress.  We had a nice, long talk and I took away something, but we'll see how it goes.  I've had to be tougher with her than normal lately, and I've found my harsh tone going places I didn't know existed.  She doesn't pay any attention to me if I kindly ask her to do something (like not run out in the street), so I have to raise my voice and channel the Devil for a few minutes.  I hate it, and I'm sure other people think I'm the meanest mom ever.  It doesn't even phase her.  "Oh, okay, Mom.  You mean you want me to stand next to you and not in the middle of this mud puddle? Oh, I get it."  Soooo frustrating.  When we got home she asked me to turn on a movie, and I reminded her that she didn't get TV time because she pulled hair.  She said, "Oh, yeah.  I don't get to watch a movie because I was a stinker today, right?"

But I love my little stinker, and I was feeling awfully lazy yesterday with the idea of not having Clint to help at night, which caused me to get McDonald's for the family for lunch.  I thought maybe a treat of too much sodium and grease might make Mimi a sweeter child.  He he.  And then I totally made frozen pizza for dinner.  Geez, what's wrong with me?  At least the kiddos had apples with their lunch and green beans with their pizza (which Mimi completely covered with a slice of pizza.  Yes, she is already that sneaky.  But she eventually ate them anyway.).

And remember my latest quest to become more crafty and have a "theme day?"  Yeah, well, I think that's a stupid idea now.  I realized that not every good mom pulls awesome craft ideas out of thin air on a daily basis, and what in the world am I supposed to do with a week's worth of toilet paper puppy dogs and noodle necklaces anyway?  So instead I decided that I would make it a point to put aside 15-30 minutes a day to do one "activity" with my children.  It must be a time that the TV is off and I am completely engaged with teaching them and being creative.  Last night while my gourmet frozen pizza was cooking, Mimi and I made peanut butter cookies.  Oooooh, yummmm.  I stuck Mack in his high chair with a bunch of snacks, and then I actually let Mimi help me.  She was fantastic!  Yes, I had to repeat over and over and over, "Don't touch that yet.  Stop eating raw egg.  Leave that alone.  Not yet.  No.  No!  NO!!!" but I would say that it went pretty well.  Check here for the super easy recipe:  Bad Day Peanut Butter Cookies.  They were good even though it wasn't a bad day at all.

She was so proud of herself!  And completely covered in peanut butter. :)

Just got a text that Daddy-O has landed.  Guess I better clean up a bit.  Nah, maybe I'll leave it a mess so he knows how much we need him . . .

She's Crafty

You know who I'm talking about and not in the Beastie Boys kind of way.  That Martha Stewart kind of woman.  The one who can make a gorgeous dining table display with a couple of toilet paper rolls, tin foil, and a glue gun.  She brings the most beautifully gift-wrapped presents to birthday parties and showers, and the gift inside is probably hand-made.  She lives on Pinterest and then posts all the wonderful door hangers and wall art and children's crafts that her family happily made with items just lying around the house.  And she makes me want to gag.

Okay, maybe I'm a little jealous because I totally think I should be like this.  I have a minor in art (well, kinda.  I'm missing one foreign language credit, but I don't think that matters), and I love to draw and sew and do a few other things that require me to use the right side of my brain.  But I am in NO WAY crafty.  I do not own a glue gun.  I can't look at the plastic fruit containers and cardboard beer boxes and egg crates in my recycling bin and envision an afternoon craft project with the toddlers.  I can't make bows for my daughter's hair.  I've never fashioned a quilt out of old sorority t-shirts.

If a teacher was to grade me on my ability as a SAHM, I would get a big, fat F in the art category.  I would get a big, fat F in several other categories (which I'm sure I'll discuss at a later date), but art class has been nonexistent at the Darby house.  We sing and dance and play blocks and read books, but I rarely come up with more than a coloring book and crayons for my monkeys.    

I honestly didn't see this as a problem until recently.  I mean, I have messy toddlers who eat glue and paint, and I have always felt that art should begin maybe at preschool or around the age of whenever they stop putting glitter in their eyes or glue sticks up their noses.  But I need to change this because I LOVE art.  I once dreamed of being a starving artist wearing second-hand clothes and hanging out at really cool parks sketching.  Okay, so this was for about a second during my freshman year of college, and then I realized that I wasn't that very good and I absolutely despise second-hand clothes.  They never fit right after someone else has worn them.

And at this week's mom's group one of the girls thought it would be fun for the older kids to finger paint and make cute little designs out of their handprints and for the little ones to squish two different paint colors together in a gallon plastic bag.  Wow.  How did she think of something so clever??


I'm not being a smarty pants.  I really don't know how she thought of putting the two different colors in a baggie and letting them mix and squish together to make a completely different color, and (this is my favorite part) there was no mess.  Why can't I come up with something so simple on my own?  And her little girl is absolutely the tiniest little thing.  I'm not even sure she is old enough to eat a crayon.

I complimented her on the fun baggy idea, and then she excitedly began spitting out other ideas like finger-painting with pudding and then my head started spinning out of control when Pinterest was mentioned.  I DESPISE Pinterest because it is a reminder of how un-crafty I am and how crafty everyone else is.  (On a side note, have you seen the $*#T SAHM Moms Say video on You Tube?  Because you should.).  She was just full of crafty ideas, and it made me feel, well, a little embarrassed that I had absolutely nothing to bring to the table.  If you know me, you know I HATE not being a bit of a know-it-all.  Not one idea with felt or macaroni or pipe cleaners or anything came to mind.

I thought about it all afternoon.  Why can't I be crafty??  And then Mimi, who seems to read my mind on occasion, announced that today was Valentine's Day and the next day would be Frog Day.  "What?  What's Frog Day?"  I asked.

"I don't know.  But tomorrow is Frog Day and the next day is Princess Day."  And then she tackled her brother and stole his blocks.

Hmmm . . . a theme day for every day.  I could make that really fun.  We could talk about the life stages from an egg to a frog and the different types of frogs, teach Mack how to say "ribbit" and play leap frog with Mimi, and then make some sort of craftiness with frogs.  Wow.  Mimi is so brilliant.

But the next day I forgot about this and we did nothing pertaining to amphibians, and then she reminded me that the next day would be Princess Day.  Oh, joy!  Princess Day!  I pulled out her Snow White and her new Cinderella and let her watch some Barbie Princess nonsense while getting ready for preschool, and then I had plans of making princess crowns and discussing British royalty with her during Mack's nap time.

So this is how I might start being crafty.  A theme for each day.  I can let her come up with the ideas and that way I don't have to think too hard.  Also, it will be easier for me to Google or search on Pinterest (eeks) or whatever for some sort of project.  I know that this will probably force me to spend a bit more time at Joann's than I would like for some crafty items (I despise Joann's.  I've always felt like people think I crochet tissue box covers or bedazzle my jeans if they see me going in there).  But having a theme is a start, and I think it's a good one.

But back to the Princess Day for just a moment.  When I took Mimi into her classroom that morning, I saw a very disappointed look on her little face.  It was indeed "Princess Day" (and "Super Hero Day") in her class so all the girls wore pink and purple princess dresses and the boys wore capes.  Oops.  I guess I should have read the last e-mail from Miss Kelley a little more closely.

Anyway, Mimi decided that today is "Hat Day."  She and Mack dressed up in cowboy hats for all of ten seconds.

Then they helped, well, kinda helped make their own hats.  And then I chased them around the den trying to make them realize how awesome it would be for them to sweetly stand next to each other while wearing their fun hats so Mommy could document this moment on film.  They screamed and hid from me, and then my battery went dead.

So here they are.  Proof that even I can be the crafty mom.  

Something tells me I'm not getting "pinned" any time soon . . .

Until the next fiasco . . .

I Am NOT an Island

At least I hope not.  

Please tell me I'm not . . .

One of the best pieces of advice I can give any new mommy or to one adding a second child to the family is this -- make new friends.  You can keep the old ones, but go out of your way to find other women who have children around the same age as yours.  Not that they once had children the same age as yours but that they do right now.  Join a play group or strike up conversations at Little Gym.  You can't be shy.  Don't worry if those women who may have absolutely nothing in common with you other than they are also a SAHM or a working mom or a single mom or they have all girls or whatever.  Do NOT try to figure this thing out on your own.  I repeat, DO NOT TRY TO FIGURE OUT PARENTING ON YOUR OWN.

I am not only suggesting that you do this so that you can learn from others who are walking in shoes similar to yours, but you need to know that you are NOT crazy.  This shiz is hard.  You will have some seriously bi-polar ups and downs, and you are not alone.

I really, really, really from the bottom of my heart appreciate any feedback I get when I write about my crazy days.  I do lots and lots of moaning and groaning, and I'm relieved to hear that some of my girlfriends are going through exactly the same thing.  I love the advice or the unloading or whatever you need to do.  I started this  blog as a way to keep up with family and friends as my family grows, but I'm so glad it has turned into more for me.  

So I need to be reassured -- I'm really not an island, am I?  

I just noticed as I sat down to write this that I never published the last post, so I did.  And then I giggled at its tone -- Yay, me!  I was a great mommy today!  Because today is a bit different . . . 

Well, today is okay, but yesterday was complete crap.  See these sweet children below:

I had a lunch date with them at Bakin' and Eggs.

She begged me to let her help mop.  I mean begged.

  Don't they look so sweet and awesome in these two photos?  Well, they were sweet and awesome at moments . . . and then the rest of the day was complete mayhem.  The details aren't too important and they weren't being naughty, but they were complete nuts at lunch and fussy and whiney and loud and UGGHHHH for the rest of the day.  A mom actually gave Mack her child's Buzz Lightyear because he continuously screamed and pointed at it throughout lunch.  Basically, they were just little handfuls of crazy.  I did a great job of keeping my cool, which usually helps.  But it didn't help at all yesterday, and I was annoyed and embarrassed.  I thought it would be fun to make cookies with Mimi, but it ended with me basically shoving her out of the kitchen and making her watch a movie.  Yep, making cookies wasn't quite as sweet and fun as I thought.

And then Clint messaged to ask if it was cool if he went to dinner with a client.  Oh, holy crap.  Anyway, I convinced him he needed to be home because our children had kicked my butt today, and luckily he was able to get out of it.

I've also been thinking a lot lately about whether I'm really doing the best that I can as a mom during the years I'm able to stay home with my toddlers.  We love Chicago and all that it has to offer our family -- great museums, amazing parks, incredible public elementary schools, 3 high schools on my side of town in the Newsweek top 500, tons of toddler activities . . . but sometimes getting around and wrestling with the crowds is a bit overwhelming.  And then I think about our life in a suburb or small town and how some of our friends in the South have inexpensive Mother's Day Out options and big yards and cheap babysitting (well, relatively speaking).  Last night when I was having one of my "I'm so completely exhausted" moments, I began to question myself.  And then I woke up this morning and was fine.

Seriously, what's up with all the highs and lows?  Why can't parenting be the most amazing experience ever, like, all the time?

Sigh.  So I'll keep trying and learning and growing and talking and talking and listening a lot more than I talk.  Well, I don't know.  I do talk a lot . . .

I had a convo with a dear friend this morning who is very close to my little monkeys, and she pointed out that I am a big softie when it comes to disciplining Mimi.  What I'm doing might work with some children, but she needs serious boundaries because she's sneaky and witty.  Yep, this is so true.  We also talked about how I need to add some structure and keep them as busy as possible.  I needed this.

Then the discussion at my mom's group was about whether to add another child to the family or not while living in this big and busy city.  I thought about skipping this week just so no one could convince me that adding another is "such a joy."  Girls talked about having two or three children in a two bedroom house (The babies that sleep in pack 'n plays in the "big bathroom" were called "spa babies."  That makes me giggle), the struggles with teaching their little ones to act appropriately in public, learning the ropes with finding free museum days or the more affordable preschools (like that exists!), and working out a dinner schedule when no one has a husband who gets home before 6:30.

We do have some different challenges in the city, but everyone has some sort of challenges with trying to figure out how to survive parenting.  At least I can keep my kids in the stroller while I run some small errands to pick up more contacts or milk at the grocery and then the dry cleaners.  My head spins when I think about getting two wild monkeys in and out of a car a bazillion times a day.

Okay, now I have some frosted heart-shaped cookies I need to share with my wild children.  I think we've all earned a treat after being so sweet and structured and disciplined today. :)

It's Not All About You, Jeri Anne

First of all, I have no idea why the cooking post has shown up again.  I wrote that, like, forever ago, but it is showing up like I decided to shove it in your face again.  I promise I didn't do that but maybe someone somewhere is dying for an Italian sausage recipe, so there you go.

I have been trying to revamp the blog, and I have no idea what I'm doing . . . will someone who knows about this sort of thing just redesign mine and make it fantastic?  Thanks.

Anyway, I don't really have anything awesome to write about, but it's a boring, blah Monday. . . so why not?  I had a very okay weekend with my family, and it could have been better but I think I was a little bit of a butthole.

I've had several projects on my mind that keep me up at night, and I haven't even been able to start on any of them, which has annoyed the mess out of me.  I sketched a few designs for dresses for Mimi (and maybe myself.  Hmm.) and found patterns over the weekend, but I'm dying to actually be able to sew.  I can't exactly do that with Mack fussing nonstop (I'll get to his drama later) and Mimi no longer napping.  And I'm quite bored with the beige walls of the condo and have ideas for a little redecorating and organizing, but I can't do that for the same reasons mentioned above.  So I spent the weekend whining a little and being a brat because I felt all anxious over something I knew I didn't have time to begin.  Wah, wah, wah.

But today was a new day, and I decided I would not be a brat today.  Today was not about me.  It was about everyone else.  No thinking about what I would wear or read or watch or create.  Nope.  What could I do for my kids and my husband (Of course I showered and ate and did what I need to do.)  I don't think that's a bad goal to start with -- just my family.  I'm not trying to save the world here.  Just my family.

And you guessed it.  Today went soooo smoothly.  Geez.  Why can't I learn my freakin' lesson already?  When I'm a selfish brat over not being able to go to the bathroom by myself or drink my coffee in peace or unload the dishwasher without someone climbing in or change a diaper without pulling a muscle in my back . . . okay, maybe I draw the line there.  But, I get it.  It's not all about me.

Anyway, today was a good Monday and everyone is going to sleep happy tonight.  And if I haven't told you in the past, my kids are really, really funny.  You want to know some stories?  Of course you do.

This morning I went into the bathroom to find Mimi had unrolled an entire new roll of TP while doing her business.  This happens way more than it should.  I know I should just remove the roll from her sight while she's in there, but I am a firm believer in giving my child chances to redeem herself.  Anyway, when I discovered her mess, I said something like, "Oh, Mimi.  Why did you make this awful mess?"

She just looked up at me with a concerned little face and said, "Mommy, this is a big, big mess.  You need to clean it up, and then you need to go to the grocery store and buy more.  Right now."

Mimi loves to use my words against me.  I put her in time-out recently for almost injuring herself and her brother on her scooter, and when I returned to talk with her, she quickly told me I needed to apologize to her and ask her if she's okay.  Then I needed to tell her that I'll never ever do that again.  Sigh.  She totally tries to confuse me by making me think it's all my fault.

As we were leaving the park today (yes, it was in the mid-40's and sunny!!), I reminded her that she needed to stay next to me and not run to the bus stop like she LOVES to do.  She rolled her eyes and mocked me with, "Yes, your majesty!"

What??  Where is she getting this?  Okay, I totally know because I watched cartoons with her all afternoon.  And she was trying to be silly all of these times, and, of course, I spoke with her about what was appropriate and yada yada, but, my word, I have to hide my face and giggle about at least half of what comes out of her little mouth.

Mack has been quite a little fussy bucket lately.  He is attempting to have his own opinions, but he doesn't know how to express himself with words and doesn't understand why he can't do everything he wants.  I think this normally happens for girls around 15 months and boys around 18.  They go from sweet and happy babies to fussy, angry toddlers.  On top of this his stomach has been a little upset lately, and he has a sudden infatuation with the remote controls, which is another story in itself.  We may have to go to counseling over this.

But he is talking some, and it's so stinking cute.  When he's begged for food in the past, he has stood near the kitchen and pointed and grunted, and I've been trying to teach him the sign for "more."  Yesterday he was annoyed with me trying to teach him the sign, so he pushed my hand to the side and screamed, "MO!  MO!!!"  Okay, I guess he was thinking, "Why does this lady act like she doesn't understand that I'm pointing at the bananas??  I guess I'll have to scream that word at her."

On our walk home from the park it was getting dark, and I saw him look up in the sky and then suddenly squealed.  "A moo!  A moo!"  No, not a cow.  He saw the moon!  We have read Goodnight Moon at least a bazillion times, and I point to all the pictures and say the words over and over and over.  All Mack does is point and grunt, so it's awesome to realize that something is making sense in that noggin of his.

His mannerisms and sounds and silly faces are so hilarious right now.  He bounces around the house from one toy to another all while making funny noises and nodding his head and stopping to dance when he hears a song and then standing on his head.  He learned to walk backwards while at Mimi's soccer class on Saturday, so I have caught him walking backwards into a wall and then giggling his head off.  He laughs at himself all the time even when no one else is paying attention.  I like that.

So today was a good day and here's to hoping this week stays the same!

To Tolerate or Not to Tolerate

Today is a day that I like to call "Procrastination after a Long Trip Day." It's my own personal holiday after a holiday. Yes, I have large suitcases to unpack and new toys and generous gifts that I must find a new home for, but instead I will drink coffee and will veg with my children in front of PBS cartoons and will wear comfortable workout clothes when I have absolutely zero intention of doing anything remotely close to burning calories. Well, I might take a trip around the den on Mimi's new scooter, but that's about it. We are completely out of garbage bags and very close to being out of toilet paper, but it's raining cats and dogs outside, which is my excuse for not getting out to buy more. Maybe I can borrow from the neighbors . . .

This morning I noticed Mack drinking from a sippy cup that wasn't his and realized a buddy left it at a play group I hosted a million years ago, which prompted me to get on Facebook to send a message to the moms, which forced me to read every single new post since I checked it last night, and that caused me to come across a new article written by a mom on NPN. Whatevs, you know I don't need an excuse to stalk people on FB. Anyway, this post was about the rules with noisy toddlers, which I just HAD to read since my last post was about almost exactly the same thing -- tolerance and noisy children.

Hers was specifically about restaurants, and she concluded that moms need to take their screaming children out immediately while other restaurant patrons could also be a little more tolerant. She mentioned a restaurant in Pennsylvania called McDain's, which recently banned all children under 6 because "Their volume can't be controlled and many, many times, they have disturbed other customers."

Okay, I can understand that. Sometimes I also want to go to a nice, quiet restaurant and actually have a conversation with my husband or a friend. I'm not offended by that at all. But the restaurant also commented, "their endless screams at public dinner tables are the height of being impolite and selfish."

Hmmmm . . . they are the height of being impolite and selfish.

This makes me giggle. Well, of course they are at the height of being impolite and selfish. That's what toddlers are. They don't know the ways of society and don't give a rip about what others think of them. But was it wise for the restaurant to make that statement? And if the parents are allowing the little ones to stay at a table in a public place while they are endlessly screaming, well then that is another problem. I should know because it JUST happened to me a couple of nights ago.

I spent one night at my parents' home this week, and my dad took us to his favorite restaurant, Catfish Hotel, so we could get our fill on all things deep-fried (yummmmmm). Mimi didn't get the best nap that day, but I truly thought she would be fine once we got there. It's a very kid-friendly restaurant, and she has always been able to find another little buddy to look out the window with. Near the end of the meal she had a bit of a melt-down when I wouldn't allow her to run around like a chicken with her head cut off. I know, I'm such a mean mom. But the truth was that she was tired and had very little control over her actions, and I knew this. So I stuffed one last hushpuppy in my mouth and got her out of there as quickly as possible. It wasn't her fault. It was mine. Of course I took the opportunity to explain why we don't act like headless chickens in public places, but she didn't get punished.

I did get some looks from other tables while I was rushing her out of the place, but 95% of them were also parents or grandparents who were thinking, "oh, that poor thing." The other 5% can just go eat at McDain's in Pennsylvania.

It also happened a few weeks ago at a local Mexican restaurant in my neighborhood, which happens to be the most kid-friendly neighborhood in the city. And it was about 5:30PM, which is when only families with toddlers and senior citizens go to restaurants. The other parents don't mind, and the seniors can't hear. It works out well for everyone. Anyway, we were with other families and three toddlers squealed at the same time, which most of us thought was kind of funny (well, probably because we had several pitchers of margaritas by this point), BUT out of the corner of my eye I saw that one table of two forty-something-year-old women gawking and complaining to their waiter. Great.

So the manager came over and the concerned expression on her face completely melted when she saw our table. She let us know another table complained, but our children are so little and they seemed to be having so much fun. Then she winked and said that she just wanted to make sure that table saw her come over and say something, and then she brought crayons.

. . . the height of being impolite and selfish . . .

One reason this statement makes me giggle is that the children have done nothing wrong. Crying and being noisy isn't a sin. It isn't evil. But this restaurant has stated that it is "selfish," which is indeed not a good thing to be. I assume what they mean is that the parents are being selfish. The parents have selfishly gotten themselves and their toddlers bathed and in nice clothes. They selfishly packed snacks and crayons and Magnadoodles along with diapers and wipes and an extra change of clothes and plastic utensils and bibs and a bazillion other things into a ginormous diaper bag instead of bringing a stylish little purse. These same selfish parents then struggled with the little ones to get on their shoes and coats and then wrestled them into car seats. They selfishly waited on a table and quickly moved away all the glasses and sharp utensils so their children wouldn't knock them over or throw them across the room. The selfish moms balanced nursing a baby under a gigantic cover while helping her husband shovel chicken nuggets and peas in a picky toddler's mouth to keep her quiet. Then they selfishly pack away most of their dinner into styrofoam containers because the little ones have reached their melting point. How. Freaking. Selfish.

Yes, there are those parents whose only action with fussy ones in public is to yell at them to make them stop yelling, which we all know never works. But more times than not the majority of parents are the ones I described above. They just want to have a nice evening out with their family because they know that the benefits are worth the risk. It is worth all the trouble it takes to get my family out of the house. I try my best to make sure that no one is sleepy or starving or needs to potty or get a clean diaper. I try to pack my bags with all the essentials. We call ahead for early reservations and ask for a table in the back when available. And if all goes as planned, we get a good meal that we don't have to prepare or clean up and my children show us the best time. They usually dance at the table to the music, joke with the waiters, and say really, really funny things to the people sitting around us. The risk is SO worth it. They are the most interesting and best dinner dates Clint and I have ever had.

So go eat at McDain's and other places banning children. Sit in peace and quiet and turn your nose up at anything louder than the terrible elevator music I'm sure they'll be playing. Don't take the risk of being tickled beyond belief at the funny things that toddlers do in restaurants. Having children isn't for everyone, and I don't recommend to people who are even the slightest bit unsure of it. But you want to see how selfish you are? Then have a kid. I never realized what a narcissist I was until Mimi came along. I used to wake up early and take FOREVER to get ready to go anywhere -- to work, to dinner, to the grocery store. I would piddle and watch TV and pluck my eyebrows and chat on the phone and check my e-mail. I would clean out a closet and then mess it up again looking for just the right outfit for lying around the house and watching reality TV. I could spend all day shopping for the perfect socks or downloading new music.

But I never had enough time to get anything done. Ha. Ha ha ha ha. I was so stupid and selfish. I wanted to have children so badly, but I never knew how badly I needed these children. Clint and I are smarter and stronger and closer to God than we've ever been or ever would have been if we didn't have children. They taught us so much about life that we owe it to them to give it all we have. Which means taking them out in public places to have fun -- and to show them how to politely have fun in public places. To teach them everything we know by spending lots of quality time with them. To feed them healthy food and make sure they get plenty of exercise. To teach them to be kind and selfless and patient -- and these especially we must teach by example, which isn't always easy.

The past couple of weeks of traveling and eating in restaurants and staying at several other homes and sharing space with people of all ages has been GREAT for all of us. Not always easy but it has given Clint and me the best opportunities to teach them all of these things (and to learn more ourselves). If we never took the risk, then how would each of us learn and grow? We wouldn't.

So the crazy point I'm trying to make is this -- I hate it for those who don't take the risk to include children. I'm not mad at the restaurants and other places that ban children. Whatevs -- they're trying to make good business decisions. But I'm mad at the attitudes of those who ban children. Who don't see their importance. Who don't want to listen to their noise. Who push them away constantly for a quiet, peaceful moment. Please don't miss the opportunities you have with your little ones. The opportunities to make sure they have fun and are learning to be just as cool as you are. If you don't like how they're behaving, then show them how to do it correctly. We all learn best from examples.

Something about lots of families getting out to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus (the key here being BABY) has made me think a lot of attitudes toward little ones. Even if you think Jesus was just a complete nutcase who claimed to be the son of God, you can't argue with the example he set for mankind. He was kind to EVERYONE -- a dirty tax collector, a hooker by a well, dirty sick folks with no insurance, and noisy, fussy little children. They probably had boogers in their nose and sticky hands, and Jesus was so cool that he asked them to come to him even though the snooty adults told them to go away. He knew that those little ones were important. He knew the importance of putting others first.

I've always loved this Proverb, ". . .refresh others and you will be refreshed . . ."

I pray I never forget that.

And that I never have to eat at McDain's.