The (melo)Drama of a Scraped Knee

This is a story about this child of mine:

The one I’ve called the drama king, whose toy conflicts require trial by jury, whose every sniffle becomes a matter of national security.

I don’t think the title quite does him justice.

We went outside after dinner last Thursday to play for an hour before baths. Nicholas promptly tripped on his bare toes and went down on all fours on the concrete. Screams. Running to my outstretched arms. “I need—huh, Mommy!” (Hug.) But a hug apparently wasn’t enough; judging by his body language, the only sufficient comfort would be to crawl back inside me. (In case you missed the memo, that space is taken.)

He had a pair of minor raspberries to show for his mishap. Very minor. Not worth the energy for a special trip inside to clean them up, not when we were forty minutes from bath time. So I snuggled him for a minute and sent him off to play again.

Ten minutes later, down he went again. Back to my outstretched arms. Another assault on my poor uterus. Then Alex distracted him with a wild ride in the push-car, and giggles reigned on our street.

When we went inside for baths, the drama began. “My knee hurt,” he sobbed over and over. “My knee…my knee hurt…” You know when you scrape your knee, and it’s fine as long as you don’t change the angle of the joint? I tried to show him that if he’d just get his leg straight in the bathwater, the pain would ease off in a minute. No way. He was inconsolable. “Do you just want me to wash you and get you out?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he sobbed.

So much for my grand plans of folding the last remnant of laundry while they played. I washed him to a chorus of ear-splitting wails, wrapped him in a towel and carried him to my bed, where I could snuggle with him long enough to calm him down so I could wrestle Julianna through her bath. (I’ve never liked bath time, but in the third trimester I really loathe them. I’m a sweaty mess by the time I’m done.)

But he wouldn’t calm down unless I had my hand wrapped around his head, pressing it into my shoulder, and my cheek on his forehead. Any time I tried a variation on this position, the howling ratcheted upward again. “Nicholas, I have to go wash your sister,” I said repeatedly, with decreasing patience.

At length, he consented to be abandoned, providing he was covered with a crocheted blanket. I went to deal with Julianna, who likes having her hair washed about as much as she likes a visit to the cardiologist. When we finished with teeth, hair and jammies, I looked around for Nicholas, expecting him to be back up and around by this point.

Nope. Nicholas lay exactly where I left him, sniffling and quivering on my bed, under a blanket.

About this time Christian finished teaching lessons and came upstairs. “What was THAT all about?” he said.

“A skinned knee,” I said. “Can you believe it?”

Christian walked over to Nicholas. “Can I see it, buddy?”

Screams. Chubby arms clutching the blanket. Christian looked at me with concern. “Are you sure it isn’t dislocated or something?”

“He’s been walking on it,” I said. “He’s just being a drama king.”

Christian smothered a smile. “Well, then,” he said in his best teasing voice, “I guess we’ll just have to cut your knees off. What do you think, Nicholas? Should we cut your knees off?”

Oh, you thought there was screaming before, did you?

“Christian!” I shrieked. I flung myself across the bed and attempted to explain the concept of “teasing” to a two-year-old. Abashed, my husband came over and tried again. “Nicholas, will you let me look at it?”

Screams. Nicholas lunged for Mommy. I shot my husband a glare. “I wouldn’t let you look at it, either, after that!”

Christian gave up and retreated. If it wasn’t so funny, he might have felt bad. “Must remember,” he said, “that Nicholas doesn’t understand teasing yet.”

Ah, the melodrama of a scraped knee.

In case you’re wondering, Nicholas never mentioned it again.

Published in: on October 13, 2011 at 5:02 am  Comments (11)  
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The Hardest Naptime I Ever Came By

2 kittens taking a nap

Image via Wikipedia

They were doing so well.

So far, they’ve braved a two-hour trip in a car with windows they can’t see out of; they told me when they needed bathroom breaks; they ate well in an unfamiliar house, tag-teamed their catnaps in the car, and tolerated an unexpectedly long wait at the doctor’s office.

Now, at 4p.m., we head for a meeting with my editor to discuss a possible future project. We sit in the tiny cafeteria at the front of Dierbergs and wait. I try to find room in the booth for snack boxes of raisins spread on napkins, a giant bag of books and toys, my NEO, and the stack of napkins I’m using in place of Kleenex.

“Hi!” says my editor brightly. We do introductions, the kids show off their fast-dwindling stack of raisins, and the meeting begins.

Here’s what I had in mind.

Here’s what we already have. What do you think?

Yes, they do look awfully similar, don’t they?

Yes, picture books get expensive.

Nicholas runs out of raisins. I get out the crayons.

What about this idea? Or this one?

Can you clarify? I’m not sure I’m following, with my daughter pulling napkins out of the napkin holder on the table. I set it up on the ledge to get it out of reach.

Well, it could be a resource for children, to go with our adult series…

CRASH. The napkin holder attempts to gouge the Formica, entombing my daughter’s hand within the crater. A quick examination reveals no harm done. I push the napkin holder toward Nicholas, who seems pretty mellow on the other side of the table. Julianna tries to climb over me to get out of the booth. I keep talking, but I sound increasingly out of breath as my pregnant body tries and fails to keep up with the energy of 4 ½.

…books selling well… Distributors…preorders…

The gratifying sensation that attempts to puff up my insides implodes as my daughter climbs over the back of the booth and slips into the aisle. I do a quick cost-benefit analysis and decide to give her a short leash. She walks up to a deli worker on his break. He’s trying to read Facebook on his phone; she places a cute little hand on his leg and smiles adorably into his face. “I’m so sorry,” I say, leaping up to drag her back. I pull out three books from the bag. She rejects them in quick succession. Nicholas puts his raisin-crusted hand on my editor’s shoulder and leans in to say, “Batman!”

What about Ordinary Time? I pull two pages out of the coloring book and set the crayon box between the two of them. That could incorporate several of these ideas, don’t you think?

Yes, that sounds possible.

SCREAM. Julianna doesn’t WANT to color on a ripped-out page, she wants the BOOK.

I’m so sorry, they haven’t really had naps, they’re  usually much better-behaved.

Oh, they’re fine. Now about this column…I think your point starts here, and I think that’s what you want to use for an opening.

Yes, that makes sense. Actually, I’m going on faith that it makes sense, because mostly what I know is that Julianna has climbed over the booth again. She makes a beeline for her interrupted conquest. This time she climbs up opposite him and places both arms on the table, giving him her winningest smile. I don’t know whether to be defeated by her charm or come down hard on her. I drag her back again. This time she screams the whole way.

Well, I think that about covers it.

Yes, thanks for being willing to drive up here…I can’t even imagine how they’d behave if we had to drive down to you today!

Oh, they’re fine.

We pack up the scattered books, crayons, toys and papers. I shove one bag over each shoulder and attempt to hold my children’s hands to walk out the door. Simultaneously, they pull that toddler trick where they simply refuse to stand up, so you’re faced with the dilemma of dragging them along by their arms, possibly dislocating shoulders in public, or you have to come up with some other method of discipline. Frankly, I’m not sure how we get to the car, because the instant they see where we’re headed, the screaming begins in earnest. Sweating, I somehow wrestle everyone and everything into place, lock restraints, and make it onto the highway.

Fifteen seconds later, blissful silence reigns in the back seat. At 5p.m., it is naptime at last.

On In Around button

Published in: on October 3, 2011 at 4:49 am  Comments (9)  
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Indulging in a Bit of Good, Old-Fashioned Stream of Consciousness

via Flickr”]Sign of the time

Image by FotoRita [Allstar maniac

Lately I’m suffering from extreme lack of creativity in blogging. Of course, it doesn’t help that it’s turning into one of Those Times. You know. The ones when all petty irritations converge on a point, namely your nerves, and suddenly all the drama of the Furies comes gushing out of your mouth upon the heads of people who only sort of deserve it. Like school nurses who seem incapable of accepting that all your kids have really bad allergies/colds, and the plethora of Other Symptoms means it really isn’t contagious pinkeye, and why are you making me come pick up my daughter from school, which causes me to have to skip nap for another sick child and go get the third one from school early so we can go to a stupid doctor appointment to be told that guess what, your kids have ALLERGIES??????

Uh…excuse me while I go plunge into the creek to lower my blood pressure.

Also this week, Nicholas has officially crowned himself The Worst Sick Child I’ve Ever Had. I remember when he was a baby, shaking my head and calling him a Drama King. Up to then, we called Julianna the Drama Queen, but she’s had to relinquish her monarchy. Julianna, I told Christian, at least had reason to pile on the drama.

The last two nights, Nicholas has been up 7-8 times per night. Last night was actually better, because at least he wasn’t screaming pathetically, “I need tih-oo!” every time he woke up. (Tissue, in case you aren’t fluent in Toddler-ese. And lest you think I am overstating the case by calling it screaming…take my word for it. I’m not. Sunday night, every time I almost fell asleep, I’d be yanked back to consciousness by the sound. Nerve-shredding, I’m telling you.

Last night was better, without the screaming. A big improvement, although being awakened by the sound of your door being  banging against the door stop is no fun, either. I’ve learned two things the last two days:

1. When Nicholas grows up, he’ll be the classic “bad patient.” Just saying.

2. I must do everything in my power to ensure that Nicholas never gets sick again. EVER.

In between sick kids, flirting with being sick myself, finishing up a teaching gig in another town, preparing for three public speaking engagements in the next 6 days (each of them a separate topic) and the usual attempts to write, I’ve found myself floundering on the blog. I don’t know if everybody’s just overwhelmed like me now that school’s started and the fundraising and football seasons have begun, or if I’m actually losing your interest, but my stats have taken a hit the last couple of weeks.

If you’re a blogger, you know that leads to serious self-questioning and an obsessive search for ways to FIX IT! So I’ve been trying out some new blog carnivals/memes, some of which I like quite a bit.

The only trouble is, I abandoned most of my old memes a few months ago, because the time I was putting into going around visiting other people didn’t seem to be translating into any significant bump in hits. I got the sense I was seeking new readers unsuccessfully while not really serving my own readership or being true to myself. So I took the plunge and found, gratifyingly, that my stats didn’t suffer for it.

And now I wonder if trying to push the meme thing again is why I’m struggling with both inspiration and stats.

Anyway.

My goal every day in writing is to have a point. And if you can’t tell, this post really has no point. I just gave myself permission to do some good old-fashioned stream-of-consciousness Journaling today. You know what else? It didn’t take very long to write. What do you know? That qualifies it for yet another meme I haven’t visited in quite a while. Now, what image shall I use to sum up this fractured, useless post?….

Published in: on September 20, 2011 at 5:06 am  Comments (15)  
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What I Love About My Children, part 1: Nicholas

Author: Bagande

Image via Wikipedia

I love the way, when I threaten to “get” him, Nicholas decides I’m not getting around to it fast enough and runs toward me to speed things up.

I love the way he talks. “Tyoo, Mommy,” he says, patting his belly, and even now it takes me fifteen seconds of constant repetition before I figure out he’s asking me to chew on him. Chew, baby? I’m yours!

I love how he counts to three, and knows what it means, even though he can’t say the words properly. And how he tries to count backwards with me when I’m warning Julianna to comply with an instruction. (Oddly, he doesn’t do this when I’m counting him down. Hmmmmm…)

I love how he will try to say anything…unless we’re trying to get him to show off. And then he tips his head back and gives a wheezing laugh you hear no other time, and flings his body into whatever part of my body is most convenient for playing shy.

I love how complex his sentence thoughts are…four- and five- word sentence frames, most of his words lacking both center and ending consonants, and yet communicating very sophisticated thoughts.

I love his favorite phrase: “What doing, Mommy? What doing, Da-ee?” (Although being asked every five seconds for an hour does get wearisome!)*

I love the gleam in his eye when he knows he’s showing off.

I love that we’re making progress toward toilet training. (I know, no warm-fuzzies there, but it’s honest!)

I love how eager he is to help at this stage. He’s not very good at it, but it warms my heart to see his desire to be a big boy and do grown up things like set the table, make dinner, change the laundry. (How long can it last? Sigh…)

I love how much love he has for his siblings, his parents, grandparents, and even playmates. (Bigger playmates.)

I love it when he pats the baby.

I love hearing, “I yuh you…Mommy.”

I love you too, munchkin.

*(Note: I’m fully aware how heavily this post leans on speech. Bear in mind that I have a nonverbal four-year-old. I’ve been waiting a long time to hear speech attempts in this house again, and it’s just magical.)

Published in: on August 18, 2011 at 4:37 am  Comments (2)  
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What I Have Learned From My Children

The idea that our children teach us at least as much as we teach them is one of the truisms of parenthood. But when I started thinking about how to write this post, I kept coming up with a list of things that could describe any parent and any child. I wanted to show what is unique to the particular circumstances of our family’s experiences. I asked Christian for help on this one. Here’s what we came up with:

The not-so-serious

1. How to chase people around roaring. This seems to be Alex’s favorite occupation lately, one met at various times by giggles and outraged screaming, depending on the mood of the chase-ee.

2. How to win anyone over by giggling. I can’t get over Julianna’s silvery, dusky laugh. There’s just nothing like it. And Nicholas? That warbling belly laugh holds me prisoner. I’ll do anything for it.

3. You are how you eat.

4. Tolerance of repetition. Repetition is not something we tolerate well in modern life. But Nicholas is learning to talk, and all day every day he walks around saying, “What doing…Mommy? What doing…Da-ee?” Absent that, he’s trying to communicate some other sentiment, and he thinks that if he says it enough times in a row, we’ll figure it out. It makes me want to hyperventilate sometimes. I have to remind myself to be thankful for his desire to communicate.

5. The law of equal and opposite reaction. The child who charms everyone also must have a dark side. Julianna had the receptionist at the cardiology clinic eating out of her hand yesterday from the instant she put on Alex’s Iron Man helmet and made flirty eyes through it. But when the doctor and nursing staff walked into the exam room, she morphed into demon child. After an hour of solid screaming and FOUR PEOPLE, we managed to get an EKG done. They gave up without even trying to get an echocardiogram.

The sincere

6. The wonder of seeing myself in them. Alex is taking to music like a mother tongue, reading music and playing by ear, transposing at the piano, making up songs—my skills. It gives me chills sometimes. But he sleeps like his daddy (like the dead, IOW). Nicholas, on the other hand, can’t get to sleep at night, just like me. I look at Julianna’s and my reflections in the mirror, and something familiar teases me, something I haven’t identified yet. She’s not my spitting image…she’s not even the spitting image of my older sister, whom she most resembles…but there’s something there nonetheless.

7. Sign language. We never in a million years thought we would know as much sign language as we do. And although most of it we learned with them, not from them, I learned the sign for ambulance/fire truck/police car (not sure which) from Julianna just two days ago.

8. Structure makes the world a better place. Occasionally I take flak for being a nap Nazi. But now that Alex is getting so much older, we’ve begun playing loosey goosey with the little ones’ naps, and the level of negative energy in our house definitely shows for it. Structure makes everything better. This is a lesson I’ve learned to apply to my writing and housekeeping and, well, everything.

9. Self-sacrifice. You would think eventually a parent would have this lesson down pat, but the level of sacrifice ratchets up regularly, and it never stops chafing.

10. A capacity for suffering. Is it harder to suffer through the frustration and stress of a hospital stay, or to watch your child suffer? In a word…yes.

Now it’s your turn: what lessons have you learned from your children?

Shared with Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop.

Published in: on August 16, 2011 at 5:29 am  Comments (8)  
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7 Quick Takes, vol. 128

___1___

Okay, this is just weird. What a way to open my Google reader this morning.

___2___

Moms talk about getting “touched out.” I’m a touch person, so that doesn’t happen to me very often. At least, it didn’t before Nicholas. The other night after dinner, Nicholas got off the toilet and plastered himself against me until I finally couldn’t take the whining anymore, and I abandoned cleanup duty to pick him up. “Twenty years from now,” Christian said, “you’re going to tell him, ‘When you were a 2 year old naked kid, I couldn’t resist you!’”

My response: “You’d better be glad you didn’t say, ‘Twenty years from now you’re gonna miss this.’ Because I might’ve had to deck you.”

___3___

Speaking of Nicholas, he’s the most hilarious mimic. He mimics things whether or not he understands what he’s doing. In our morning walks (well, we haven’t taken one in a while because it’s been raining every day!), he’s seen me picking dandelions and grinding them under my toe. Now, wherever we are, he runs over, picks it, and steps on it. (EVIL LAUGH!) One child is taught! Bwahaha!

___4___

Last fall, Christian and Alex got stranded two hours from home when the (18-year-old) truck broke down on the way to a baseball game. When I arrived to pick them up, he shook his head and said, “It’s time to replace this car.” Naturally, then, 9 months later–yesterday–we test drove our first car.

___5___

Alex was tested this week for the school district’s gifted program. I don’t know how much is par for the course among kindergarteners nowdays, but I’ve been amazed all year as I watch him absorb, process, and learn. The kid can read now. I mean, read. But that’s not what they’re looking for in the gifted program. They asked him questions like, “What is a flood?” and “Why does a police officer wear a uniform?” Things to gauge how he interacts with the world. (In case you’re interested, his answers: “A whole big pile of water” and “so that people will let the policeman get through the crowd”.)

___6___

That was a crazy morning. Alex missed the very last pizza day at school to go be tested, so I promised to take him out for lunch on the way back to school. We went to DQ, but we were on a very tight schedule–we had to be home before Julianna’s bus arrived. So the boys ate ice cream in the car on the way back to school (imagine that mess), and when Alex walked into the school office, the secretary smiled and said, “Oh, Alex, do you need a new shirt?” By the time she came back from the uniform closet, Alex got it on, and we got him headed to his classroom, we were on the slimmest of margins. We topped the last hill headed to our house and saw the bus turning the corner onto our street. I gunned the engine and managed to get in the garage as the bus was pulling up. Couldn’t have cut that one any closer!

___7___

Okay, I need help from you guys. It’s the last day of school. What do you do with kids all summer? Don’t tell me the pool, because I have to have a second adult; none of my kids are really safe in the water yet. How do you structure summer vacation? Field trips? Craft projects? I was thinking of making flash cards over the summer, and I have  a couple field trips in mind. But I know how bored Alex is going to be. How have you structured your days to make things run smoothly, so everyone knows what to expect (a la school year!!)?

Published in: on May 27, 2011 at 5:07 am  Comments (3)  
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You Know It’s A Bath Day When…

It was a bad, bad night…I was up for three hours with Nicholas, who has his first major case of croup…so I’m going to keep it simple this morning.

You know it’s a bath day* when:

*(Incidentally…adorable dress? In a soak solution. Five minutes after this, she sat down in the puddle.)

***

Shared with Special Exposure Wednesday and Wordful Wednesday at Seven Clown Circus.

Published in: on May 24, 2011 at 4:59 am  Comments (7)  
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7 Quick Takes

___1___
 
Alex brought home a sheet of paper this week from school. I have no idea what it was for, but it said:
“In 25 years I will be 31.
I would like to be a
scientist and train driver.
I will get married.”
 
Go for it, boy. :)
 
___2___
 
As I was getting ready for bed last night, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and realized…holy cow, I’m showing already. This news does not excite me. I’m only 8 weeks. As I said to the doctor on Monday, I’m nervous that I outran my grace period with my first three pregnancies, and I’ll be dealing with the swollen fingers and ankles and out-of-control weight gain that others have always dealt with. I wince. I cringe. I shrug, and go on. Eighteen months and I can pursue weight loss for real.
 
___3___
 
I often say that Julianna’s a 2-year-old in a 4-year-old’s body. But I realized last weekend that I’m not giving her credit. Labels like that are handy and succinct, but she’s more emotionally mature than that. She sat in the car the other day pointing to letters and attempting to say their names. For all that her attempts at communication are (usually) limited to grunts and yells, the girl knows how to say “w” and “k” and “g” and several vowels–and she can connect many of them to the letters. It’s just really hard for her to control the fine muscles in lips and tongue to get them out. But for the first time, I see speech on the horizon. And reading.
 
___4___
 
Meanwhile, Nicholas is toilet training. Theoretically. He’s in that annoying stage where they do great sometimes and categorically refuse others. Only “great” is an exaggeration, because he categorically refuses to cooperate with the #2 issue. I’ll just stop there. Let’s just say battle lines are drawn.
 
___5___
 
Oh, yes, speaking of Nicholas. My apologies to all who saw this on FB yesterday: My beautiful cheesecake cooling before I ran upstairs to put a load of laundry in the wash:
 
 And what I found when I came back downstairs with a folded tablecloth in hand:
 
 
___6___

Tomorrow’s my date with destiny (tongue firmly in cheek): the day I sing the Alma Mater on stage with Sheryl Crow. :) Wish me luck. I’ll be fine as long as my voice doesn’t unexpectedly go south (you worry about these things when you get paid to sing!).

___7___

I often think that people’s rules about writing are a sign of lack of creativity.

For instance: Conventional wisdom says you must limit POV characters–but how many books have you read that hop from head to head (between scenes…even within them, though that drives me nuts)? And they work. Like the one I’m reading now: The Forgotten Garden. Magical. I’ve lost count of how many POVs. It’s a lot. And not all of them are major characters–major, yes, they have a purpose the story would falter without. But major, as in they are developed and someone we’re supposed to empathize with, have a character arc for? No. And yet it needs to be in their POV for the author’s purpose–and it works.

I may just have to thumb my nose at the rules. But maybe I should get published first. :)
 
 Have a great weekend!
 

7 quick takes sm1 7 Quick Takes Friday (vol. 126)

 
 
Published in: on May 13, 2011 at 5:13 am  Comments (6)  
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The Defection of Mama’s Boy

It’s a truism of parenting that no two children can be treated the same. But what’s equally true, but not thrown around so freely, is that no parent is the same from one child to the next.

I think it’s been well established that Nicholas is a mama’s boy. But something strange is happening in our world, something not altogether welcome. He’s starting to react better toDaddy than toMommy.

Now, contrary to what you might think, the “not altogether welcome” part of this has nothing to do with the loss of my baby. No, the problem is that he still wants me—badly—but he won’t do anything I ask him to do. As has also been pretty well established (here and here, among seven or eight other posts), Nicholas is my first typical two-year-old. And being a mama’s boy, his primary power struggles are with me. Not that Christian doesn’t get some of them—he does—but Nicholas reacts better to him.

Case in point: this post. You know, the “Motherhood Ain’t Pretty” post. It happens at meals, too. Nicholas hasn’t liked anything I’ve made for dinner for two weeks. Now, he eats like a bear at lunchtime, so most of the time I don’t get very excited about it if he just doesn’t eat much at dinner. I’m not giving him an alternative menu, but I’m not going to make it a battle, either.

But then we get to the part that he really does want to eat: crackers or dessert. Julianna cries out for a cracker, Nicholas cries out for a cracker (or ice cream, or cookies, or whatever). The difference is that Julianna has three bites left to eat before she can have the treat, while Nicholas has…his whole meal. Battle lines drawn.

Will he eat it for me? If I feed it to him. If I have him sit on my lap. Maybe.

But when Christian sits down with him, abra cadabra, he eats.

I’ve been trying to observe how Christian handles things differently. And I know, too, that Nicholas’s behavior with me reflects not just mealtime but the whole package: how I react when he’s yanking on my mouse arm while I’m working (which makes me question whether I should be working, even though I know I have to); how much time I do or don’t interact with him. This week has been better than most, because I have been off the computer every morning: library, field trip, buying bedding flowers, hauling compost, etc. Which nudges me that I’m out of balance, and need to address it.

But it also reminds me that I’m a different parent than I was when Alex was this age. When Alex was this age, I had only begun writing, and wasn’t really making any money at it. When Alex was this age, my #1 concern was Julianna, who had been near death already and was staring down the barrel of heart surgery. Our lives were a procession of therapy visits and trips to doctors’ offices. When Julianna was this age, I had a brand new baby, and was nursing my way through therapy visits. Now, I’m a work-at-home mom, meeting deadlines and scrounging up new projects to contribute to the family income—a role I find fulfilling, though challenging.

Two little eyes looking over the edge of the computer desk, and footsteps padding down the stairs…organized or not, well-unified or not, this post is done. Time to go be a mom.

Published in: on May 5, 2011 at 5:34 am  Comments (1)  
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Best Buddies

They bicker all the time. Julianna takes Nicholas’s toy. Nicholas falls apart. Nicholas decides he wants what Julianna has, and she gives her howler monkey imitation. Sometimes it doesn’t even require that the toy be taken.

They screech so much and so often at each other that in those moments when they forget they are rivals for all material goods in the house (and Mommy’s attention)—in those moments when they sit side by side enjoying something together—something inside my mommy heart just goes, Ahhhhhhhh.

And when this moment arrives, I turn into a puddle of goo.

Published in: on April 28, 2011 at 5:33 am  Leave a Comment  
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