And a Jar of Marbles

We had a baby dedication at church. It was nice, different from the usual ones I've seen, where at some point during the usual church service, the families come up, the pastor says a few words, everyone sings "Jesus Loves the Little Children," you get your Bible and sit down. Sound familiar?

This one took place on a Saturday and the chairs in the sanctuary were out, replaced by round tables. We'd all been encouraged to invite friends and family, people who would be instrumental in the raising of our child. The room was bursting at the seems and full of happy noises, babies crying, siblings whispering, good life sounds.

We listened to an older couple talk about parenting. Having successfully raised three well-functioning children into adulthood, they had their credibility. One thing that I've been reminded of time and time again stood out. Parenting is hard, of course. But people make out the baby year to be the hardest. You have a squalling, entirely dependent being plopped into your life who has major needs but no way of communicating those needs short of yelling at you at full volume. You lose sleep. You do laundry 47 times per week. You think about your pre-baby life in disbelief. And yes, the baby year is hard, no doubt. But it's not parenting. It's survival - for you and your baby. That's all you're doing. You're instilling love through your gentle hands and loving responses to that terrorist child's every need. But it's not parenting.

Parenting kicks in a few years later, when the choices you make and the responses you have to your child will set them down the path towards success or the therapist's office. And half the time you don't know which path you're on.

I was talking to a mom of one of Violet's classmates. She asked me how the summer was going and I told her the whining around our house was EPIC. "I know," she sympathized. "I just keep telling myself it's a phase, it's only a phase." And while that might be true, that all things do indeed pass, I feel like my reactions to the whining are crucial. Giving in, standing firm, yelling, responding with loving patience, ignoring it - there are so many choices, and I really want my reaction to be the drop in the bucket of a kind, respectful person. I'm growing a human being over here! God forbid the way I respond the 83rd time she asks to watch another My Little Pony episode in a screeching voice that could cause a dog to chew its own leg off be the one response that tips her over the edge towards being a horrible, snotty, self-absorbed, entitled brat when she's 14. (Although the teenage years might be a lost cause.) This is parenting, people!

At the baby dedication, each family got a huge jar of marbles. (Cue the "losing your marbles" jokes.) There was one marble to represent each week of our child's life from birth until they turn 18 and (presumably, God-willing, here's hoping) graduate high school and move away to college. That's 936+ marbles, just to save you math nerds some time. And yes, it's a lot of marbles. But every week you remove one. And slowly the pile will dwindle. The tagline is: Count your weeks, so you can make your weeks count. This is it. This is the amount of time we have as parents to imprint our child with the values, habits, traditions, we want them to carry forth with them into the world. It's a good visual reminder that what we do this week will matter over time. Thank God there are so many marbles in case this turns out to not be my best week ever!

Losing my marbles!

Part of the prep for the baby dedication service was coming up with five core values we wanted to focus on as a family. I had to google "core values list" because I wasn't even sure what it meant (and to think, we're already on our second child! Eek! Talk about playing catch up!) There were the obvious love and faith and generosity. But I had an easier time picking traits I don't want my kids to have. I want them to have whatever the opposite of laziness is. (Diligence?) I want to instill in them the opposite of entitlement. (Gratitude?)

The other part of our homework before the service started was coming up with two family habits that would help us grow these values. Clearly these values need to be modeled. They need to be taught in a hands-on, real-world way. We need to talk about them. We need to use the big words, show the big picture. We need to explain why we love others, why we share what we have. I'll be honest, it's scary and exhausting to think of all the work that goes into growing responsible citizens of this world.

We'll take it one marble at a time.

Awake!

Notice something different about these pictures? Yep, eyeballs. My friend is officially awake. Hibernation is over, as are the endless naps. It took three weeks, but this child is ready to meet the world.

Unfortunately, she wants to meet the world between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. And while this is totally normal, it is also exhausting.

Tuesday night was the worst. Not only was she awake, she was awake and fussy. Sometimes flat-out yelling at us. Matt and I passed her back and forth, we walked, we bounced, we "shushed", we swaddled, we unswaddled. She would fall asleep for a few minutes, we would dare breath a sigh of relief, and then she'd start up again. Upset tummy? Colic? Just being a baby? Who knows. All we knew was, we needed sleep and it wasn't happening. To add stress to the mix, we attempted a bottle for the first time, which Annie wanted nothing to do with. After Violet, who never turned down food in whatever form is came in, we were not prepared for this rejection. Babies are so confusing and seem made just to make their mamas worry. She finally passed out around 6:15, just in time for Violet to wake up at 6:20. Fun times.

Needless to say, there were two grumpy parents yesterday.

Fortunately, we had small group last night. It's always a good thing to be surrounded by loving, supportive friends when your life line is fraying in your fingertips. They sent us home refreshed and hopeful for a good night, which we had. This time Annie took a bottle and while she spazed out between 10 and 11:30, she was out for the count after that, except for her feedings.

Something I remember distinctly with Violet is how unpredictable infants are. As soon as I'd think we were on to something, she would switch up her schedule again or do something that freaked me out and I'd be back at square one on the confidence scale. I'm trying to take things more in stride this time around, but as always babies are intent on keeping you on your toes. I still have concerns and questions, I still wonder if I'm doing things right, if she's okay. I guess that's just all part of parenting. What a mind job.

The Oldest

I am loving my quiet days home with my youngest. But every now and then I miss the loud, crazy energy of my oldest. Last night she regaled us with a musical number, complete with macarena-like dance moves, as she sang us the months of the year song. July made an appearance an extra time or two, but for the most part, she has the year nailed down pat.

Weekends are the sweetest, because Matt is home and we have all day to hang out and play. We can be lazy, and trade the baby back and forth, and indulge Violet in one extra episode of Sofia the First. School mornings are hard because everyone is tired and trying to get ready (or actively procrastinating). School afternoons can be tough as well, because no matter how soon dinner is, Violet insists on a snack. And then another, better snack. Every day I promise I'm going to start breaking that habit, and every afternoon at 5:30 I just need her to be quiet and still for a few minutes. So we're still trying to figure that one out.

But there's always a moment that makes me smile, or cracks Matt up, or makes us look at one another with the amused disbelief that we actually created the wild, wonderful creature in front of us.

Big Sister

Does someone need attention?

Violet is very excited today. She gets to go home from school with her BFF, have a playdate, go to gymnastics together, and then have a dinner date before being dropped back off at home! She has not stopped talking about it all week. A million thanks to Emma's mama for making it happen.

Overall Violet is adjusting really well to having a little sister. If anything, the problems we're seeing with her are issues that have been here long before baby. Things like getting her dressed, fed and out the door in the morning without any battles, for example. Of course, adding an infant to the mix just ratchets up the stress level, but I'm hopeful that every day will get easier. 

Teaching little sister how to play.

Violet loves being helpful. Her favorite task is throwing away diapers. Because I am an evil genius, I convinced her that the diaper pail is a "magic trashcan". She loves putting the diaper in, moving the handle, and then revealing that - ta-da! - the diaper is gone! She also loves bringing Annie her little bunny or paci whenever the baby is fussing.

Silly girl!

I climbed the stairs for the first time yesterday so I could read books and tuck my big girl into bed. It was nice to get to spend some time with Violet, just the two of us. It's been an adjustment, figuring out how to parent two children, especially when both seem to need tons of attention in completely different ways. But I'm loving having my girls and watching them together. I can't wait to watch them grow up together!

The Face and The Voice

Sad Face

I've been getting a lot of this face today. The Sad Face. The Whiny Face. The put-the-tv-on-for-me-again face. And as much as I love this face, and the child attached to it, seeing it brings out my Annoyed Voice. My Frustrated Voice. My you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me-if-I-hear-that-one-more-time voice.

So you can see why the following article I stumbled across brought a wry smile to my face. It read, in part:

"If you are a parent of small children, you know that there are moments of spectacular delight, and you can’t believe you get to be around these little people. But let me be the one who says the following things out loud:

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.

You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.

You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.

You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.

You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.

You’re not a terrible parent."

It's always good to hear a voice of reason on days like today. Because we all know parenting can be hard. But sometimes it's just nice to have someone agree with you. They're not trying to make you feel better, or solve your problems, they're just listening, nodding, agreeing. It's good to be in it together.

That being said, excuse while I put the tv on and make myself a drink. (A non-alcoholic one, stop freaking out. Although if The Face shows up too much more today, that may change.)

(I jest.)

(But not really.)

Read the full article, To parents of small children: Let me be the one who says it out loud, here.

Let me check my schedule...

Here's the thing about summertime. As a teacher, I've been blessed (and I worked my butt off, thank you very much) to get 7 or 8 weeks off in the hottest months of the year. What, were you still under the misguided notion that summer vacation lasts three months? Hate to disappoint you. We teachers must voluntarily show back up at work at least a week before the official preplanning starts just to get our rooms/minds ready. But we'll deal with that when the time comes.

So like I said, I'm blessed to have the time off in the summer. Being a mom, this means I can save a load on daycare costs and get plenty of precious time with my kiddo at home while the rest of society continues the grind in cubicle-land.

Naturally, that is my official statement and I'm sticking to it.

But since this is my space to be honest and say what I like, and since most of the time I'm too tired/lazy/creatively tapped to be anything but honest anyway, let's get real. Summer scares me a little. All those hours. Alone. With my child. A child who happens to be going through a dramatic, wheeling-dealing, three-year-old, all I want is more snacks and more tv phase. A child who considers waking at seven a.m. to be sleeping in (today she crept down at 5:30) and can't be bothered to be begged/forced up to bed until at least nine o'clock.

Don't get me wrong. She is awesome. The other day she informed me that a butterfly's life cycle is: caterpillar, raccoon, butterfly. Oh, she makes me laugh.

And then makes me want to scream really, really loudly. And isn't that (plus a bottle of wine) just the perfect recipe for parenthood?

Anyway, knowing I'm not great at being a stay-at-home mom (hence the reason I got myself a job), I always look toward summer with a little trepidation. My main goal for this summer is not to let Violet's brain or teeth rot from over-consumption of snacks and television. And I need a way to accomplish this with a minimum of negotiating (this child could be a lawyer. Or a used car salesman). So I decided to take what I know in the classroom and apply it at home. What do all kids need? Schedules! And thus Violet's picture schedule board was born.

Let me just check my schedule...

On our magnetic board are a collection of pictures representing different activities throughout the day. Some are obligatory - nap time, breakfast, etc. The rest are the possibilities - coloring, reading  books, playing outside, pool time, etc. We talk about the choices available each day, then map out our schedule. I put some things in - tv time comes after nap time, there are only two snack time pictures (and one optimistically shows pictures of healthy fruit!) while Violet gets to plug in her choices too.

A craftier mom than me would have taken the time to snap photos of their child doing each activity. But for me, clipart will have to suffice. But I did use my own laminating machine, so take that!

Whenever she looks bored or asks for another snack, I tell her to check the board. Is is snack time? No. What time is it? Playroom time. Okay then, go play! As each activity is completed, Violet takes great joy in moving the picture to the other side of the board so show that it's done. Easy. And so far, it is working.

Although this is only day two, so don't count any chickens or pin this idea to pinterest yet. But it's been nice to start the first few days of summer with my sanity and patience (mostly) intact.

Life with a Broken Collarbone

A lazy morning with Daddy.

Parenting has gotten difficult lately. Not that it's ever a piece of cake. But this broken collarbone has really thrown us off our game.

Here's the problem. Violet is in pain. I think. I mean, if I ask, sometimes she concurs that yes, her boo-boo hurts. (Of course, sometimes she impatiently gives me a withering what-are-you-talking-about-get-out-of-my-way look.) But she doesn't act like she's in pain most of the time. So we're left to our best judgement to medicate or not.

Plus, Violet is down to one arm. And there is a limited amount of stuff you can do when you're two-and-a-half and can only use one arm. To her credit, it hasn't seemed to slow her down much. She's still on the swing set, climbing stairs, going to her dance class at school. But she's also watching a lot of television. More than she was watching before, when I was already feeling guilty about her screen time.

And we broke one of our sacred parenting rules (seriously, NEVER set a parenting rule. It's just an invitation to break said rule and then feel rotten). We let Violet sleep in our bed the night she broke her collarbone. And then somehow it happened again. And now I'm worried we're verging on forming a bad habit. And our bed is not that big, folks. And even if it was, it's my bed!

So I know we're dealing with a unique situation here. But I alternate between wanting to do whatever we need to just to get through this particular season in our life and being paranoid that we're forming bad habits and raising a spoiled child and it will all come back to bite us next week. Because Violet has had some BAD moments this last week. Some tantrum-throwing, mommy-slapping, the devil must be in you moments. They were ugly. To the point that I have seriously contemplated whether that restaurant fall damaged more than just her collarbone.

I'm wondering if this is a taste of what we're in for when Violet becomes a hormonal teenager. Or if this is just a hurt little girl trying to deal with her frustration and pain. Trying to find the balance is hard. Trying to survive the moments is hard. Parenting is hard.

Tantrums

I used to think they didn't really exist, tantrums. Or perhaps my child was just too sweet, too happily adjusted, to succumb to them. Tantrums of the full blown, body thrown on the floor, heels and fists pounding, banshee-shrieking variety - these were just toddler myths of the "uphill in the snow both ways" variety, told to scare new parents into buying lots of parenting books they won't have time to read.

I mean, sure I've witnessed tantrums on tv comedies featuring stereotypically frazzled parents and dysfunctional families. And I may have caught a glimpse or two in a random Target toy aisle, fit being pitched by a dirty, snot-faced street urchin a la Oliver Twist while a harried mom with frizzy hair aims menacing threats involving a lot of under the breath "if you don't stop this instant, I'm going to..."

But in this family, we practice gentle but firm no's followed by reasonable discussions of rules and expectations that produces an agreeable, respectful child who desires and receives structure and boundaries.

We practice this for about two seconds. And then watch as Violet throws herself to the floor in a dramatic swan dive of disgust and loathing and begins to pound the floor like a prize fighter going in for the KO. And the shrieking. Oh the shrieking. Neighbors walking their dogs can be seen pausing across the street with concerned looks on their faces. Their dogs whine. Somewhere a wolf is howling in commiseration.

Because as it turns out, I have a typical two-year-old after all. Now, seeing as most of my friends don't have a child of this age yet, I don't have too much advice to go on. (Naturally, I never behaved this way as a wee lass, so I don't even have any "I told you so's" from my own mother to rely on.) So allow yourself to learn from my experience.

When such a tantrum strikes, such as this weekend's nuclear meltdown involving the wrong color snack bowl or... something, there are a few choices. I've tried all of them.

Choice One: try to physically remove your child from the situation. This involves picking them up. You have lots of practice in carrying your child - her 30-ish pounds aren't that big of a deal. You once carried her all over the grocery store while simultaneously pushing a cart full of food and juggling a cell phone.

Your child will be ready for this, however. They will go completely limp, inexplicably adding 50 pounds of dead weight to their small frame. Picking them up will be like trying to haul an 80-pound eel out of the water. It is next to impossible. If I'm ever jumped in a dark parking lot some night, I'm merely going to lay down on the ground like a dead fish - it is an insanely effective strategy.

Choice Two: attempt to reason with your child. Topics to discuss include: why you are right and they are wrong, how life is unfair, how the pink snack bowl is dirty and (fill in the blank with your treason) is actually for their own good. Use a calm, soothing voice that will hopefully be heard over the wailing and gnashing of teeth.

When this fails utterly, you may move on to distracting, cajoling, and finally, bribing. Note that the bribe should be the exact thing that caused the tantrum in the first place (oh, you wanted the pink bowl? Here, I'll wash it off, just take it!) It will be resoundingly rejected.

Choice Three: stare, flummoxed, at the red, splotchy, writhing thing your child has become. Possibly recoil in quasi-amused horror. Find your spouse so they can witness what obviously comes from their side of the family. Attempt to restrain your laughter. When that fails, physically remove yourself from the scene of the crime, lest the thing hear your laughter and try to put its grubby, snotty paws on you. Bonus points if you can make it out of the room with either a good book or ear plugs.

Return when the hurricane has finally blown itself into exhaustion and has morphed back into your sweet, loving child, albeit much snottier. Do not, under any circumstances, mention what caused the tantrum in the first place. In fact, your best bet is to just avoid eye contact altogether as you hold out a variety of peace offering snacks. In the pink snack bowl. Because you are not an idiot.

Don't Ask, Won't Tell

When you first get married, most people wait a subtle 9.7 seconds before asking when you are going to start a family. If said inquisitors are related to you, they seem entitled to the question much soon than that. And there seems to be a direct relationship with the length of time you've been with your significant other and how soon you're expected to procreate. If you've been together more than two years prior to the wedding, you can expect to get the question hurled at you on your trip back down the aisle.

After you finally have a baby, people back off for oh, a year or so before they'll start hinting around again. If motherhood has been particularly traumatic or the tears are still welling up in your eyes at the mention of round two, you might get cut some extra slack. But by the time your child is two years old, pointed glances will be made at your stomach (no, that's just a taco bump) and disappointed sighs will be heard when you  accept that offered margarita, proving once again to the world at large that you are not, in fact, harboring a bun in the oven. Unless by bun, you meant taco.

Because the problem is, most people who know you will know that you want another child. And as the two-year mark comes and goes, it becomes obvious that the time has come. That you're not getting any younger. That you've always wanted your children (relatively) close together. And woe be it to you if you've breathed a hint of "we're trying" or "this is the summer". Because that tantalizing hint just invites scrutiny, and then worry, and worse still, pity when another margarita is ordered and another taco is consumed. (Even though I happen to like my margaritas right now, thank you very much.)

And that is why, even though we see those speculative glances, and we know why you're oh-so-subtly offering margaritas, blatantly hoping I'll decline with a secret smile, we're currently operating under a "don't ask, won't tell" policy. Because the answer is no, not yet, we'll let you know.

Unless the question is "Is that a taco?" In which case, the answer is yes.

Now where's my margarita?

Playing Favorites

My daughter is currently going through a daddy phase. Given a choice, she'll choose her daddy. Daddy gets her up in the morning, picks her up when she's sad, Daddy can convince her to put her shoes on and brush her teeth. Daddy this, Daddy that. No Mommy, I want Daddy!

Secretly, I'm loving it!

Does it hurt my feelings that she'd rather have her daddy right now? Not one bit! It gives me a little bit of breathing room, and that's good for everyone.

Besides, they're so darn cute together!

Earning It

Remember last week when I wrote about keeping score? Yeah... should have kept my mouth shut. It's like Violet knew Father's Day was coming, knew I wanted it to be a special day, and decided to make us earn it by making Saturday a complete disaster.

Here's just a brief glimpse of what we endured:

Violet: I want a popsicle.
Me: No, you didn't take a nap today, so no popsicle.
Violet: Pooooooooooooopsicle!!!!!!!
Matt: Violet, we already told you...
Violet: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Giant tears, throws self to floor in a dramatic display I used to swear they only did in movies. Finally, after realizing we're not impressed...)

Violet, tearstained, hiccuping, snotty faced: I want juice.
Me: You already had juice today. How about some water?
Violet: NO JUUUUUUUUUUUUICE!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

And.... repeat.

Finally Matt, my sainted husband, loaded Violet into the stroller, put on his headphones, and took Violet on a long walk while I tried to get the ringing in my ears to stop. Things were much better when they finally returned. So we rewarded ourselves with one of our favorite pre-kid pastimes - Mexican food and margaritas on a patio in beautiful weather.

Yes, she ate the rice off the bottom of her shoe.

My beautiful mess.

I earned this drink. And I'm loving this view.

And after all that drama... Sunday was lovely! Matt and his dad went golfing (my dad was out of town) while us ladies took Violet to the pool, then steaks were grilled and consumed, ice cream was procured and someone else handled bath and bed time. Come to think of it, it was a bit of a Mother's Day for me...

Happy Father's Day!

Happy family, all smiles.

Happy Father's Day!

Violet would just like to say that she thinks her dad is pretty awesome. I would like to agree.

Gimme a D...

Gimme an A...

Gimme a D...

Matt, you really are an awesome dad. I love how you are so hands-on with Violet. I often find you two in in the playroom putting together puzzles or kicking the ball to each other. (That gives me hope for tea parties to come!) You always think of new things to teach Violet, be it vocabulary words or ball throwing technique. You are lenient enough to let her get away with skipping a bath now and then, but firm when it matters, like finishing dinner or saying "thank you".

I secretly love when she insists you be the one to brush her teeth or get her up in the morning, and not just because it gets me off the hook for a few minutes - it's obvious how much our little girl adores you!

You never seem to mind when I'm off for book club or girls' night and you're home with Violet. I always return to a happy baby and hubby, even if Violet refused her nap or begged for 18 snacks. You love sharing those hilarious details of her day and you can't hide how proud you are when she shows off her latest feats - like singing all the lyrics to Bert and Ernie's "But I Like You" song with you.

Thanks for being such a great dad - we love you! Happy Father's Day!

Keeping Score

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sure, we've heard it before. But it rings even more true when you are a parent. Although perhaps the way my father-in-law puts it is more accurate - parents have to win sometimes.

My day is made up of a never-ending string of wins and losses. Some are minor, some are huge. Sometimes it's hard to remember the good details when I finally collapse on the couch at the end of a long day. But if I kept a tally, I'd like to think I'm coming out in the green. Let's take a quick look, shall we?

Yesterday...
Violet woke up at 6:30 a.m. (lose)
She watched tv before 7 a.m. (lose)
She was pleasant while we ran errands (win)
She went down easily for a two hour nap (win-win!)
She pitched a fit about watching tv with dinner (lose)
I went to book club and hung out with my friends while Matt handled bedtime (win)
I came home and heard that Violet's bedtime prayers went like this "Thank you for Backyardigans, and Elmo, and Mommy." (Hey, I might have been last but I still made the list - win!)

Today...
Violet was up at 6:15 (sheesh, we're on summer vacation girl! Sleep in! Lose!)
She is therefore watching tv as I type this (I'm trying to limit screen time but I just can't deal with her this early in the morning - lose)

Not off to a great start, but there is plenty of room for improvement. We have a playdate planned for the park (okay, the playdate is really for me, but the setting is for Violet), the weekend is almost here, Father's Day plans are locked and loaded, I might even know what I'm cooking for dinner tonight. Bring me another cup of coffee and let's see where this day takes us!

I'll Raise You One Popsicle

Lately I've fallen victim to one of the most classic motherhood traps, a I'll never do that when I'm a mom reversal, an ah-ha lightbulb moment that illuminates the obvious reasons why the many moms who have gone before me have trod this same path.

I'm talking about bribery.

That's right, I bribe my child.

It's not the first time it's happened, but it may be the most obvious. Sure, there have been little incidents of "if you eat all your tomatoes I'll give you some watermelon for dessert" and "if you stop screaming at me I'll turn Elmo back on".

But short of using M&Ms as a potty training tool, I try not to make the bribes so big, so monumental, that it is clearly the only reason my child is doing what I want her to do. There has to be some intrinsic motivation, too. A small part of her, acknowledged or not, knows that tomatoes are good for her and eating them is the right choice. Some inner conscience understands that screaming at a mother is wrong and should therefore be silenced, regardless of Elmo being on the other end. (Why are you snickering?)

But when it comes to napping, Violet just can't seem to understand how important this hour or two of solitude is... for me. I'm not tired she screams with conviction, or would say, if she were not too exhausted to form coherent words. So instead she just screams. Until I want to give up and start screaming too.

So in order to keep everyone happy, I've resorted to pulling out the big guns.  The Holy Grail.

Popsicles.

Oh yes. You take a nap, you get a popsicle when you wake up. Easy as that. And before you judge me (or jump off your pedestal to go stock your own freezer - and you're welcome), know that I'm sticking with the homemade variety so I can monitor how much sugar and food coloring the noodle ingests. I figure, I was going to give her juice anyway, why not put it in delicious, frozen form as wield it like a carrot on a stick?

Lady Liberty

In Print

Remember when I wrote this post about the impossibility of "enjoying every minute" of parenting? And how I'm okay with that? Looks like I'm not the only one who was inspired by Glennon and her words of wisdom. My friends over at Fayette Woman Magazine found something that resonated with them as well.

If you want your very own in-the-flesh copy, just let me know. I'm sure the lovely ladies at Fayette Woman would be happy to oblige. What? Autographs? Well, I... Oh, you shouldn't have... Well, if you insist...

Oh. You mean Violet's autograph...

Mine

So as I keep reminding you, Violet is Two. With a capital T that rhymes with P and that stands for... Petulant. (What I really wanted was Whiny, but that doesn't start with P or rhyme with T. Still, Petulant, as it turns out thanks to dictionary.com, works as well.)

Petulant: moved to or showing sudden, impatient irritation, especially over some trifling annoyance. As in, when I saw she had included another nerdy dictionary definition, I dismissed her with a petulant wave of my hand.


Or


When Violet realized that R. was playing with her toy car, she gave a petulant wail and ran after him wildly, tearfully demanding he give it back.
 
Basically, Violet has a case of "mine-itis" (thanks Sesame Street for that lesson in sharing) and will be moved to tears at the drop of a hat if anyone dares lay a finger on her stuff. Nevermind that it's something she hasn't played with in months. Or that she just dropped said toy in favor of something much better. Or that she insisted a friend give up a toy, only to change her mind when friend's next toy was something else she wanted. 

 The other night she went to sleep with two pillow pets, a blanket, two Elmos, a sippy cup and a book, all because she insisted it all belonged to her and refused to go to bed with it. Tonight we had to share the dinner table with a toy dog and a plastic watering can (random), without which Violet could not be convinced to eat anything.


How do I encourage sharing? Or at least get her to ease up on the mine-mine-mine? Or do I just sigh petulantly and dip into my reserves of patience until this, too, passes?

 

Starting Over from Scratch

One of these days my husband is going to look at me and say something romantic along the lines of "so, when are we having another kid?" Because this is pretty much how this first one came around.

Don't get me wrong, having him say those words the first time was a beautiful thing. It meant that I wasn't the only one wanting to jump the parent train. It meant I didn't have to do anything sneaky like "forget" to take my pill or whine and beg until he agreed just to shut me up. I love that Matt wanted to become a dad as much as I wanted to be a mom, and he was willing to put it out there first.

And inevitably, one of these days, we'll want another one. I'm not presuming when. I just know we both want Violet to have a sibling eventually. I even changed the name of the blog (anyone notice?) because "and then there were three" won't always apply (and I always hated that name anyway. Although not to go off on a tangent now, but I have yet to think of something witty to replace it, something that sums up exactly what I do here... of course, since I'm still figuring out exactly what I do here, naming is a rather vague endeavor.  I'm accepting suggestions. Winner gets a prize to be determined later.)

But I have to be honest. The idea of going back to the infant stage is mind-boggling to me. I love babies - their sweet, milky skin, the way they just lay there and don't talk back or argue about what clothes to wear... I digress. I love babies, I do. But what I've realized with Round One is that I really like babies when they stop being babies and start contributing.

Life got better once Violet started smiling back. Just that small reward was enough affirmation for me to know I was doing something right and my daughter might possibly like me a little. Life got much better when she could sit up by herself. It got infinitely better when she could move herself around. And when she's out of diapers and vacuuming for me? I can't even tell you how magical that will be! I know some moms that miss the infant stage, that sweet innocence. I argue that life gets far more interesting the older your child gets. It gets harder, in its own way, but more satisfying.

Sweet baby Madeline came to visit us last weekend and even though she's not an infant anymore, I still groaned when I saw the trunk full of supplies her parents had to tote for her - bags of baby food and utensils, the bottles, the bibs and clothing changes, a portable high chair, teething toys - save me! I am not looking forward to going back to that!

When I think of the way the baby bottles and accessories take over the kitchen and dishwasher, my shoulders tense up a little. And the drool. And the breast pump. And the clutter that is the baby swing, bouncy seat, exersaucer, high chair, infant tub... This article pretty much sums it all up (hilariously) for me. In those dark, future days I'll be sure to cling to this quote:

On the horizon is a kitchen devoid of bottles, nipples and bottle warmers. You will reclaim your countertop, your cupboards and your dishpan hands. Can I get a "Hallelujah"?

And this one:

You'll figure out how to carry the infant car seat that weighs five times what your baby does, your purse and the-cup-of-coffee-that-is-the-only-thing--keeping-you-from-crashing-the-car-thank-you-very-much, all at the same time. 


Of course, I'll need to figure out how to carry the infant car seat/purse/coffee while I wrangle the older sibling from running out in front of a car in the Target parking lot. Hmm...

Sad Face

The time out chair.

Ah, the salty taste of tears. The seasoning of life.

Violet's tears come in many forms. There are the useful tears, like when she panicked after I pulled the front door shut so I could gently but firmly decline the offer of a traveling saleswoman. "Wow, she's really freaking out," the woman remarked, watching Violet spaz through cut-glass windows that flank the door. She left quickly. And Violet was rewarded handsomely for her performance.

There are the tears designed to elicit sympathy and potentially a snack. "I hurt my (insert body part here)!" she'll wail, producing two fat, glistening tears that shine tremulously on those perfectly chubby cheeks. Generally the all-powerful kiss from mommy or daddy, and possibly her boo-boo buddy ice pack are enough to send her merrily on her way before the tears manage to track too far down her face.

"I need the dat!" (dat = cat)

There are the angry tears, the ones that appear when Violet ends up in time out for some unwise choice (hitting mommy, refusing to listen, etc). These waterworks are generally combined with a sorrowful wail of "I'm ready!" with arms outstretched. We have to set the timer now to make sure she stays put for the appropriate amount of time or that face will melt my resolve.

It's amazing to me how quickly Violet can go from one emotion to the next. In one day, nay an hour, she can swing from the highest, giggliest high to the depths of despair and back again. It must be exhausting to be a toddler, wearing your raw emotions on the surface like that. But oh, when she's happy, there's nothing better in the world!

Battlefield

It's been a rough parenting week, I'm not going to lie. Violet has been especially "two". She wails at bedtime. She puts Matt through the wringer every morning as he tries to get her ready for school. She pushes my buttons trying to climb into the car by herself. She wants to do everything herself. We spend our days trying to navigate around the minefield, never knowing where the next explosion will occur.

The other night we finally got her put to bed after a particularly nasty fight. And of course, putting Violet to bed is just the beginning of my evening. I still had papers to grade and the house to pick up. But it was just such a relief to have her safely out of our hair. Matt and I actually got to spend some time together. He started making a soup while I took care of some school work, then I jumped in to help stir the pot and chop ingredients. It was a wonderful little moment of calm and togetherness.

Which made up for the scene Violet and I created at daycare as I tried to alternately cajole, threaten and force her into her carseat as we blocked the driveway in the middle of the afternoon rush. She was screaming and doing the Exorcist arch, I was thisclose to losing it and just driving away, car seat be damned, and it all happened under the amused/horrified eyes of the daycare staff. Not my finest parenting hour.

I'm trying to keep calm and carry on. As wiser heads have pointed out, Violet's not doing it on purpose at this age. She  is growing and changing and just trying to express herself without a fully developed range of vocabulary or skills. She's going through some big transitions (moving to early preschool room at daycare - sniff!). And no doubt she picks up on the stress I've been carrying these last few weeks with school and grades and report cards and conferences and the nightmare that is Third Quarter.

So I'm cutting us both some slack. I'm making a real effort to be present in the time I have with her, especially on the weekends, instead of immediately getting annoyed when she needs some attention and I just really want to finish another episode of Downton Abby. (Note I didn't say I'm making an effort to enjoy every moment, because a lot of these moments aren't enjoyable no matter how you spin them. I'll settle for just acknowledging and accepting them.)

Waves

The other day I got a random email from a blog stalker (the only kind of stalking I encourage... although no need to hide, come follow! I'm friendly! I don't bite!)

She is a working mom, just like me. And after she apologized for randomly writing (and potentially freaking me out - for the record, not freaked in the slightest), she thanked me for writing with honesty about how tough it can be to juggle work with motherhood and the guilt that comes with it. We try to be good at both, only to end up disappointed with both results. Jack of all trades, master of none. And then the guilt sets in, the dreaded mommy guilt, where we beat ourselves up over the fact that the kids we were dying to pick up from daycare are promptly driving us nuts because real life is hard and we count the minutes until our spouse gets home to lend a hand when we should be enjoying every moment they go by so fast.

Sometimes it helps just to know we're not alone. Which is exactly what I said to my new friend (because I feel like we are friends somehow, even though we've not met). It's nice to know I'm not the only one feeling the pressure and guilt and frustration of being a working mom. Because when I read other people's words, it helps me remember that I'm not nuts for feeling the way I do. And that's really why I write those feelings down and send them out into the void - I'm hoping someone hears them and reaffirms that what I'm feeling is totally normal, or perhaps can offer me some nuggets of wisdom of their own. I know how much it's helped me to read about other moms (and not those perfect, crafty, don't-know-how-she-does-it moms either - I'm thinking more Anne Lamott) and their daily struggles and revelations and real life moments.

It's amazing being a mom. And it's scary and exhausting and heart-breaking and exhilarating. But the guilt. We have to get that monkey off our back. Life is hard enough without that devil screeching in our ear. That monkey pounced on my new friend in the grocery store the other day when she took her two little ones shopping:

Lady in grocery store who noticed my work clothes: "Oh, so you work, that must be hard"
Me: "Yes, it is very hard"
Lady: "So, you are a part-time mom"
Me: "No, I'm a full-time mom, I don't quit being a mom when I go to work"

(And as my friend told me, the lady is lucky she didn't get a banana thrown at her head. Amen sister.)

But what could I say to my new friend (short of telling her to back off the fruit)? I struggle with that same mommy guilt too. You should have seen my thoughts on Superbowl Sunday when Violet refused to take the nap I so desperately needed her to take. So, knowing I totally lack the soothing balm she needs, I simply told her what I had just learned in my small group Bible study. I reminded her (and myself) about grace.

Imagine stepping into the ocean. Those dancing, fizzing waves lapping at your toes. They wash and recede, only to come right back again, endlessly. God's grace is like those ocean waves. They just keep coming. Life going great? Revel in a wave of grace. Had a crappy day? The waves of grace keep washing over you, no hesitation. Totally screw up and need some forgiveness? God doesn't even pause, his grace is already on his way to you before you've finished doing that idiotic thing you're doing. It's never ending and unconditional, this undeserved favor, and yet we get it anyway. And that's a nice thought, don't you think? I'm praying that all us mamas can dip our feet into that ocean and feel those waves of love and grace lapping at our toes.

Just watch out for the occasional flying banana. We're still human, after all.