While the Neighbours Watched... Part II

Back to the shoes. She ended up wearing them, after some negotiating that resulted in no socks. Somewhat appeased, she returned to the great outdoors. But Jacob was riding his toy that she wanted. Another meltdown. More negotiating. She relocated to the sandbox and proceeded to toss bowls of sand onto the lawn. I asked (or commanded) her to stop. A meltdown or perhaps a tantrum, depending on whether you focussed on the crying or the stomping of feet. I brought her back inside. Clearly, the neighbours had seen enough. And they were trying to enjoy their own few minutes of peace on this lovely fall afternoon. That, and I really had to get dinner started. I can't even remember what caused the next series of meltdowns. All I know is that Hannah spent the next while in her room deciding whether or not she could behave in a way that would allow her to rejoin us on the main floor. Eventually she came down, but stayed in her time-out spot on the stairs. And then, at long last, she asked in a very quiet voice if I would lift her over the gate. We discussed her behaviour (meaning I highlighted its unattractiveness using language far too sophisticated for her, but she agreed to everything I said), she apologized and we began anew.

Until she asked for some juice. Right now! And we hadn't even had supper yet... oh, the hours before bed can seem soooooo long.

However, as Gretchen Rubin says, and as I often find myself repeating, "The days are long, but the years are short."

While the Neighbours Watched... Part I

Today, as I was driving home with Hannah and Jacob, I thought, "What a beautiful day. We'll play outside and the kids will love it. Thank goodness for some sun, finally." (Or something along those lines.) We arrived home and went straight from the car to the backyard. Jacob was having a blast. Hannah was having issues. Serious issues. She started by taking off her shirt. I told her she needed to put it back on because it was too cold to be running around half-naked. She freaked out. I calmly offered 2 options: put on the shirt or go inside. She freaked out even more. And by freaking out, I mean running around the yard crying and screaming at the top of her lungs. People were out. They were watching (while pretending not to). I actually had to chase her (which made me both look and feel quite silly), and she kept getting away! She was dodging me left, right, and centre. Then when I finally caught her, she collapsed in a fit of hysterical sobs, thrashing wildly while I tried to carry her into the house.

Running around your yard after a half-naked toddler who is screaming, "No! No! No! Ouch! Owieee..." is slightly embarrassing. Not being able to catch her is demoralizing. I knew I couldn't give in - I had to win this battle. But did it have to be so public? I wanted so badly just to concede and let her play shirtless just to make the screaming stop. But I prevailed. And she sat sniffling on the couch until finally she decided she would wear her shirt. Victory. And then...

She refused to wear her shoes.

Thou Shalt Not Sleep

There are many "parent commandments", such as:

Thou shalt not have a moment's peace.
Thou shalt not ever be finished the laundry.

However, this weekend's feature was: Thou shalt not sleep.

Scott was away on his fishing trip and Hannah knew his side of the bed was empty. And she wanted in it. Desperately. Typically, she sleeps through the night and if we have to go in to anybody, it's Jacob. A quick drink of water and he's back to sleep. Then there was Friday night. Not a peep from Jacob. But Hannah woke up at 10:00 and rather strongly suggested that she should really be in bed with me. It took a bit of convincing, but I finally got her back to sleep in her own bed. Then she woke up again at midnight. I went in 5 or 6 times, each time rehashing the same argument about why she needed to sleep in her own bed. I was wearing down, but eventually she fell asleep and stayed asleep. Then came Saturday night. All was well until 2:00 in the morning. Hannah wasn't going to be swayed and I didn't have the energy to be in and out of bed like a jack-in-the-box, so I let her climb into bed with me. And instantly regretted it. She thought it was morning and wanted to go downstairs. She wanted to have bonding, mother-daughter conversations. She wanted to play with my hair. An hour and a half later, she was still whispering to herself, tossing and turning, while I made idle threats to send her back to her own room. Finally, she fell asleep. And as I drifted off, I entertained the foolish notion that perhaps Hannah would sleep in to compensate for the missing hours of sleep in the night. Sadly, yet also somewhat predictabally, she woke up early and began the routine all over again. "Mom, let's go downstairs. Mom, why aren't you getting up? Mom, is it time for breakfast? Mom, ..."

Sleep. I miss it.

When Did I Lose My Mind?

Somewhere between driving home from work, picking up the kids, and then feeding them dinner, I discovered that I had already lost my mind. I knew my frustration level was high, my patience level dangerously low, and that if I stepped on one more Cheerio I wasn't going to be held responsible for my actions; yet, I thought, or at least would have liked to believe, that I was still in some kind of possession, however precarious, of my mind. But as it happened, I was not. Because when I did step on one more Cheerio, and when Hannah began jumping off the couch onto the coffee table, and Jacob continued to whine and cling to my leg, I had no resources on which to draw. I might have even taken the Lord's name in vain, while talking to my mother (a sure sign of mental cognition being AWOL). I looked around my house. It was a miracle the only thing I had stepped on was a Cheerio - there were so many other likely candidates: pieces of cookie and cracker, toys, magnets, misplaced shoes, etc. The counters were covered with dirty dishes, food that really needed to go back in the fridge ASAP, books, and general flotsam from who-knows-what-or-where. Chaos. Physically, things were a disaster. Behaviour-wise, the kids were falling apart. Mentally, I was losing it (okay, had already lost it). And the only solution that I could think of was to pour myself a stiff rye and coke. Which I did, promptly. And it helped! A lot. Then I got out the Electrolux and vacuumed up all those Cheerios and cookie crumbs and pieces of cracker. I also fed the kids some Arrowroots to keep them quiet and happy while I attempted to restore some semblance of order to the mayhem around me. I'm not sure when my mind returned exactly, but it was somewhere between the drink and starting to clean up. I'd like to think that actively working toward a solution to the chaos was what led to the mental recovery, but deep down inside I credit that drink. Because as soon as I finished it, I poured another. And now... I feel fine!

Life Imitating... Well, Life

Hannah loves playing make believe and her imagination often leaves me dumbfounded. Generally, I am recruited to participate in her games as "just watching" is frowned upon. Today, we acted out a scenario where I was grandma. All I had to do was answer questions, but I was constantly called grandma. It made me feel old. Then again, there's another game where I'm the babysitter and she's the mom giving me all the instructions, so I guess it evens out in the end.

Tonight, while strategically trying to delay clean-up and bedtime, Hannah spent a lot of time "setting up her staff room". It was quite involved (meaning she pretty much emptied every toy/puzzle/piece of paper from every container to create this special space), but I have to admit, she could explain the relevance of every piece. And then how do you ask her to take it all apart when she just finished putting it together? The dismay in her eyes... it was enough to gain her an additional 10 minutes of playing.

I love watching her act out the most mundane scenes from our lives. After we spent a few minutes sorting some clothes, she then started bringing me clothes from her doll saying things like, "This is too small, it's size 500." And she's very serious about these re-enactments.

While I might not always relish the roles I'm given, I enjoy reliving our quotidian activities with a twist. A Twist of Hannah. Hmmm... might make for a better show than A Twist of Kate (albeit minus the pun).

I Wanna Get My Boogers Out!

A little nugget from Hannah:

Me: Don't pick your nose.
Hannah: But I wanna get my boogers out!
Me: Well, use a kleenex.
Hannah: No, I want to pick them out.
Me: That's gross.
Hannah: That's not gross. It's nice.

You Reap What You Sow

Often, when I talk to Hannah, I find myself saying things like:

"Stop being silly. Come and put your pajamas on right now."
or
"You're going to wake up your brother, stop screaming right now."

It sounds, to me, like a no-nonsense instruction. Assertive, if you will. Yet... when I hear those same types of statements echoed back at me, they have a whole new feel.

"I want a granola bar, right now."
or
"Get me a drink, right now."

Suddenly, what I hear is someone being downright rude. Demanding, even. Who taught my 3-year-old to talk to her mother that way? Oh, right. That would be me...

A Little Perspective

For the past year, I have been home looking after my 2 kids. And I will admit, at times I found it quite a handful. It felt busy, it made me tired, and often, it was frustrating. Then yesterday, I returned to work, or more accurately, to a classroom full of kids. The questions, the explanations, the demands, the reprimands (all familiar from home) but now multiplied by 30. I thought I was busy before? I thought I knew what it meant to be tired? Ha.

My first night home after a day at work, 2 kids seemed almost laughably easy. Especially when only one of them can talk! Strap Jacob in the highchair and give him a cookie and he's done for a bit. Let Hannah have a juice box and that's her happy for a while. Turn around to see who else needs something and... that's it? No one else lurking in the background? No crowds swarming in on me to ask the same question I just answered 15 times?

I knew this would happen. First I romanticized going back to work. Ahh, a break from the kids. Now I'm romanticizing being home with them. Just them. Just 2 of them. It seems so manageable.

The grass is always greener...

What Do You Mean "The Door is Locked?"

Today, I took my husband and 2 kids to my school to do some last minute preparations. I expected it to take no longer than 20 minutes. I had to re-do my hallway bulletin board because the teacher across from me not only copied mine, but made hers better. Scott was removing the old letters and staples from the cork, Hannah was collecting them, and Jacob was basically just running around. Then, as he likes to do, he pushed the door to my classroom shut.

"I hope that wasn't locked," Scott said.

"No, of course not," I replied. Why would it be locked? I had just unlocked it. In order for it to be locked I would have had to intentionally locked it again before removing my keys. And why would I have done that?

I reached over to open it and... it was locked. We were stuck in the hallway in a completely empty school with our car keys, purse, etc. all inside my locked classroom. Great. Jacob clapped his little hands in glee. Oh, wasn't he just a little cutie at that moment?

We made our sorry way to the staff room where I made the embarrassing call to a fellow colleague detailing our plight. Mercifully, she came to our rescue, despite the fact that she was on her way out the door for an evening out. While we were waiting for our rescuer to arrive, Jacob wreaked havoc in the staff room (all evidence since destroyed or put back to order).

The moral?

School is no place for kids.