Something's Not Right Here...

Okay, most readers are aware of the fact that Hannah, who is 3, is not potty trained. And she's not even close - meaning she won't go near the potty. I have (sort of) accepted the fact that I can't force the issue. I am waiting for her to "be ready". Apparently she's in no hurry to "be a big girl". Or so you would think...

Imagine my shock, then, upon hearing this little tidbit from her: "Look at my legs, mom. I have sharp hairs. I need to shave my legs."

Shave her legs!! She has no interest in wearing underwear, but she wants to shave her legs? I sense of complex evolving. Next thing I know, she's going to want to go out on dates... in a diaper.

Driving Me Crazy

I have often used the expression "driving me crazy" when referring to certain behaviours my offspring seem inclined to engage in; however, after a 4-hour trip in the car, the expression gained literal value.

Who knew a 3-year-old could talk for 4 hours straight? And that every single utterance would require some sort of acknowledgment or response from me? Grunts or noncommittal answers did not count. "What you say? I didn't hear you, mom!"

I have never in my life so keenly felt the need for peace and quiet. I just wanted to be able to form a complete thought in my head without being interrupted to explain why I didn't see whatever that was out the window. Or to answer a string of loosely related questions that all began with WHY? Or to sing another song. "Why you stop, mom? Is that the end? Let's start again!" A personal favourite with the singing is the request for a song I've never heard of.

"Can you sing the mouse water song?"
"I don't know that one."
"The mouse water one. Sing it!"
"How does it go?"
"The mouse in the water... okay? Sing it now."
"I still don't know it. You sing it."
"No! I want you to sing it. Sing the mouse water song. (pause) Mom? Why aren't you singing?"

I asked for a brief reprieve. I pretended my mouth was tired and needed to stop talking for a bit. That didn't work. I said I needed to concentrate so we didn't get lost. That prompted a whole new line of questioning about whether or not we were going the right way. I thought she might sleep, but no. So I continued to answer questions, then explain my answers in excrutiating detail, repeat myself over and over, sing songs, pretend to see things out the window, and generally keep up a non-stop form of chatter all the way home, and like the little pig, at times, I too, felt like crying.

A Nifty Little Trick

Jacob learned a nifty little trick the other day. It's called stuff-your-face-full-of-food-until-you-choke. Prior to learning this trick, he would eat snack foods at a normal, intelligent pace. A few in the mouth, chew, swallow, repeat. Placing a bowl of dry Cheerios in front of him was not a dangerous proposition.

However, while visiting friends at their cottage, Jacob observed their son performing the afore-mentioned trick with gusto. He seemed to like what he saw for he imitated it at the next opportunity. We were outside on the deck and I had given him a bowl with Bear Paw crackers and one Arrowroot cookie. A few minutes later, he was gagging and crying. His mouth was stuffed to the point where he couldn't even close it (or breathe, really). As I desperately scooped the gooey and disgusting half-chewed mess from his mouth, I couldn't help but be a little impressed by the sheer volume he had managed to cram in there. When it became clear that he could breathe again (and thus, so could I) I was amazed to see him immediately reach for another handful to shovel in. He was undeterred, to say the least.

If it had been a one-time incident, I would think of it no more. But, alas, this morning, while I was unpacking the last of our bags I heard a familiar gagging sound. I turned to see Jacob with an open sleeve of Arrowroot cookies in his hands, a few piles of regurgitated cookie on the floor, and bulging cheeks. His mouth was open because he was in the process of trying to cram another cookie in even while he was choking on and spitting out what was already in his mouth.

I'm so glad his eating habits have taken this new and exciting turn...

Trees and Treasures

The other day we went for a family walk to find 2 geocaches near our house. The first one was easy (Scott already knew where it was) , but it still required some searching through a "forest" of trees. Hannah helped me find it and thought the trees were "just like camping". The next one was much harder to find, and involved a long, and at times frustrating, search through a small row of trees. Hannah, who had no idea what we were looking for, was very diligent in looking for something. Then, on the way home, as we passed some trees on someone's front lawn, she said, "Maybe there's a treasure hunt in those trees!"

She's going to be just like Scott, who now looks for geocaches everywhere.

D 9 1 8

Today in the car Hannah was pretending to spell things. She started to spell her name (and she really only knows that it starts with an H), when I interrupted to help her. "No mom," she said. "I'm telling you!" And thus, the following ensued:

Hannah: My name has 2 Ds.

Me: No, it doesn't.

Hannah: Yes, it does. I usually start with D. Like Daddy. Okay, it just has one. It's D 9 1 8.

Me: That's how you spell it?

Hannah: Yes. It has numbers. It used to have numbers, but then I took them out because I didn't like numbers in it. I pressed a button and then they fell off. That's how you get rid of the numbers. But sometimes there's tape and they're stuck. Like a sticker.

There was more. And I wish I could remember it. I wish I had tape recorded the whole conversation because I'm not doing it justice at all. Regardless, it was highly entertaining - her logic and her imagination always intrigue me!

Does This Make Me a Bad Mom?

This weekend we went camping again with the kids. Unlike our last camping trip, the weather was quite cool, especially in the evenings. I put Jacob to bed in the tent wearing a cozy sleeper with his favourite blanket and then a warm, fleecy blanket as well. He struggled a bit to get to sleep, par for the course when camping. Eventually, he fell asleep and the rest of us huddled around the fire for warmth. By the time we crawled into our tent it was really cold. In fact, I slept in my pants and socks under 2 sleeping bags and still felt a bit chilled. Hannah was next to me and I kept checking to make sure she was still under the sleeping bags; however, I guess because he was sleeping, I didn't worry about poor Jacob. I knew that Scott, who is normally a furnace at night, was cold and you would think that alone would have set off an alarm bell - but no.

So back to poor Jacob. At one point, he woke up crying and when Scott picked him up to comfort him he realized he had peed through his sleeper (incidentally, Hannah had also peed through her pajamas at the same time). It was only then that we realized how cold Jacob was. He was actually shivering and his little hands were ice cubes. He had long ago wiggled out from his blanket (which probably wasn't warm enough anyway) so while we were shivering under our heavy layers of sleeping bags, Jacob was lying in his cold Pack-n-Play wearing nothing but a sleeper. Pretty much exposed to the elements. Suffering quietly. I think he might have peed just for the warmth.

Needless to say, he spent the rest of the night tucked up against me where he slept quite peacefully. My guilt forced me to accommodate his preferred snuggling positions, which resulted in almost falling off the mattress, with my back exposed to the cold (I deserved that), and my head cocked at an unnatural and extremely uncomfortable angle. I deserved that, too.

Jacob, for his part, appears no worse for wear. And we're done with camping for this year. By next summer, he'll be old enough to sleep in his own sleeping bag. All tucked in nice and warm. And by then, I will have done something else to earn the mother-of-the-year award!

Hannah's First "Real" Joke

Hannah heard a few "Knock Knock" jokes at the babysitter's house and when she got home, she tried to make some of her own over dinner. Most didn't work, or even make sense; however, at a point where she was more or less talking to herself, she actually came up with one that I thought was quite clever. Okay, she wasn't really talking to herself, she was talking to her food - which provided the material for her little witticism.

Knock Knock.

Who's there?

(Answering herself) My applesauce! Oh, come in, Applesauce.

I can't! I don't have any feet.

And then followed a sort of maniacal laughter which is new for her and not nearly as funny as her little joke. It's especially not funny when you hear it 16 times a day... actually, it's a little bit creepy.

Shiny, Happy People...

Hannah likes to put Vaseline on her imaginary cuts (just a tiny bit, okay, mom?) and usually demonstrates enormous self-restraint when applying it. Until the other day when she emerged from the bathroom looking like... well, just look at the photo. She attempted to justify the obvious overkill by claiming she had little cuts all over. I was partly dismayed, partly amused, but mostly grossed out.

Her skin is really soft now, though.

Oh, and the picture doesn't even do it justice. Her whole neck was covered, and the stuff on her face was layered on thick!