What the Boy Will Eat

In an earlier post, I bemoaned the fact that Jacob, who is over one year, is not really jumping at the chance to eat finger foods. He prefers to be spoon-fed pureed food and usually spits out anything with chunks. He was progressing a bit, however, by eating jarred food with whole peas in it. Whole peas! Imagine!

Very recently, he has started to express an interest in food from my plate. And lo and behold, the child can actually chew. He will eat toast (his first successful toast experience included chocolate sprinkles - it's a Dutch thing, not just an unhealthy thing). And he will eat macaroni salad, if it's from my plate. If it's not, he will spit it out and then spit out anything to follow that has any type of chunk in it whatsoever (including the peas in his jarred food that he's been eating for awhile). Which is proof that his unwillingness to eat real solids has more to do with his mindset than any actual issues, say, chewing or swallowing chunks.

He will also eat pretzels and Crispers. And chips. Oh, and popcorn. Not exactly ideal finger foods, but I'm willing to experiment if he is. Now if only I could get him to eat cheese, or ham, or grapes, or blueberries, or veggies. Then we'd be onto something!

What is With the Whining?

Why do little kids whine so much? Can't they see it irritates their parents (not to mention anyone else within hearing distance)? Don't they realize it is not the best approach to getting what they want? Are they unaware of the correlation between whining and being sent to another room (preferably floor) of the house?

Hannah can start making preliminary whining noises in anticipation of events. For example: if she's playing with something and Jacob (on the other side of the room) moves even one muscle, she immediately switches to "whine" mode. "No, Jacob. Don't! Jacob's coming over! He's going to wreck my (whatever she's doing)." In his defense, Jacob might only have blinked in her direction. In Hannah's defense, Jacob does often come over and destroy whatever she's trying to set up, play, etc.

Still, is the whining really necessary? I don't know how to make it stop. It's as if it's a default setting, pre-programmed to initiate at the slightest provocation. And then I have my own default setting that seems to engage at the repeated sound of whining. It's called: Mom is getting really annoyed!

Potty Training - Success!

The other day, while playing "babysitter", a game which involves me being the babysitter and Hannah being the mother giving me instructions (some verbatim from actual interactions with the babysitter and some straight out of the mind of a three year-old), Hannah informed me that her baby was wearing underwear because she could use the potty. She further informed me that when this baby used the potty I was to give her Smarties, purple foaming soap, and stickers for her special potty paper. She allowed that the baby might still pee through the bed and provided a specific blanket I was to use to put under her if that occurred.

So there you have it: Hannah has successfully potty trained one of her dolls. This is the same child who refuses to wear a pull-up, let alone underwear. And actually sitting on the potty? No way in you-know-where. Perhaps I should ask Hannah for some tips, since she seems to gave a good strategy in place (and whatever I'm doing obviously isn't working). After all, the baby she potty trained isn't even walking yet!

A Cute Conversation

At dinner, I was telling Scott what Hannah had told me she was going to buy when she was bigger. He turned to her and asked, "How are you going to make money?"

She replied, "It's already made, dad."

Alright, good point. "But how will you get the money?" he persisted.

"I'll open the thing in the bottom of my piggy bank and pour it into my hand," she answered.

"Okay, but how will it get into your piggy bank?"

"There's a place you put it in the top."

"And where do you get the money to put there?"

"I take it from the thing on your nightstand."

So literal. So innocent. If only life stayed that simple...

Car Seat Craziness

Whoever designed car seats that have to be taken completely apart to be cleaned obviously never had kids who got car sick. A long time ago, when Hannah was about 1, we were driving home from up North. Suddenly, I could smell bananas. "Do you smell bananas?" I asked Scott (for it seemed quite strange). I turned around to see if Hannah had somehow unearthed a banana from somewhere and, lo and behold, she had puked all over herself. And yes, she had bananas for dinner. So began my intimate acquaintance with car seat disassembly and reassembly. After removing the entire harness system and all the associated clips and buckles, I always feel a slight amount of trepidation when putting it all back together. Did I do it right? Should I really be allowed to assemble a car seat and all it's multiple component parts?

Then one night, literally 5 minutes from our destination, Jacob threw up. Great. Apparently, he gets car sick too. Hannah was very excited. "Look, Jacob puked! I didn't know he did that like me!" However, unlike Hannah, Jacob is not old enough for Gravol.

Tonight, after a long drive I pulled up to the house and turned the car off. It had been a good drive. I actually remembered to give Hannah her Gravol and Jacob slept most of the way. I let Hannah out and went around to Jacob's side. He looked up at me, opened his mouth, and projectile vomited. Three times. I was so close to having him out of the car! And trust me, I would rather he had been sick all over me than all over his car seat.

You would think with all of my experience taking apart the car seat I could do it with my eyes closed. At the very least, you would think it would be painless and quick. But no. Those stupid plastic harness guides are next to impossible to get out. I have never not broken a sweat removing them. Not to mention, the lovely sensation of having one hand feeling blindly through sticky puke while the other hand tries to pinch the plastic lips together from the bottom. While attempting this feat, the actual car seat has to be held in an awkward angled position allowing exposure to both the bottom and the top, which doesn't really help since you can't see what you're doing anyway because the harness guides are recessed and hidden behind other parts of the car seat. Incredible design. Then for the cleaning, most of the parts are "surface clean only with a damp cloth". A damp cloth? That's just not going to cut it. Scott wanted to take the whole thing to the car wash and pressure wash it, but we compromised on using the garden hose to blast off most of the mess. It worked a lot better than a damp cloth! Now I just have to wait for everything to dry and then I have the joy of trying to put it all together again. I can hardly wait.

Tents and Toddlers

We are back from a week of camping at Elora Gorge, where I learned that while sleeping in a tent is exciting to a toddler, it does not mean that said sleeping will occur when it should. Several factors contributed to the "there's no such thing as bedtime" phenomenon I had the joy of experiencing night after night.

1. Tents do not get dark until after 10:00
2. Tents are very hot, requiring all window coverings to remain open, allowing tired toddlers to see you and all the exciting things they are missing by being "put to bed"
3. Tent zippers are easy to open

At home, my kids go to bed at 6:00 and 7:00. I am used to having my evenings to myself. I like to relax. I had visions of drinks around the campfire, talking with adults, while my children slept peacefully nearby after an exhausting day spent entirely outdoors with relatively no naps to speak of. I was open to extended bedtimes. I am not a shrew. Heck, we were still at the beach at 8:00 (long past regular bedtimes). Returning from the beach, I had both kids in pajamas and so tired it was all they could do to keep their eyes open on the drive back to the campsite. Yet... they would not go to sleep!

Approaching 10:00, I was so uptight (not to mention, bewildered) that I stopped enjoying myself temporarily. Having my kids awake at that hour was unheard of. At home, when routines are disturbed the consequences are almost always disastrous. I was afraid to contemplate what the morning would bring. Tiny, terrible monsters, I was sure. But they woke up early (very early) and seemed to be fine. In fact, they were fine all day. Until bedtime. And one would think that I would have learned to accept the fact that they would be up late and that was okay. But no. I had another near-meltdown. And in the morning, they were fine again. I guess being in a novel environment (not to mention having all other routines thrown out the window) curtailed the usual outcome of an extremely short night's sleep.

The kids were having a great time. They were no worse for wear for staying up so late. I was the only one suffering, and at my own insistence. But now, the power of hindsight has allowed me to recognize I just needed to go with the flow. So that's what I plan to do on our next camping trip - a few short weeks away.

Although I'm also secretly hoping that their experience and comfort with sleeping in a tent will aid them in sleeping earlier! Oh, and for the record, Jacob is still weaned.

While I Was Camping

As per previous posts, Jacob, at 13 months, was still not completely weaned - as in, he was still nursing in the middle of the night. We joked about the idea of going away for a weekend and leaving the kids with grandparents, all the while pretending he was weaned so that he would be by the time we returned. We never did that, but this past weekend was close to the same idea. I went camping. Without the kids. Scott stayed home, knowing that he would be "weaning" Jacob while I was away.

I returned. And here's what happened while I was gone. On Friday night Jacob woke up at around 10:30pm. Scott gave him water. He went back to sleep and didn't wake up until 7:00 in the morning. Repeat for Saturday. He has never done that in his life. And I was actually feeling a little bit bad for Scott and the terrible nights I was sure he was having. When I came home Sunday my baby boy was done nursing. And it all happened without incident. It was too easy.

Fast forward to Sunday night. Jacob wakes up around 10:30. Scott gives him water. I'm looking forward to my first night in a LONG time without having to get up in the night. Ahh, it feels great. Then it's midnight and I'm jolted out of a deep sleep by a crying Jacob. More water. More crying. It seems he knows I'm home and water just isn't going to cut it. So I give him Tylenol. A brief reprieve. But around 2:00, he wakes up again! And again around 3:30. And then again sometime just before 5:00. Can he sense me in the next room? Why did he do so well while I was gone? And the bigger question: what's he going to do over the next 4 days when I go camping again, this time with him, and he's sleeping a few feet away from me in the tent?

I shudder to think of the implications.

Don't Cry Over Spilled Juice

I was pouring Hannah a nice cup of fruit/hidden veggie juice at lunch today. Her cup and the juice container were on the fold-out leaf of the island. Hannah leaned on it to look and the whole leaf collapsed. The full juice container and her cup (no lid yet) started pouring out onto the floor. Hannah started crying in terror. Jacob, safely in his high chair, looked from me to Hannah with an I'm-about-to-cry expression. He let out a few whimpers and then decided it wasn't really worth it. Hannah, however, was in full-blown hysterics. I was frantically wiping up juice with paper towels that are not nearly as absorbent as they appear on commercials. When the main pool was soaked up, I switched to tea towels. I noticed that the juice had also splattered all over the oven door and the lower cupboards. Wonderful. Jacob was patiently waiting for me to finish feeding him his lunch, while Hannah wailed, and I kept on wiping and wiping and wiping.

After all the juice was cleaned up, the floor was disgustingly sticky. Perfect job for the steam mop! Some hot steam, a little vinegar, and I wouldn't have to come into any more close-up contact with the floor... except my steam mop isn't working. Again. So, out came a bucket and some Pine Sol. I got on my hands and knees, right in the middle of the sticky mess, and started scrubbing (and I actually had a shower today, too - so much for being clean). Hannah had now recovered and was busy eating my grilled cheese. I sat down to salvage some of my lunch and looked over to discover that the juice had actually splattered on the ceiling! And not just a little bit.

Alright. I had to clean the ceiling, but I knew from past experience that the California-style finish does not respond well to being tampered with in any way, shape, or form. I got out the Mr. Clean sponge and started wiping the juice off very lightly. With every tender touch, the finish on the ceiling smeared. So now there's an orange, smudged, somewhat-ruined section on the kitchen ceiling.

Meanwhile, Hannah had been badgering me for a new cup of juice. After the floor had dried, I rinsed her cup and re-filled it. Juice poured out the bottom all over the counter. Are you kidding me? Her Tupperware cup (with a lifetime guarantee) was cracked. This prompted a whole new round of tears. I got her a new cup (that she did not want, and was quite emphatic on this point) and filled it with what was left of the juice.

My floor is still a bit sticky. The ceiling is wrecked. I wish we were talking about spilled milk here, because at least the cats would have helped lick that up (and it would have matched the ceiling). And I know it's gross, but Hannah has also been known, on occasion, to get down on her tummy and lick up any milk the cats have missed. It's true. And it's happened more than once. The kind of moments that make you proud.

A Dangerous Game

I know just as well as the next parent the folly of comparing one's child to other people's. But it's really hard not to do! Last night I was at book club with a group of women who all have children around the same ages as mine. Inevitably, we talked about our kids. Someone's son, a few months younger than Jacob, said his first word on the weekend. It was: "everybody". Everybody? Four syllables, maybe five, depending on how you pronounce it. Jacob's first word was "uh oh". Not even really a word... more of a sound effect. This same boy (who is not yet one) eats steak. Steak! Jacob is still struggling to progress beyond the mush stage. He's just not interested in solids, which means that on this very hot morning, I am steaming carrots, and have some sweet potato and a butternut squash in the oven. Ughh.

Another child, born a few short weeks ago, is sleeping through the night. Jacob is not. And never has. I need not elaborate.

However, I'm not the only one comparing and sizing up. We discussed head sizes at length... and determined that although some kids' heads were "off the charts" they did not appear to be bobble-heads. Reassuring, no? It was for them. I don't believe we're judging our kids when we contrast and compare, we're just - okay, I don't know what we're doing, but it's almost therapeutic.

I'll know it's a problem when I break out the flash cards to start teaching Jacob multi-syllabic words before he's quite mastered "mama" (which is two syllables, for the record, and also French).

A State of Disarray

Those who know me are familiar with my never-ending attempts to achieve total organization in my house. For the record, I've never even come close! But I continue to dream about the day it finally happens. Whenever I organize one small piece (say, a closet), I get a little thrill every time I see it in all its ordered glory. I am cursed with craving organization and order while lacking the energy and motivation to actually get there.

I've read articles about people who embrace their disorder and clutter. They rationalize it by saying they'd rather play with their kids than do the dishes, read a story instead of vacuum, etc. And I get it. When my kids are both napping, I would rather nap myself or read a book over doing any kind of housework. Which is, in fact, exactly what I do... which is why my house never looks the way I would like it to. Still, I can't embrace the mess. Here's why. I have friends who have kids (same ages as mine) and their houses are always tidy and clean. And they play with their kids. They do crafts, go to the park, read stories. They make baby food and prepare lunches and dinners that are magazine worthy.

If I compared myself to them (and I do, because I wish I could be as "together" as they are) I would feel inadequate. I don't want a perfect house. I just want a tidy house. I want someone to come over unannounced and not have to "explain" the mess. I want to invite someone over for tea and not run around trying to make the main floor presentable while hoping they don't have to go upstairs for any reason. Is that too much to ask?

As I write this my dishwasher is waiting to be emptied and my dirty breakfast dishes are cluttering up the counter. Jacob is in bed, so it's the perfect time to tidy the kitchen (he likes to "help" by climbing into the dishwasher or taking out the dirty dishes as you put them in). Yet, I feel absolutely no incentive to get in there and actually do it. I hate how messy the kitchen looks right now, I know how much I love looking having clear counters, it's just the in-between part that appears to be my stumbling block.

I need to strengthen my resolve and take action! I must seize the moment while Jacob sleeps (because it really might only be a moment or two) and tackle the kitchen! I am counting on all of these exclamation points to inspire me... and so, fresh from typing them, I am off create one small area of order within the larger state of disarray.

Patience: Ill-Rewarded

Today was a rough day for Jacob. He's not feeling well, skipped his morning nap entirely, and then had a short afternoon nap. Hannah had a long afternoon nap and woke up with some extra energy (which made her very silly, or annoying, depending on your mood). Scott had to leave right at dinner time to set up the fireworks in New Hamburg, so I was on my own with two somewhat high-maintenance kids. No problem. Been there a hundred times.

We finished dinner and I took both kids up for their bath. I was planning on a nice, relaxing way to end the night. A soothing antidote for Jacob's crankiness. A calming influence on Hannah's hyper state. A stress-reducer, if you will. Ahhh, warm water, bubbles... sleepy children...

Instead:
Hannah wanted the spot Jacob was sitting in. So I moved him. Then I went to wash her hair and she FREAKED out. "I don't want my hair washed! Stop it! Don't, mom! Jacob's touching my toys! No Jacob!" Tears. Thrashing. I tried to explain that I needed to wash her hair so that I could take Jacob out and leave her to play. Then she could have all the toys. Then Jacob wouldn't be in her way. But she wasn't listening, because she was screaming. Did I mention the thrashing? I do not enjoy thrashing in any environment, but in the tub it's not only extremely aggravating, it's dangerous. And poor Jacob was trying to resolve his crankiness issues in a relaxing bath, while his sister created chaos and hazards all around him. My blood pressure had already been rising steadily, my temper slowly steaming. I didn't realize it was possible to take such deep breaths through your nose. And then, I am sad to admit, I lost it. I meant to use a stern voice, but it came out more as a frustrated shriek: "Hannah Banana!" (I know, not exactly what I expected either.) And then I continued with some vague, mostly incoherent threats about taking her out the tub right now, etc. etc. and it all sounded a lot meaner and out-of-control than it does now. I promptly removed the innocent Jacob from the tub and took him away to get ready for bed. I then returned to Hannah and tried to talk calmly and rationally about her behaviour. She apologized. We moved on.

Except I didn't move on, because I tend to obsess about things. And I was obsessing about my temper explosion. Not because of what I did or said, but because of what I wanted to do and say. It wasn't good. I felt guilty for being so quick to snap. So I resolved to be more patient. To keep my temper in check. And how did that work out, you ask?

Like this:
Hannah took advantage of my patient demeanor. She asked to go outside 5 dozen times. She ignored me. She wouldn't go to bed. She brushed her teeth for 20 minutes. She woke her brother up with her antics. She wanted more stories. And through it all, I waited calmly. I spoke softly. I smiled. And then I came downstairs to write this long post about it so I can "let it go" while patiently waiting for my blood pressure to return to normal.