A Little Too Friendly

Tonight, I had both kids in the shower with me. It had been a long day, and I wanted shower time to be quick and efficient. I was preoccupied, washing my hair. I heard giggling down below, which is better than snarling or screaming, so I ignored it. I remember feeling slightly guilty that my kids were getting clean with my dirty water. But not very guilty.

Then, Maeve's bird-like chirping voice said, "I hug you, Max."

I continued to wash my hair and said, "Awwww. Isn't that nice." I was happy to have that moment of peace with the soap, the warm water, and my hair.




I continued with my routine. I washed my face. Then I washed the children's faces because I hate doing it and like to get it out of the way. Then I shaved. The kids helped to lather up my legs. They continued to be quite friendly. Oddly so. There was no teasing, pushing, or annoying behavior.

Then, again, Maeve's chirpy voice said, "I kiss Max."

I looked up from my shaving to see the kiss right on the lips. "Isn't that nice?" I said. Even though part of me felt a little uneasy about it. I mean, at what age does it become inappropriate to kiss your brother on the lips? Certainly not at two and four! Right??




They parted ways. Maeve giggled ominously. I didn't think giggling could be ominous, but it can. She knew exactly what she was going to do next. Meanwhile, the rest of us were naively finishing up our shower, scrubbing tummies, fingers, and toes. We let the toy boat make one final pass down the current of the shower floor.

Then it happened. Max and Maeve were facing each other, and she reached over, and pulled his penis. Almost automatically, she did it again. She then was completely overcome with laughter, as if the act of pulling a penis is truly extraordinary. Max didn't mind any of it. Not one bit. But I sure did. I said with firm animation, "Do NOT pull your brother's pecker - it's rather inappropriate!"



And what did she do? She pulled it again. And again. Until I quickly got us out of the shower. Now that, everyone would say, is a little too friendly?

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Dear Maeve

Dear Maeve,

After two years of having you warmly pressed against me all night, nursing as you please, I have decided that it must come to an end. I'm not a very nice person when I don't get good sleep, and I really haven't had good sleep in over four years, so that should serve as an excellent excuse to be a complete bitch all of the time. But how healthy is that? Do you want a bitchy mother who snuggles with you at night or a pleasant mother who sleeps alone and could make snow angels in the bed if she wants?




So being that you are two and are incapable of making logical decisions, your daddy and I made it for you. I would sleep in the big comfy king bed with Max while daddy sleeps in the much less comfy double bed with you. Daddy would like to state for the record that he wants to get back in the big comfy bed with mommy, but I told him that we need to focus on making my snow angels first.

On that first night of you in the other bed, I was anxious, distraught, and guilty. I thought it would look like this:




I thought no one would get any sleep. I thought you would cry out for me. I thought you'd ask to nurse, the only way you knew to comfort yourself since the day you were born. I felt sick from the anticipation of it. I put you to sleep like we normally do, lying down in bed nursing you. But then I left and daddy took my place. He fit almost as perfectly as I do nestled beside you. You slept. I thought for sure that daddy would bring you to me in the big, comfy bed in the middle of the night, but he didn't. I tossed and turned. I missed my baby. Dare I say you were more a little girl on that night than a baby. You were finding comfort in something else other than your mother's breast.

At about 5 o'clock am, I couldn't resist any longer. I crept out of bed to peek on you. And this is what I saw:



And this is the part where I'm a little ashamed. In that moment, I just wasn't ready for you to be my little girl. I wanted my baby in my bed. So I snatched you up and moved us back to the big, comfy bed. I won't do it again. I just wanted to do it that one last time. I'm happy that you are secure enough to sleep without me. I just hope I'm secure enough to sleep without you.

Because sometimes making snow angels can get cold and lonely.

I love you, sweet girl, and I'm proud of you for making this transition so well.




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It's Yuck

Maeve and I were sitting on my bed tonight. I was trying to relax and watch Netflix on my iPad while Robert entertained the queen and king of loud downstairs. But she apparently broke loose and beat on my bedroom door yelling, "Mommy, mommy! Un-ock da door. I wanna hold you." Well, how can you answer "no" to that?

We were playing a question and answer game. It goes like this: I point at a body part and ask, "What is this?" and she will respond with the correct name about 83.6% of the time. The other times she either runs away to begin a new game or she says, "Nooooo I don' wanna pay dis. Bad mommy, bad!"

So, knowing the possible consequences of playing the game could leave me feeling a little "less than," I asked her, "What is this?" while pointing to my eye. She cocked her head to the side contemplatively and said, "It's eyes." Then she stuck her warm sticky finger into my eyeball. And, before I could see well enough to deflect further injury, she began pulling my eyelashes giddily.




The game continued in this fashion. I said, "What is this?" and pointed at my hair. She patted me on the head and said, "It's har." Sometimes the way in which she answers my questions make me feel like I should be the kid and she should be the grown up.




I feel closest with my children when I am engaged with them one-on-one, even if it is interrupting a dramatic love sequence on Downton Abbey. We were having our own dramatic love sequence right now and here, though the drama came from not knowing which body part was going to get pulled, poked, or gouged.

This time I asked, "What's this?" and pointed to my nose. She eagerly replied, "It's a nose" and stuck her finger alarmingly far up my nose and giggled hysterically.




After her laughing subsided, I asked, "What is this?" and opened up my mouth wide. For even more entertainment value I said, "Ahhhhhhhh" with my mouth open like I was at the doctor's office. Maeve immediately recoiled from my open mouth as if something I had done offended her. And this is what she said:



Apparently my breath was that bad.

Then she ran off to find another game that didn't stink.

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Trying to Save the Earthworms - FAIL

Before I had kids, I loved the rain. It was an excuse to be lazy, lounge around, and watch reruns of Law and Order. And if there was a thunderstorm, I looked at it like it was an adventure. If the electricity went out, I lit candles and pretended I was a Pilgrim. Yes, I'm a bit dramatic at times. Oh, and notice below how skinny I am.




Now that I have kids, I HATE the rain. It means we can't go outside. And that means my house gets trashed. And we all annoy the hell out of each other. And we get stir crazy. And then if it starts thundering, things really go downhill. Especially if my kids are sleeping and it wakes them up. Then I feel like punching out the sky and saying a lot of nasty words. And forget the candles. My kids would either get third degree burns or set the house on fire.

Also, I hate the entire day after it rains because everything is all wet. That means we can go outside but if we play on anything, our butts get wet. And our shoes get wet. And if we fall down, it's a disaster because our whole body gets muddy and wet.




But we go outside anyway because staying inside sucks even more.

Well just the other day was one of those "it's all wet" days. We were in our front yard running around on our marsh of a front yard. I was actually standing on the driveway thinking about how muddy their shoes were getting. That's when I noticed it. I looked down and saw an earthworm wiggling on the driveway, making very little progress and, in my assessment, looking quite distressed. So I bent over to pick it up and throw it on some earth. Of course Max and Maeve were immediately up my ass wondering what I was doing.




Max asked, "Whatarya doin'?" He asks this question about 1.7 times every minute.

"I'm moving this earthworm to the dirt," I said.

"Why?" he asked. He asks this question about 2.23 times every minute.

"Because if he stays on the driveway, he will dry up and die," I said.

Both of my children were silent. This normally happens 0 times every minute.

Perhaps they were contemplating death. Perhaps they were thinking about how fleeting life really is. Perhaps they were thinking about how we are all like earthworms, writhing around and hoping we don't dry up.

But no, they weren't thinking about those things. They were thinking about all of the earthworms. Max looked down the driveway and spotted another earthworm. "Look!" he screamed dramatically and pointed. "There's another earfwarm!" He ran over to it. Unfortunately, upon further inspection, this earthworm had either been run over or pecked in half by a bird. It was dead.

"Hey buddy," I said softly, trying to break it to him softly. "That one is dead."

Max balled his hands into fists, looked up to the heavens, and screamed, "Nooooooooo!!!!! He's not dead, mommy!" He leaned over and tried to pick up the earthworm carcass. That's when he realized how truly gross it is to pick up an earthworm, especially a water-logged dead one. "Ewwwww!" he exclaimed.




"Um. Yeah let's just leave it there. You want to go splash in some puddles?!" I asked. Because getting wet shoes is way better than saving all the earthworms in the world. And discussing death with your three-year-old.

Why do those stupid earthworms crawl onto the driveway to dry out into crispy bits anyway?



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Bad Kitty

Lately there have been some things going on in my bed that are really hurting my feelings. No, it's not that Robert has been telling me that I look fat in my jammies. He wouldn't dare do that because it would reduce his chances of having sex from 1.2% to 0.002%. Also, if you remember, Robert's sleeping with Max in Max's room in an attempt to get him out of our bed. It's working, but it's also worked at getting Robert out of our bed.

So anyway. Let's get back to my hurt feelings. I've gotten used to snuggling Maeve's warm little body at night. I like to give her little kisses. And smell her sweet head.




But recently Maeve has been saying some pretty nasty things in her sleep.




Last night she rolled over, slapped me, and shouted, "No! Bad kitty!!!"

I figured she just had a bad dream. I mean I have bad dreams about my cats all the time. Usually they are meowing, scratching, or pissing.

So I snuggled back up to her, smelled her little head, and drifted back to sleep. For like 15 seconds.




She pushed me away again. I mean she really gave me a good shove. And said, "Nooo! Go. Bad candy!" She never opened her eyes. Did she think candy was trying to snuggle with her? I scooted over a bit, gave her a some space. I must have fallen back to sleep and found my way back over to her. But again, I found myself pummeled across the chest by Maeve's swinging arms and legs.




She yelled, "No Gamma!!" That's what she calls my mom.

At this point I've turned over and really hoped she just shuts the hell up so I can get some sleep. It's one thing snuggling with my two-year-old (almost). But with the cat, some candy, and my mom, the bed has become a bit crowded.



Maybe I'll start putting Max to bed instead. This cosleeping thing is a real bitch!

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I'll Blow Anywhere, Sweetheart

The other day, I finally realized that I'm a good mom.

Robert had brought home Mexican food for dinner, and we were all sitting at the kitchen table eating it. Well, to be more accurate, Maeve was standing up in her chair. She likes to stand up to eat. Not sure if that is a sign of her on-the-go personality or if she has figured out that food moves faster in an upright position thus decreasing the time it takes to expulse a poop. Either way, her habit of standing to eat really doesn't bother us.




On this particular night, I was helping Maeve eat some delicious pinto beans. Even by the time they got back to our house from the restaurant, they were hot. Too hot to eat. So, as any good mother would, I blew and blew and blew on Maeve's spoonful of beans. However, I couldn't be leisurely with this process either. My kids were hungry. Max said, "I want beans too, mommy." Maeve rebutted by banging her fork on the table. "No, Max!! Dem are my beans," Maeve shouted back in her pipsqueak voice. We all looked sternly at Max for demanding beans out of turn. But how can you discipline a pipsqueak voice? "Okay, guys! One at a time. Max, I'll give you a bite right after Maeve."

Meanwhile, in a far off land inside Robert's brain matter, he must have been dining alone without any sort of anxiety about taking turns with beans, because he managed to eat a good portion of his dinner while I was worrying about everyone else. Don't worry, I promptly roused him from his burrito haze.




So at this point, believing deep within my mommy soul that the beans were cooled down enough, I lunged the spoon in the direction of Maeve's mouth. She briefly clapped, as she so cutely does when she's about to get her way. She accepted the spoon into her mouth, took the beans, and I pulled out the spoon, already focused on preparing Max's bite. All was quiet for a moment. All I could hear was the sound of Robert chewing with his mouth open. Then, disaster struck. Maeve let out the most dreadful wail imaginable. It was like someone had just stuck piping hot beans into her sensitive little mouth. Well, in fact, that's exactly what had happened. You see, with beans, the top layer can be surprisingly cool to touch after blowing them off, leaving those mean, hot beans lingering underneath.




I took quick action. Instead of telling her to spit the beans out (that can get really messy), I simply leaned across the table and began to furiously blow into her open mouth. "See!! Mommy's blowing the beans off right now. It's okay," I said. The tears from her eyes began to retreat back into her sockets. Her little lip stopped doing that annoying quivering thing. And praise God, she swallowed those damn beans!

See, I'm a good mom. I blow off food when it's inside my kid's mouth.



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Cookie Monsters

Sometimes (like always), I go to the grocery store with the intention of getting just a few things (juice, bread, apples) and end up with a cart full of a shit load of other things (chocolate, goldfish, Oreos). I'm not a big fan of store bought cookies, but Oreos are an exception. They represent a sense of comfort, tradition, and simplicity. All will be well if I just eat an Oreo. And it has to be just like this:




So the other day, my kids were torturing me. Max has developed the habit of asking, "What's he doing?" or "What are you doing?" ALL day long. Maeve has become overly sensitive to Max's attention and screams when he enters her personal space (approximately a three foot diameter around her body). So I get a lot of headaches, and then I feel sorry for myself, and then I rummage through the pantry and find Oreos.




I envision sitting on the couch -- alone -- and taking my sweet time while eating my Oreos.

But it doesn't end up as I had hoped. Both of the kids were screaming for cookies. Why can't children ask in a soft, monotone voice: "Hey Mommy, I'd like an Oreo too please"? Instead they screech and carry on as if they were chickens during roundup time. As if I might run away to Idaho with the Oreos and never come back to give them one.

I know this might sound weird, but I always smell a freshly opened bag of Oreos. It's part of the routine, I suppose. The smell is kind of like mud and vanilla and salt.
We sat on the couch and I doled out cookies to the beggars.




No, actually they were all MY cookies. But of course I didn't say that (not this time anyway). Instead I said, "You need to ask nicely for a cookie or I will take them to another boy or girl who can ask nicely. Or even a squirrel who is having trouble finding acorns. Or a worm. Or an ant."

Max said, "I want to feed the squirrel. And worms and ants. And... Spiders too!"
Well that backfired big time. How good are those miniature people at finding loopholes in conversations that lead to fun stuff like earthworm hunting? Very good, I say. Especially Max.

I imagined us doing that for a moment, digging in the cold December earth, searching for an earthworm or an ant. Delivering to them a chocolate wonderland and creamy goodness.




But don't fret, we did not go to that extreme. I distracted them with a Tinkerbell movie. I had Oreos in my hands ready for them to ask for more. I decided to wait to eat my Oreo(s).

I watched the kids eating their Oreos and became quite disturbed. They weren't honoring any tradition. They were not treating the Oreo with the respect it deserves. Max was pretending that he was Cookie Monster (whom I dislike because of his impulsive need to destroy people's cookies).

Maeve has gotten her cookie apart but was now digging her finger into the vanilla filling as if it was a repulsive substance to put between two chocolate cookies.

I also started to notice crumbs, and lots of them. I don't deal well with crumbs. I don't mind somewhat larger items of food that have been dropped because I can easily pick them up. But crumbs require me getting the vacuum out.

How did my idea of sitting -- alone -- on the couch and eating an Oreo per my four step process turn into my kids fighting over who can hold the Oreo bag and subsequently pulverize the cookies?




Well I could answer that questions in many ways, but the bottom line is that ever since that quick moment in the shower four and a half years ago, I pretty much gave up my right to do anything alone anymore, including eating Oreos.

Or vacuuming.
Or peeing.
Or shitting.
Or showering.
Or cooking.

But that's okay. In the end it's all worth it. In the end it's all worth it. In the end it's all worth it. Yeah, I know I wrote that three times in a row. Just trying to convince myself.

How do you eat your Oreos? Even better, do you share your Oreos or are you a closet Oreo eater (there is no shame!!!!)?

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