The napping house, where no one now is sleeping

These two little boogers have been challenging the status quo around here.  

First, beginning sometime in January or February, Annie began fighting her nap.  She gave me trouble about it every day until I finally said, "OK, we'll make it shorter, and when you get up we'll do a craft or something together."  For awhile that appeased her, but I noticed she was staying awake in her room more often than not.  So I started calling it quiet time and just insisting she stay in there for an hour-and-a-half.  I had a hard time believing she was ready to drop that nap when not long ago she was passing out as soon I covered her up.  But she kept protesting and protesting until at last, with a sigh, I walked over to where she lurked resentfully in her doorway one afternoon and said, "You really don't want to be here for naps, huh, Annie?"  She shook her head no, her eyes becoming hopeful.  I said, "Alright, Annie, you can go up to the playroom for naps, but I need you to be quiet, OK?"  With a happy smile she whispered, "I'll be as quiet as a church mouse!"  And off she went.

I don't like change.  It always comes as a shock when my kids want to move on from where they are and where I am comfortable with them being.  But once she gave up the nap I realized I should be relieved because not long ago I'd been worried about how she was going to handle full day kindergarten next year.  I thought I'd get calls from the teacher that she was falling asleep in the middle of class.  Now I know she'll be ready to tackle a whole day of school, even though she is still adjusting to life with no naps (and being a huge grouch by the end of the day and giving me grief).  A friend of mine suggested that if she is getting really tired and grumpy in the afternoon, I can tell her she has to go rest in her room for just 10 minutes.  She will go willingly as long as she knows she only has to be there for 10 minutes, and if she really needs that nap she'll take it.  Excellent idea, and one that I'm sure I will try at some point.

At the same time that she decided to give up naps, she became very bored and restless all afternoon.  She kept buzzing around like a mosquito, from the time I got up from my nap to the time I started dinner, wanting to be entertained.  She has toys.  She has art supplies.  She has books.  She has the yard when it's not raining or cold, a rare thing of late.  And she has that stupid TV upstairs that I keep saying we ought to just get rid of, but we never do.  I wouldn't want to try it now that she's just stopped napping and I still need to preserve peace and quiet in this house for a couple hours a day.  I do unplug it for awhile from time to time, but I'm sure my kids watch way too much TV.  Oh well.  Anyway, I wasn't sure what Annie thought she wanted or needed from me, but for help I turned to the library.  I checked out my old favorite Little House in the Big Woods the other day, and decided that when I am done with my rest every afternoon I will read it to her until it's time to wait for the bus.  I'm sure that it's exactly what her restless little mind needs, and it's cozy quality time together besides.  But now we have another issue.

The little man has started climbing out of his crib.  Three days ago, I think, was the first time.  I had Annie situated upstairs and I was just waking up from my nap when my door opened.  I started to say, "Annie, what are you doing here?"  She knows not to come in until my door is open.  Then I saw that tousled little blond head bouncing above the foot of the bed, and he came up to me with a smile and said, "Hi, Mama."  For many months, I have had unbelievable luck that he hasn't tried this long before.  His sisters both started climbing out of their cribs when they were probably a year younger than he is.*  And I dreaded it both times.  I remember how long I held out in switching Annie to a toddler bed because I was pregnant with Timmy and her naps were going so well, and I hated to be making big changes right before a new baby.  But she was always a solid gold napper right up until a couple months ago.  Delaney on the other hand.. oh boy, those were some crazy times after she stopped sleeping in a crib.  It was like unleashing a little beast.  Then came Timmy, such a good little napper.  Thumb in his mouth, Wuddy in his hand, kisses and hugs, and out like a light.  All this time I just took for granted that despite the fact he climbs everything else, he hadn't thought to climb out of his crib.  It was as if he were inside a force field.  Once he was in he was in, and when he woke up he called for me and waited for me to come get him.  But all good things have to come to an end, I guess, and the boy couldn't stay in a crib forever.

Tim will be converting it to a toddler bed when he gets time today.  Yesterday I told him, "It's really time.  He's got bruises and scratches all over from catapulting himself out."  Yesterday's naptime was all kinds of fun.  I laid Timmy down with his 15 or so little cars and trucks, covered him up, turned out the light and turned Mr. Clock blue.  I instructed him that he wasn't to come out until the clock was yellow.  Then I dozed off for maybe a few minutes on my bed.  I heard somebody's footsteps and Annie talking.  And that was the end of resting for anyone in this house that day.  I found Timmy and returned him to his crib and told him he was to stay there until the clock turned yellow.  But he got angrier and angrier with every time that I returned him to his crib, and immediately jumped out.  If he had just opted to play quietly in his room after jumping out I would have just left him alone.  But he wanted the run of the house and that was not happening.  I emailed Tim, "Well, after yesterday I knew it was bound to happen, but today Timmy has declared all out war on naptime.  He has come out of his room and I have returned him at least 20 times so far.  He can be as stubborn as he wants about this, but ain't nobody more stubborn than me when it comes to naps in this house!!"

The two-hour standoff ended around 3 or so when I asked him if his clock was yellow, and he looked and said yes.  I said, "OK, naptime is over."  I flipped on the light and opened the door.  He said, "OK!  I'm happy now.  I not mad you anymore."

At bedtime he came out twice, but then Tim went in and told him if he stayed in all night until his clock was yellow, he'd be getting a big boy bed.  He didn't come out again until around 6:15, and when Tim brought him back to bed he stayed until it turned yellow at 6:45.  And then right in the middle of this, we have to set the clocks ahead tonight.. ugh.

I think (hope!) things should go back to normal once he's in the toddler bed because he won't be feeling trapped anymore in a baby crib.  Of course it might take some time for the novelty of no longer having to sleep behind bars to wear off, but I'm praying it will only take a couple days.  I miss having a break in the middle of the day, and I honestly see it as an essential part of my routine as a stay-at-home mom of little kids.  I've seen the wild look in the eyes of moms whose kids never allow them to take any kind of rest, and that will not be me.  I also believe kids NEED rest in some way, shape or form, whether they know it or not.  Timmy got a whiff of freedom and now he's going to fight for it.  He just wants to be done with baby things and with being a baby.  He bopped his Wuddy (lovey) in the face when I tried to hand it to him the other day at bedtime.  I'm waiting for him to give up diapers too (so jealous of the mamas whose kids go ahead and potty train themselves at age 2!).  When I call him "baby boy," he says, "I not baby boy.  I Fixer Man.  I fix trucks."  He puts a plastic firefighter helmet on and calls it his "fixer hat" and it's so darn cute how much he wants to be a man.  I can even get him to take a couple bites of an undesirable meat on his plate if I tell him that it will help him grow big and strong like daddy.  But nap again he will, make no mistake.  He will get it through his stubborn head that big boy bed does not equal optional nap.  Quiet time will remain a part of our routine.  I refuse to consider the alternative at this point in time.

Looking dapper in his new clothes

*Update:  My memory stinks.  It really is a good thing I have this blog because I forget everything.  After I posted this photo of Timmy from last night on Instagram,

 my cousin's wife commented asking me how old my girls were when they moved out of their cribs.  I looked back through my archives, and I see that Delaney was 2 1/2 before we had to switch her, not an entire year younger than Timmy is.  Annie had just turned 2 when we switched her, but she had been climbing out for a few weeks prior to that.  Neither of them were climbing out of their cribs when they were a whole year younger than Timmy.  

Our Advent so far

We typically decorate for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving because that's when Tim has a break and can help me with it.  Otherwise, I would have definitely been on my own had it happened at any other point in the week.  It was a brutal week at work for Tim, and therefore extra grueling for me at home.  To make matters worse I had to keep Delaney home from school Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday for viral pinkeye (which she still has, but she NEEDS to go back to school on Monday).  There was a lot of extra arguing and "mama, mama" going on, with having all three kids home every day, except for the three hours of school for Annie on Friday.  We didn't get to go do any of the things we had planned that would have broken up our days, since I had to keep Delaney away from the other kids.    I thought the days would never end and I lost my patience many a time.  I started to feel like I was back in deployment mode, just getting by.  And have I mentioned that Timmy is at the peak of Terrible Twos right now?  He is a terror, and he's been needing extra firm discipline, the kind that dads are especially good at.  I don't realize how much easier my life is when Tim gets home in the evening until he doesn't.  This coming week, Tim tells me, will not be any better work-wise.  More 14 + hour days for him, as he gets his battalion ready for a big inspection coming up.  We need a vacation!

Oh, and then Saturday finally came and the weather went from sunny and 70 to rainy and 40 during just the four hours Tim spent at work that morning.  Womp-womp-womp.

I decided to put together this post and talk about all the fun things we do while we're getting ready for Christmas.  We still have all those, even if everything else doesn't go as planned.  I have only to look at these pictures to remind myself that life is good.  We are so blessed.

We have the most perfect REAL Christmas tree this year.  It looks fake because there's not a branch out of place.  

I don't know why I didn't come across the 'star is born' back when I was shopping for Delaney's first Christmas ornament.  Now she wants a star too, and I think I just might get her one even though she has two first Christmas ornaments already.

Our Advent calendar and our boring elf Chippy who never does anything clever and mischievous.  But the kids love him so!

Our random Santa in the canoe, which I probably picked out when we were trying to decorate the condo in Massachusetts (and just throwing anything in a cart).  I've tried to get rid of him in the past, but I wouldn't dream of it now.  The kids couldn't wait for that silly Santa in a canoe to come out.

Grandy got them this book a few years ago, and we read it every night at bedtime throughout December.

A Hallmark recordable storybook that Grandma, Auntie Karen and cousin Juliana took turns reading this year.  But then!  A surprise at the end when Grandpa says, "Hello, everybody, it's Grandpa!" and reads the last page.  It's really cute and a favorite at naptime.  Timmy thinks it's hilarious when everybody calls out "Merry Christmas!" at the end.  We'll be missing our Massachusetts family this year.

Watching The Elf on the Shelf movie before bed one night, and eating fruit snacks in lieu of popcorn

This has nothing to do with Advent or Christmas, but what better cure is there for a rainy Saturday and a hard week than fresh highlights and a haircut?

It's not easy being Timmy

I love my weekly bible study group.  They are an amazing group of women, and during our Monday mornings together, I am encouraged, I laugh a lot, and I gain a lot of insight.  There are currently nine members, and of them have at least one child.  Due to sicknesses (so many sicknesses!), other plans, or just bad mornings, there are typically several people not in attendance.  The last couple weeks have seen three or four of us sitting around someone's kitchen table talking and munching while the kids play in another room.  The very first session of this year was held at my house and it was a big crowd, almost everybody.  But in the two or three weeks since, we've learned that it is usually going to be just a few.

I emailed everyone last week to let them know it was at my house, and I hoped to see them all there.  I never expect a reply.  Whoever comes, comes.  I sent a reminder last night, and added that if anyone is dropping a kid off for preschool at 9 (like I am), and wants to come straight over afterward, that's fine.  Bible study starts at 10 because we have a homeschooling mom who needs that extra hour in the morning. Then we end around 11:40 when everyone needs to pick up kids from preschool.  Nearly every preschool around here starts at 9 and ends at noon.  Again, I was never expecting a reply to this, but at around 9:40, I did start to get a little antsy.  I gave the second bathroom a quick-and-dirty wipe-down, a little scrubbing of the toilet bowl to get rid of that unsightly hard water stain, and you know -- all the things you rush around and do when you know someone's coming over and you don't want them to be disgusted.  I said a quick prayer for patience and understanding in case nobody showed up and I had baked extra muffins and tidied up for nothing.  I reminded myself that everyone is fighting a battle of some sort today.  You know the saying, 'Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle.'

At around 10, four people arrived one after the other.  I made a half pot of coffee, since only one of the four wanted coffee, and I figured that this is probably going to be everybody.  But then my doorbell started to ring and ring, and before I knew it I had a big crowd.  Too many to count.  OK, so it was eight altogether.  Six of them brought a two-year-old boy, usually in addition to one or two other children.  My house became crowded and loud.  Someone poured the last half cup of coffee, and I went to make more, but there was only one other person who wanted it, and she only wanted half a cup.  She said, "Don't make any more if I'm the only one who wants it."  I cursed myself for not having one of those blasted Keurig machines, if only for times like these.  Then I hesitated like an idiot instead of whipping up another pot of coffee.  Then the crying and fighting ensued.

When we ran upstairs to police some squabbles among the two-year-olds, I unplugged the TV.  I was embarrassed that the other women would think that all my kids do is stare at the TV.  That TV is like my dirty little secret that everyone knows about.  It is right on eye level with the kids, and it is one of the few things we can take away from them by way of punishment.  In hindsight I probably should have left it on.  It would have been better if Timmy and the rest of them had just glued their eyeballs to that screen for an hour-and-a-half.  Instead they -- and mostly I mean Timmy -- ruined bible study for me.

Having all of those little boys in his territory, playing with his toys, especially his cars and trucks (how dare they!) proved too much for Timmy to bear.  I had to separate him from the others and take him back to his room several times just to cool off and cry where he couldn't add to the din already in this house.  I felt bad for him, but he was being the absolute worst. 

It wasn't until 11 that we all settled down in the living room and got out our books and attempted to have a discussion that had anything to do with what we'd been reading.  Guess who wanted to join us?  Every single two-year-old boy.  They took toys and sat on the floor near or next to their mothers.  What happened to that big playroom upstairs?  Why were all these kids in our hair while we were trying to have bible study?  Nothing was going right.  Holden had one of Timmy's trucks.  There was nothing special about it until Holden had it.  Now it was the most important thing to Timmy in the world and he could not be convinced otherwise.  At one point I had to leave him in his bed, then go back out to the living room.  I ended up in a conversation a bit longer than I had intended, and rushed back to Timmy's room as soon as I had an opening.  I found him calmly rolling a couple of cars back and forth on the crib rail.  I asked him if he was ready to come out and play nicely with the other kids.  He nodded.  Why, oh why, didn't I just leave him there?  As soon as I brought him back out, he beelined back to Holden and that stupid truck.  He couldn't let it go and of course, neither would Holden because if it Timmy wanted it that badly, it must be pretty great!  Again I brought him back to his room sobbing.  I did that at least two more times.  Then one of the other two-year-olds, whose mother had been nervous about him being on stairs in the first place, fell down the stairs.  They are carpeted and he wasn't hurt, but phew.  It was painful.  I caught bits and pieces of the discussion going on in the living room, and I'm happy that most of the women here got something out of this.  This week's topic was the importance of having a joyful attitude.  That was very appropriate for me, as this was definitely one of those grin-and-bear-it times.

I love these people, but I have to say, I was so grateful to see them leave.  At last it was just me and my little beast of a boy.  Sitting in his carseat with his cup of milk as we left to get Annie, he said, "Happy now."  With a sigh I said, "I'm glad you're happy now, Timmy."

He's got his juice, his fruit and yogurt parfait, and his little vehicles in a row.  All is right in the world.

This is my third time around, but tell me when again do kids learn how to share and not freak out when some other kid plays with their toys?  It is always at this stage that I doubt my ability as a mother and worry that I'm raising a little monster.  It's not just the sharing, or lack thereof.  It's the stubbornness and willfulness too.  It got better with the other two once they turned three, I know it did.  It's going to happen with Timmy too .. I hope!

This and that

At this point in the day, a little after 1, when the kids are having naptime/ quiet time, that's when my brain wants to shut down too.  But today I'm determined that it won't because this is my blogging time, and the only time I have lately for it.  I've got my coffee next to me, and I'm going to see if I can't throw together some kind of summer update.  I've been starting and stopping a lot with this post, even though I have all kinds of things to talk about.  Maybe I'm feeling a little discouraged about it.  Sometimes I forget my whole purpose in starting it in the first place -- it's not to showcase my extraordinary writing talent (*eye roll*), but really just a way that I can take snapshots of our life from time to time, that I will get to have forever and pass on to the kids.  A living scrapbook and journal, I guess.  The secondary but also very important purpose, is to give our geographically distant family and friends a window into our lives, and to allow them to watch the kids grow and change along with us.  Those were my two reasons for starting this thing in the first place, but another beautiful thing that has emerged is what it does just for me.  It allows me to step back and take a look at us and be like, 'You know what, we have a great life.  We have a lot to be thankful for.  It may feel like bumbling but we are doing a pretty good job of raising this family, loving each other and making the most of what we're given.'  I love the perspective it gives me.  Over the four years I've been doing this, I've also eagerly followed the blogs of my friends.  I'm sure they had some of the same reasons as me for starting theirs, but I've seen so many of them fall by the wayside.  It makes me sad, but I do understand that there are a limited number of hours in the day and so very many things to do in those precious few hours that we get to decide what to do with.  I don't know where the inspiration is coming from to make me keep coming back, but I know that it is just as much a gift to myself as the occasional pedicure or working out and eating healthy.

Sometimes the perfectionist in me gets so caught up in looking for ways to improve, trying to find just the right way to say something, and worst of all, criticizing and nitpicking everything I've ever written here.  When I hold myself to some unattainable standard of perfection, I find myself coming up short in all kinds of ways, but most of all just feeling so bland, ordinary and uninteresting.  And cheesy.  Like, why would anyone want to read this crap?  But I know better than that.  I know what a horrible waste of time it is to think that way.  I've said it before but I really need to believe it -- the handful of people who love me/us (or at least like us a lot) will love this, and those who don't aren't even reading.  There's nobody to impress.

So here goes..

This week is the last typical week of summer for us, and not only that, but it's our last summer in North Carolina.  Next week we'll be on vacation in Emerald Isle, another lovely spot close by to where we live. Nothing like arriving at your destination after less than an hour, with a car full of groceries!  Delaney will start school the Monday after we get back.  It makes me sad to think of this being the last summer here.  I'm a creature of habit, and the daily habit of working out and then taking the kids to the pool can't be beat, in my opinion.  Now that Tim's home, I don't even have to fit in a big grocery trip -- Tim goes to the commissary for me, and all I have to do is make short produce runs a few times a week.  I know that pools and gyms and Ys and fun summers exist in places other than North Carolina, but I can't help but wonder will I like it just as much?  Another thing: how long will it take me to make friends after we move?  All I did the first few months after moving here was complain about how I lived all alone on a suburban island.  Then gradually I got to know some great people, and so many more who are just friendly faces.  As introverted as I am, I love to belong, and I feel like I belong here.  Have I learned any lessons so as to avoid the pain of getting to this point in whatever location we find ourselves in next?  That I can't say.  Maybe I will just take it more in stride and understand that I have to go through a fish-out-of-water stage before I settle in.  So my goal for this week has been to keep the cranky to a minimum and take a deep breath when Annie asks me for the umpteenth time, "What are we doing (in the morning?  after naps? next?)", and remember to appreciate the here and now.

The girls are taking swim lessons this week.  Delaney is a pretty strong swimmer, but her freestyle needs a lot of work.  It's like watching myself in the water.  I never could get the hang of that.  I think she enjoys it a lot, and I may have her do another session of lessons in the fall, her and Annie both.  Annie is coming along too.  She can jump in and swim without her floatie but she prefers to have it on most of the time.

Tim has been helping me a lot these past few weeks with getting the girls back into the habit of keeping their beds made, and their room and playroom clean.  I kind of let it all go while he was gone, and just didn't want to bother most of the time.  But it is so important to instill good habits and get them to help out more.  Another thing is, whenever we take them to a store they want this or that, and Tim says, "Where's your money?"  They need an opportunity to earn some because we're not just going to give them an allowance which is money for nothing.  I have heard the argument that you should not be giving kids money for doing the things they're supposed to do around the house anyway, and maybe that is true.  But coming up with any kind of system is so hard and we need to start somewhere.  So this is attempt #3 at a chore chart, and we'll see how long it lasts.  I've made it possible to only earn whole dollar amounts because last time we did this I made every star worth 10 cents.  Then I got annoyed at the end of the week when I had to count out dimes.  Now, if one of them earns 29 stars one week, we'll say, "One more and you could have earned $3.  You'll have to try harder next week."  This will allow them to have their own money to buy the little stuffed animals and other little things they like.  Maybe after we've gotten them used to helping out and then seeing the "fruits of their labors," we can then start to figure out a way to get them to give as well.  But one thing at a time.  

I took Timmy for a haircut last Monday, and it's the most hair he's ever had cut off.  I can't believe how it transformed him to looking like such a bigger boy.  He's so handsome and I love seeing his forehead and ears again.  I had grown rather attached to his shaggy surfer dude look, but this really suits him too.  It must also be so much cooler in the heat, although he doesn't seem to care either way.

Tim calls him "Timmy the Turd", and unfortunately he's said it around the girls and they think it's funny to call him that too.  "TimmytheTurd!" "TimmytheTurd!"  Timmy is rather undisciplined and doesn't like to follow instructions, and sometimes tries to bolt out into the street or across a parking lot.  He can also be whiny and demanding and clingy.  You know why, right?  Because of me, of course.  I raised him that way while Tim was deployed.  Sarcasm aside, there does seem to be a connection between his worst behavior and my presence.  Tim will tell me that while I was gone, he was "Timmy the Terrific!"  As soon as he sees me, he starts to cry and want to be held.  He is so needy that I don't know what to do with him sometimes.  Even just holding him isn't always enough.  He says, "Up, up" and tries to climb higher on me and tighten his arms around my neck.  I don't remember going through this with the girls.  By the time they were his age, there was another baby and they quickly grew accustomed to not being the one I was holding all the time.  It also helped that Tim was home at least a good portion every day for the first couple months of Annie's life, and he and and Delaney got to be good buddies.  Every situation is so different that it's hard to compare.  I don't like to admit this and lend any credence to Tim's opinion, but it may be just be the tiniest bit possible that I foster that neediness in him.  I love to lavish him with affection because he's so darn cute.  Perhaps I spoil him with all the holding.  But I hasten to add that I do tell him no whenever and wherever he needs to be told.  The only thing worse than a two-year-old who is whining and crying to get his way is the two-year-old who knows he can always get his way.  I might be encouraging him to be a mama's boy, but NOT a brat.

I'm going to wrap this up with a few random pictures, seeing as how I've run out of things to say and naptime is over.

The beach is so much more fun with Daddy around.  I believe this was taken the same day he rescued a couple of kids out of the ocean.  It really IS good to have him around.

Fun Friday!

Day in the Life: Summer 2013

Once again I am taking part in Navigating the Mothership's quarterly Day in the Life.  I chose to document Tuesday, July 30.  What a boring and ordinary day it was -- and therefore very appropriate.

6 a.m. My phone goes off.  I turn it off and promptly fall back asleep.

6:36 a.m. I finally rouse myself when I hear Tim moving around.  I was just having a dream where we got orders to Yuma, AZ.  In reality we are moving next summer but won't actually get orders until spring, probably.  In the dream I was not happy about going to Yuma and was being very whineypants about it.  "It might as well be in Australia," my dream self complained.  "Nobody will come visit us!"  That is not really true.  As Tim and I have figured out, once we're more than a day's drive away from family, it's all the same no matter how far we go -- at least as long as we're still in North America.  If we went to Arizona, our families would still visit us.  Then in my dream I went around this house to say goodbye to each of the bedrooms, which is a lot more dramatic than I will be in real life when the time comes.  I think.  But four years is a nice long time to live somewhere, and I can be pretty sentimental.

6:45 a.m. Normal morning routine.  Teeth-brushing, coffee-pouring, Tim making his lunch..

7 a.m. Kids get up.  Girls go through their bathroom routine and make their beds.

They are so cute first thing in the morning.

7:15 a.m. Kids sit down to breakfast and Tim leaves for work.  This is his second full day back at work at his new job, so we're expecting it to be another long one, but he thinks he can be home by 5 or a little thereafter.  Seems like we just got him back and already he's off working 10 hour days.  We're back to living for weekends.  I make my own breakfast of two eggs over-easy and homemade whole wheat toast.  We got a breadmaker and a fancy-shmancy food processor a few weeks ago, and we make it all ourselves now.  It's really nice!

I break the yolk on one of the two eggs just about every time.

Timmy has more mood swings than a teenage girl lately, and refuses to let me clean up the dishes in peace.  Have you ever tried to clean a kitchen -- or do anything? -- with a cranky toddler fastened to your leg? 

That's a grimace, not a smile.  Or maybe it is a secret smile because he has fun giving me a hard time?

The camera makes him even madder.  I point the camera at him, he shrieks indignantly and stomps off, I put something in the trash or dishwasher, he gets mad because I'm not paying attention to him, he wraps himself around my leg again, and we do this dance for at least another 15 minutes.  Then he finds his "monsa truck" and he's all smiles again.

I finish up doing whatever else it is that I do -- drink more coffee, pack lunch for the pool, make sure the girls are wearing their bathing suits with sundresses over them and pack the pool bag even though the forecast is not looking good.  I give the girls their Zyrtec -- for Annie's recently-diagnosed allergies and Delaney's eczema and allergies.  It's funny that they both have allergies but Tim and I don't.  At a little before 9, we leave for the Y.

9:15 (ish): We arrive.  Delaney can unbuckle herself now that she's in a booster.  Even though Timmy is on my side of the car, I walk around to the other side to unbuckle Annie next.  Only after everybody and everything else is out of the car do I unbuckle Timmy and take him out.  Why?  Because one time I made the mistake of unbuckling him first (since he and Delaney switched sides in the car just a few days ago and she switched to a booster) and then going around to unbuckle Annie.  Guess who wouldn't voluntarily get out of the car when I was running late for my class?  Guess who darted from one part of the car's interior to another as I opened doors and tried to reach in and grab him with my go-go gadget arms that aren't quite long enough?  Guess who almost lost her mind?  Things have to be done in a specific order or else all hell breaks loose.  I can't imagine there will ever come a day when we all just drive somewhere and get in and out of the damn car without it being a production.  

Once we've gaggled our way into the building, I leave Delaney in the big kid room and take Annie and Timmy to the baby room.  Feeling a hundred pounds lighter with only my yoga mat and water bottle, I go to PiYo.  Ah, PiYo, an intense but surprisingly relaxing workout.  I always feel very mellow and cheerful as I leave, if only for a few minutes..  It takes all the tension out of my muscles.  I can't say enough about it.  After I'm done with that, I get the kids and go to the locker room to change for the pool.

10:40 a.m.: The girls are already in their bathing suits so they're easy.  I wrestle Timmy into his, as he's being very uncooperative.  I reach in the bag for my own and I discover that I've packed only two tops for myself.  Oops.  Mama will not be getting in the pool today.

"Mama, mama, mamamama.."  Somebody's not happy again.

He has a rough life.

The girls do some swimming until a heavy rainfall prompts the lifeguards (who don't like getting wet, I guess) to call a "time out."  We eat all our snacks and the kids play in the rain while I sit on my perch under shelter.

After a little while the rain lets up, the kids swim a little more, and when the whistle blows for adult swim at 10 of 12, we leave.  The kids are all freezing after swimming in the rain so I promise them hot chocolate with marshmallows when we get home.  It always helps to give them something to look forward to before they have to go all soggy and wet back into the locker room to change.  I swing by the UPS store to send Tim's rejected shoes back to Zappos, and we get home around 12:20.  Timmy conks out as usual.  The girls wake him up and we go inside.

Who drinks hot chocolate in July?  We do!

12:45 p.m. Once I get the kids down for naps I eat lunch.  It's hummus and cheese on toast, leftover quinoa pilaf, and a sliced up remnant of a green pepper from the other day with more hummus.  Not much of a lunch, but I did have a lot of snacks at the pool.

After I'm done eating I doze off on my bed for about a half hour, make a cup of green tea, check Facebook and read for a little while.  Soon enough nap time/ quiet time is over, at least for the girls.

Snack time - fruit salad and no-bake energy bites

2:40 p.m.  I take some clothes out of the dryer and find that a lot of them have stains that look something like this:

The girls go through the pile of stained clothes.  A couple of Tim's favorite t-shirts are in there, as well as my nice new (as of Xmas) running shorts, and Timmy's new striped shirt.  Crap.

A red crayon made its way into the dryer.  And I feel like this is the second time I've taken them out of the dryer looking like this.  I think I already made a second attempt at washing them, but I'm not sure.  If I did indeed put them in the dryer for a second time with crayon melted on, then it's going to be even harder to get the stains out.  I turn to the Internets for help, and follow WikiHow's 5-step plan for getting crayon out of clothes.  

Step 1 is to lay the clothes on the floor and spray them with stain remover.  The girls are happy to help me with this task.  Then we leave them there for 20 minutes.

Then the girls paint and I put away some laundry and do a little bit of prep for dinner tonight.  Timmy's taking a nice long nap today, and that's good since he's been such a pain in the butt when he's awake.

Ever had summer squash chips?  Delish!

3:45 to 5:30 p.m.  There are no pictures for this time period because that's where it gets a little hectic. Timmy wakes up cranky and clingy, I do step 2 of the crayon stain removal (a soak in laundry detergent and Dawn), I get a text from Tim saying he's going to be later than he thought and I need to get the chicken ready for the grill.  Then he texts to say he'll be even later, and I will need to start the chicken on the grill myself.  The grill stresses me out with that propane tank and those open flames, smoke billowing all around, and the heat in my face.  Other people grill.  I do not grill.  I do the stove and the oven and the microwave but I do NOT grill.  I say this out loud at least a few times to nobody in particular.  I was really counting on Tim to be home to help me out when I put grilled chicken on the menu.  I make a note to self that grilled dinners will not be on weeknights until further notice.  But I get through it without any explosions or out-of-control fires.  Oh, and Timmy poops, and I have the rice and veggies to cook too, and I'm not good at multitasking.  At least the girls go outside and stay out of my hair.  At around 5:30 he gets home.

Phew.

Whenever Tim sees Timmy with his thumb in his mouth he tries to grab it and put it in his mouth.  He says, "Gimme that thumb, I'm gonna eat it!"  Timmy laughs and says, "Nooo!"

5:30 to 6 p.m. Timmy is back to hugging my legs and moaning "Mamamamamama.." as we finish getting dinner ready.  Whenever Timmy behaves like this, Tim smirkingly says things like, "You created this monster."  "He's a mama's boy."  "He's a big baby."  He says something to that effect now.  A big baby is exactly what he is -- he's 2!  Tim thinks Timmy is the worst toddler of the three, but I say he's no worse than Annie was.  Now I recall Tim wasn't around when Annie was this age, so he's just comparing him to Delaney.  That does make Timmy look bad.

At around 6 we eat, and I am so starved.  I don't know how I'm going to convince my body that 6 or later is the new dinnertime.  My belly is ready for dinner around 5, and 5:30 is stretching it.  We all devour the meal in 10 minutes or less.  Well, everybody but me.  I'm left alone at the table eating after they are all done, and that's typical.  I'm a slow eater, always have been.  It takes me around 20 minutes and for me that is quick.  As I bring my plate to the counter I say, "I ate that so fast I barely tasted it."

Afterward I clean up the kitchen while Tim supervises the kids cleaning the playroom.

7 p.m. I give the kids a bath.

7:30 p.m. Storytime and bedtime prayers.

He looks like he could really fall asleep there.  I'm feeling the same way.  

8 to 10 p.m. The kids are in bed, and we finally have time to ourselves even if we're almost too tired to enjoy it.  I tape the pages that were falling out of the Madeline book that I read at storytime.  

We each do some stuff around the house and then plop down on the couch to watch another episode of Mad Men.  I've been saving this newest season on the DVR for when Tim came home.  I have only been a regular watcher of Mad Men since the beginning of the season before, so maybe I just don't know the characters the way my husband or any other fan of the show does.  But wow, I have to say this season has the most reckless, self-destructive, unscrupulous, and hypocritical Don Draper that I have ever seen.  His horrible choices (and all that alcohol) seem to all be catching up to him in this episode, his behavior is more and more erratic, and I think he's about to have a nervous breakdown.  I say to Tim at the end, "I liked Don Draper better when he wasn't a stark-raving lunatic."  Tim says, "He was always a stark-raving lunatic."  I say, "Well, he hid it better!"  "It's the point of the show," Tim says.  I'd like to watch the show all the way from season 1 episode 1.

10:00 p.m.  Bedtime for us.  I go right to sleep.  Another day in paradise.:)

Delaney at two years, seven months

Delaney, Delaney, Delaney.. Yes, she drives us crazy, but we do have plenty of reasons for keeping her around.  In The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Families, Steven Covey says that we ought to "envision everyone wearing a T-shirt that says, 'Be patient; I'm not finished yet.'"  Not a one of us can claim to be a finished product.  I know I owe her a little more patience, being that she is still very new to the world, and just trying to figure it all out as best she can.  And we do love her so.

This month had lots of ups and downs, but we can sum it up with more than just POOP!

She's more affectionate these days.  Only when she wants to be, not when prompted.  That's important.  I think the unasked-for acts of love and sweetness are best of all.  It could be a big hug out of nowhere.  It's saying, "I love you too, Mama (or Dada)," as we're leaving the room after putting her to bed.  Once, she held her sister's face in her hands and giggled, "You're cute, Annie."  She's probably very aware of how we melt like butter when she is loving with us.

She plays with her sissy now, and I guess I hadn't noticed how much she was NOT playing with her before.  Then one day, I saw the two of them rolling around on the floor and was like, wow..  At first I wanted to interfere because Annie's just a baby, and you have to be careful with the baby, blah, blah.  But then I just stopped and just watched instead.  Delaney was grabbing her and pulling her this way and that, and Annie didn't seem to mind at all.  On the contrary, she seemed delighted to be the center of her sister's attention.  [I do have to keep an eye on them, though, because Delaney will just as likely lay down on her sister and not let her budge, and not seem to care that she's crying!]

Now I'm hearing all the time, "Annie, come over here!"  "Annie, come on up! (as she looks down on her from the top of the stairs)  You can do it!"  I just sigh, smile, and am happy to see them becoming friends.

I'm also seeing a little bit of jealousy.  Delaney wants to go into the Exersaucer and call herself a baby; she wants to drink from Annie's sippy; she'll whine and whimper in order to be picked up.  I try to humor her for the most part, but I also remind her that, yes, the puffs are just for Annie, but that's because there isn't much food she's allowed to have.  I point out that "you can have a cookie, but she can't."  I also remind her that as the big girl, she has to make sure she keeps her crayons and markers up where Annie can't get them because she's just a baby and can't have them yet.  I think this occasional desire to be the baby is to be expected. One of my earliest memories (from when I was about 3 1/2)  is asking for my dad to hold me and feed me a bottle that was intended for my brother.  He said OK, laid me on his lap and began feeding it to me.  I promptly jumped up and said, "Yuck!" as I'm sure he expected I would.

When Tim and I are correcting her about something, she sometimes exclaims, "Mama (or Dada), stop talking to me!"  Don't we all wish for a mute button sometimes?

Sometimes she makes me smile in spite of myself.  Once, when I was not inclined to be happy, since I'd found her in her room after nap surrounded by diapers, she said, "Sorry, Mama.  I clean up."  She began picking up diapers and as she did so, she looked at me and said, "Are you happy?"  She's also started saying to me sometimes, with a big smile, "Happy face."  How can I not smile back?  It's very good of her to remind me to smile.  It is also surprising and new to see her paying attention to my feelings.  Could this be the beginning of empathy?

For my part, I try to remember to let her know when something she does makes me happy.  When she shares with a friend without a fuss, or puts the piece of merchandise she's been holding on the counter at checkout time, I tell her that is very good and I'm proud.  One day I went into her room and found it (somewhat) neat, and her still clothed.  I was thrilled. I told  her how happy I was to see no mess, and her with her clothes and diaper still on.  "Good job!"  She said, "Thanks!"

Delaney drinks hot chocolate after playing in the snow.  Again.

She sings to herself a lot, especially at naptime and bedtime.  The Wonderpets song is probably her favorite right now, and she sings it so perfectly.  It's adorable.  Old MacDonald Had a Farm is another favorite.

She has the words to her (current) favorite books memorized.  One of those favorites is If You Give a Pig a Party.  I start sentences and she finishes them, and I like this new interactive style of story time.  "You'll need to find pajamas and .. blankets and pillows for everyone!"  "When she sees all the pillows, she'll probably want to start a .. pillowfight!"  

She's been eating so well lately, at least for breakfast, lunch and snacks.  I mentioned to Tim one day how much she'd been eating, and he said, "She needs to keep the supplies coming for her art."

I did not plan on talking about poop again so soon after my last rant, but I feel I would be remiss if I didn't give you an update on that situation.  We seem to have found a solution in the last few days.  I finally took the advice of some friends and put her zippered PJs on backward (the very same ones I used to safety pin on the front; but there's too much elastic on the front, so she was able to stretch her way out anyway).  It really bothered me to do that, because I thought, how could that be comfortable at all?  But it doesn't bother her, aside from her initial confusion about why she was being zipped up the back.  Then I set the baby monitor up in a place where she couldn't get to it (under her mattress).  Just by listening, I have a good picture of what she's up to.  I can go change her before she even starts attempting to get out of her clothes.  As a bonus, we get to hear her talking and singing about how the Wonderpets save the day.  She's been spending more time napping and less time preoccupied with what's in her diaper.  Win-win.  I wish I'd thought of that before I gave her the cold bath.  *Shudder*

She's up there for quiet time now, and I am hearing some noises and wondering what she's up to.  I can tell you one thing she isn't up to!

Feeling very humbled today

I came to the realization on the way back from Tot Gym this morning that over the past few days, maybe even weeks, I have allowed myself to be sucked down into a vortex of self-pity, and if I don't get ahold of myself, I'm in danger of becoming the type of mom I said I'd never want to be.

It was a little incident at Tot Gym (thank goodness "little" since it had the potential to be big), that woke me up to so many other things.  Suddenly I was staring at a montage of myself and not happy at all with what I saw.

There I am at 7 in the morning, wishing I didn't have to be the one to answer Delaney's thud-thud-thud wakeup call, and dragging myself to her room.  How long since Delaney got a cheerful greeting in the morning?

There I am, feeling burnt out from the long day, tearfully telling Tim how much I miss having his parents around, to "swoop in" every now and then and take these kids off our hands for a little while.

There I am, feeling like this house is falling down around me, and I can't get it under control.  I fantasize having someone else come in to clean my house, and not always having dirty bathrooms in the back of my mind. [We've already been down that road, and it's not happening.]

There I am complaining to friends about how Tim worked on a project all through the three-day weekend, and I didn't get the weekend help that I'm accustomed to getting, and we had no quality family time.  Three-day weekend, ha!  Try seven-month deployment!

There I am saying to Tim, "Ugh, I just can't do bathtime tonight;" knowing that he will pitch in and give Delaney her bath even though he's had a hard day himself.

Taken alone, none of these things is a big deal.  But add them all together over the course of just a couple weeks, and I'm alarmed.  Alarmed at how often I'm hoping and expecting someone else -- usually Tim -- to take over and do my job.  The job that I happily and eagerly signed up for.  The job that, as we were talking about at a friend's house the other night, we are darn lucky to be able to have.  It's a privilege to be able to stay home and raise these kids ourselves, and to be able to afford to is a luxury.  But lately the voice in me that says, I am blessed, I am lucky is being drowned out by the loud whiny one that says, Why me?  Why all the time?

How did I ever get it into my head that just because I am feeling especially challenged these days -- I'd even go so far as to say besieged some days -- that I am in any way entitled to a break?  Why am I still waiting for some relief?

So today, I take the girls to Tot Gym, as much to get out of the house and see friends, as to get Delaney somewhere where she can burn energy.  It is a little dance and gymnastics studio, comprised of a few rooms -- a studio, a room where the gymnastics equipment is, a coatroom, and a lobby with a desk -- all separated by doors that are not childproofed.  Neither is the front door.  The kids run from room to room, but the only rooms where there is anything for them to do are the dance studio and the gymnastics room, which are connected by a door.

With Delaney off playing independently, I relax and sit down with Annalise, just talking with the other moms there.  I know I ought to be checking on Delaney, but I shrug off my own little voice of concern, saying, "She's fine here, there's nothing for her to get into.."  OK, mostly true.  But then I'm ashamed to say, I followed that up with, "I'm sure the teacher wouldn't let her run out the front door, even if she were strong enough to open it."  Funny how at that moment I didn't hear what two things were wrong with that statement: that a) First and foremost, it's not Miss Sandra's job to keep kids from running out the door; and b) the idiotic idea that Delaney's not strong enough to do anything she sets her mind to doing.

Within a short while, I was told that Delaney, who makes it her mission to test any and all boundaries,  had tried to escape.  Miss Sandra, who I'm sure relishes the job of gatekeeper, in addition to dance and gymnastics instructor, had stopped her.

And here I was, face to face with my laziness, complacency and readiness to pass the buck  -- things that I had never before hesitated to notice in others from atop my high horse.

Feeling like a complete dumbass, I kept my Delaney in view the rest of the time we were there, and gave her a time-out for going to the door again soon before we left.  This is what it's about sometimes -- time-outs and crying.  Other times, it's all about hugs and smiles, and then life is easy.  But this too shall pass, and then it will be back to hugs and smiles, right?

Until then, can I stop waiting and expecting for a break?  For Delaney to stop acting like a two-year-old? For a fairy godmother to appear and say, "I've got it.  You spend the day at the spa."? Or even for Tim to get home just an hour or two early?

Can I catch myself about to complain about my wonderful life, and instead just suck it up and say a prayer?  Yeah, I'll try that and see how it goes.

A cell fit for a princess

Who remembers what a cute nursery Delaney used to have?  It was my pride and joy in Massachusetts, the one room I took a good long look at with a lump in my throat before the movers came.  Delaney's ladybug nursery that Tim had conspired with his family to surprise me with its completion when I was six months pregnant with her.  When we moved here, we transferred it over as best we could, but without paint and wallpaper, since we were only staying here 10 months.  I even added a couple of things I thought would make it nicer, as she got a little older.  There was the sling bookshelf to hold all her books in her reach, with the covers facing out.  I'd even stuck leftover ladybugs and dragonflies to the side of it.  There was the little wooden rocking chair we made off with from Tim's parents', that was the perfect size for a munchkin.  Sometimes at story time, I would sit in the large wooden rocker, and she would sit in the small one, since she usually didn't like to sit in my lap anymore.  I even added a little toy box of sorts, with a couple puzzles in it, so she had her own little space to play.  That was the first thing to go when the insanity started.

Then we converted her crib to a toddler bed a few weeks ago, when she learned how to climb in and out of it.  Now her entire room is only a couple steps away from being converted to a padded room in a mental hospital.  She's losing her nice things one by one, but only Tim and I seem to care.  First went her little rocking chair, that Tim had lovingly repaired after it broke during the move.  I got tired of listening to her toss it around, and I didn't want it to break for good.  Next went the bookshelf I love, after I heard a crash one day during what we now refer to as "quiet time", and came upstairs to find it knocked over.  A few days ago, Tim came home from work and was sad to see the large wooden rocker in the middle of the family room  instead of beside her bed.  He remembered how he used to read stories to her with her on his lap, her drowsy head on his chest.  She'd used it to climb on top of her bureau, and that was that.  Her armoire is strapped to the wall, and the knobs are removed from the drawers.  I dearly hope she doesn't find another way to hurt herself with it, but there's nowhere else in the house to put it.  Her bureau is a low, squat, heavy thing that I couldn't even manage to pull over, but then again..

Oh, and then about an hour ago, I used the same threat with Delaney that Tim had used before, successfully.  "Delaney, if I hear any more noise, I'm coming in here and taking all your books and toys."  I felt so sad and defeated as I went back up there a half hour later to make good on my threat.

Every day I go through the same routine with her that I always have.  "Naptime" or "quiet time" is nothing new around here.  It's an important part of the day that I refuse to give up on because experts say kids this age still need naps; and even more importantly, Mama needs time to recharge her batteries.  But my batteries do not get recharged.  I cringe at every noise I hear now, and dash up those stairs every 20 minutes or more, afraid of what I might find.  I live in fear.  What's next?  Blinds broken?  Room-darkening shade ripped off the rod? Her head busted open?

I've tried niceness and meanness, and consequences.  During non- quiet time hours, time-outs are very effective with her for discipline.  But obviously that won't work, if she views quiet time as one long time-out.  I told Tim, if there was ever a time I thought she deserved a spanking, it's when she's wreaking havoc when she's supposed to be resting, and then waking her sister, to boot!  But Tim and I agree that spanking is not for us.

The other day, she slept for once, and so did Annie, and then so did I for a little while.  It was like heaven.  Why can't it be like that every day?  What am I doing wrong?  The Sleep Lady can not help me here.  Or maybe she could, if I was willing to pay $300 for a phone consultation. That'll be the day, when I pay someone $300 to talk to me on the phone!

I remember how, with care, love and joy, Tim and I selected every piece of furniture that went into that room.  We wanted the best.  Now we know, we could have thrown a mattress into the middle of an empty room and saved ourselves the trouble.  I realize now that every last detail that went into her nursery was really for us, not for her.  I still have the pictures, and it was lovely while it lasted.  If I have tears smarting my eyes right now, at least I can comfort myself with the fact that all of these nice things never mattered much to her.  They were all for me -- the big surprise, the nice furniture, all of it.  The only thing she ever needed was a quiet place to rest her head.

And now Mr. Clock is probably saying it's time to "wake up," and I hear the thud-thud-thud at the door.  I might be looking into a padded room for myself here soon.