Morphing into Mama

Busted

Yesterday, while in the kitchen, I heard a strange scuffle followed by incoherent frantic Tod-lar whispering coming from the family room. 

I stepped away from the dishwasher and stealthily walked through the back hallway.  When I arrived at the door, I silently surveyed the scene.  Nothing appeared to be too out of the ordinary.  The Legos were all over the floor.  The couch pillows were disheveled.  And both kids were standing in the middle of the room looking at me wide-eyed. 

Hmmm.

"Bah-bie?  Were you standing on the coffee table?"  A trick she likes performing, usually at the urging of her big brother. 

"Noooo," she replied, adamantly shaking her head. 

I looked at Tod-lar.  He smiled back at me but said nothing.

I went back to loading the dishwasher.

This morning, as I was showing Husband the pictures Tod-lar's been taking all week (an exhibition of the artist's work to follow shortly), we found this:

And this:

She was wearing that outfit yesterday.

We're Probably Going to Need Duct Tape

"Mama, der's no more pwums on our tree!"

"I know, Bud.  We ate them all."

"We need to buy more pwums."

"I thought you didn't like plums."

"Oh.  I don't.  We need to buy more pwums for da tree."

"We do?"

"Yeah.  And tape.  We need to buy tape."

"Why?"

"So we can tape da pwums to da tree."

But of course.

Essence

Even though Tod-lar can sometimes behave like this, I know his essence is really this:

I Almost Had to Call in The Special Forces

"So, Bud, did you have a good time with Miss Barbara today while I was at work?"

"Yeah!  Miss Bahbwa let me watch TV!"

"Oh?  What did you watch?"

"I watch a dinosaur!  He tawked!  And he was real funny!  I want to watch him again!  Can I watch him again, Mama?"

"You want to watch him again, huh?  Well, we'll see if we can fi-- WAIT A MINUTE.  What did this dinosaur look like?"

"What?"

"Was he really big?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, silly question.  Did he sing?"

"Sing?"

"Yes, did he sing?  Did he sing about love or anything else?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?  Think, Bud, THINK!  Did he SING?"

"I don't know, Mama."

"Okay, alright, uh . . . was he purple?"

"Purple?"

"YES!  Was he PURPLE?"

"I don't think so.  He was orange.  Yeah.  He was orange."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You're absolutely sure he was orange?"

"Yes.  Oh, and I 'member now, he didn't sing."

"He didn't?"

"No.  No.  He didn't."

"Good.  That's good.  He was orange and he didn't sing.  Okay.  Alright then.  I think it's safe to say that we'll try to find him on TV so you can watch him again."

Thankfully, operation "Never Have to Watch Barney -- EVER" is still in effect and has not been unwittingly sabotaged by our sitter.

Conflicting Agendas

You know what's great about Tod-lar turning 3? 

His language skills are so much more advanced. 

Now we get to have all kinds of interesting conversations.  We talk about his friends at school (but not in a gossipy kinda way).  We reminisce about past events -- including things that happened LAST YEAR (note to self -- kid has a good memory).  Tod-lar tells me about things he wants to do in the future, like fly an airplane, climb Dada's office building, and ride an old train.  He warns me when sharks are approaching at the supermarket (don't ask, cause I don't know), and reminds me to buy Dada's coffee.  He even corrects my English.

"Careful standing on the railing, Bud." 

"No, Mama.  Dat's not a wailing.  Dat's a gate.  Dat's a wailing," he says pointing to what is so obviously the railing as he stands on what is so obviously a gate.

"Oh.  You're right!" 

Maybe he should start editing my blog posts.

But you know what's a little more than slightly annoying about Tod-lar turning 3? 

His language skills are so much more advanced.

Now, whenever I tell him to do something, he says, "Okay.  But first I need to . . . " and then we have to negotiate whatever it is he needs to do first.  Or sometimes he'll just say, "No, thank you.  I don't want to." 

At least he's back to being politely defiant. 

As the Tod-lar gets older, not only does he have his own agenda (which, frankly, he's always had), but now he has the words to express and negotiate that agenda.  And while it's cute and wonderful and all that happy horse-shit, it also makes me long for the days when I could just dress him myself and get his ass out the door on the time.  Sure, even back in those days he'd still poop just as we were walking to the car, but he couldn't help that.  Now, however, he has control over his poop, yet we're still on the verge of being late because Tod-lar can't get his shoes on because he's "busy," or he can't brush his teeth because he's "still talking to Bah-bie." 

At night, Tod-lar negotiates his agenda in a more sly way.  Right when I'm tucking him into bed, he suddenly wants to discuss the meaning of his existence ("Why I here, Mama?"), or show me every little bump and bruise on his legs and tell me each of their stories, or ask me questions about myself.

"Why you have new gwasses, Mama?"

"Honey, you know my glasses aren't new, and you asked me that question last night."

"Oh.  Why you have new wegs, Mama?"

Uh, yeah.  You're not fooling anybody, pal, with that bedtime-stalling-maneuver.

"That's the last question I'm going to answer tonight, Bud.  You may ask me more questions tomorrow.  After I answer that question, I'm going to close your door and go downstairs to spend time with Dada, understand?"

"Yes!" 

"Good.  Now, I got new legs because that shark you're always warning me about ate my old ones."

"Oh [giggle, giggle]."

Tod-lar doesn't care that I have places to go, things to do, and people to see.  My agenda, as far as he's concerned, is nonexistent, which is why his agenda is far more important.  I can tell him I have things to do, but he doesn't care.  He doesn't care that I have to be at my internship for parent ed training at 9:30 a.m.  Nor does he care that Husband is downstairs pouring me a glass of wine and fixing hors d' oeuvres, so we can finally sit and discuss our days.  And why should he?  Tod-lar's "busy," discovering the cure for cancer or something of equal importance, or he's in the midst of discussing with Bah-bie the real solution to ending the Mid East conflict, or he just needs to know right now why I have "new wegs." 

What's most annoying about all this is that his agenda is important.  It may seem unimportant at 8:59 a.m. that Tod-lar's busy building a "hewacopter" with this Legos, but it's not.  It may seem especially unimportant when he wants to discuss my "new wegs" at 6:59 p.m, but even that deserves respect.  So while I'd like to say, "LOOK!  YOU NEED TO DO WHAT I SAY NOW BECAUSE I HAVE THINGS I NEED TO DO!"  I can't.  It would only send Tod-lar the message that my agenda is more important than his, which would be like Husband telling me his career is more important than mine. 

Instead, I need to treat his agenda with respect so that he, in turn, will respect mine (while keeping in mind that there will be times when my needs will have to override his -- but you get my general drift, I'm sure).  So far, giving him plenty of warning and a minute or two to finish whatever he's doing is satisfying him.  There was one time last week, however, when he refused to put down his Legos and put on his shoes, so he had to walk to the car in his socks (a choice I gave him and which he said he didn't want to do but had to take since he didn't put down those Legos -- you know the drill).  When he protested as he soiled his bleached socks in the dirt and leaves, I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "I know you hate getting your socks dirty, Honey.  You had two minutes to put them on and you didn't do it, but you can try again tomorrow."  He did and succeeded. 

Sometimes, I think this parenting gig would be a lot easier if I didn't have any place to be, or I didn't have any needs at all.  But then I wouldn't be human.  Instead, I'd just be some sort of alien creature sent to this planet with the mission "To Serve Children" -- which wouldn't be too bad, I guess, if "To Serve Children" was a cookbook. 

[And there you have my very lame attempt to incorporate one of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes into one of my very lame blog posts.]

The Summer of Ebb

This summer was nothing but ebb.  I tried to make it flow, but the Tod-lar proved to be far more tenacious than I ever thought possible. 

He was so tenacious, in fact, that at least once a day during the past six weeks, I considered either a) running away from home (with Husband, since he doesn't cause me stress), or b) driving Tod-lar to a far away location, slowing down just enough to open the door and yell "Drop and roll!" then speeding off before anyone could take down my license plate number. 

It was as if every single thing I spent the last nearly three years teaching him was wiped from his brain overnight.  He stopped being polite and made incessant demands.  He retaliated with poop.  He challenged my Enforcer status and actually ran AWAY from me when I told him it was time to leave the park.  He cried and whined instead of using his words.  He called us names.  He even spat in Husband's face at one point.  And he opposed everything -- every little fucking thing.  Even fun, happy things.

"So, Bud, your birthday's coming up.  Should we invite all your friends from school to your party?"

"NO!  I DON'T WANT A PARTY!  I DON'T WANT FRIENDS!"

Well, that's good, cause you sure ain't gonna have any with that fucking tude, Dude. 

To make things even more challenging, in addition to being Mr. Contrarian, Tod-lar was simultaneously experiencing a very heavy mommy phase.  He wouldn't let Husband do a damn thing for him.  Husband couldn't feed him his dinner, read him a nighttime story, or wipe the kid's ass without Tod-lar pitching a fit for "Maaaamaaa!"  So, while on the one hand he tried to boss me around like he was Mel Sharples reincarnated, on the other hand, he insisted I do every little fucking thing for him.  It was a push-pull like I've never before experienced. 

Then, one day last week, as I was dropping him off at school, he said to me, "I want you, Mama!"  For a second, I was a little dismayed at his demanding, whiny tone.  But I dismissed my dismay as the meaning of his words echoed in my ears, telling me what I'd long suspected was true.      

I bent down, looked into his pouting eyes and said, "I want you, too, Bud." 

He didn't know what to say at first.  Then his brow softened, and in a quiet voice, he repeated, "I want you, Mama."

I hugged him and whispered, "I want you more."

He giggled, gave me a big a kiss and arm hug, and cheerfully went to play with his friends, blowing me more kisses all the way.

Since then, he's been less oppositional and more cooperative.  He's back to saying "please" and "thank you."  And he's hugging his daddy instead of spitting at him.

For Tod-lar, you see, this summer wasn't the summer of ebb, it was the summer of major change.  In the last six weeks or so, Tod-lar has learned to do the following unassisted:

• pee and poop in the potty (well, he still needs a little help with wiping)
• remove and put on his clothes, including his socks and shoes
• wash his own hair and body
• brush his own teeth with an electric toothbrush

He's even pouring his own milk, drinking out of actual glasses instead of plastic cups, and this afternoon he made his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.  For a little boy who was used to having mommy help him with all these things, this is major change.  And, while he was pretty enthusiastic to do these things himself, I think he was also wondering what it meant for mommy to stop doing them.  He loved the taste of more independence, but I suspect he also feared I wouldn't be there for him, or that I might even actually stop loving him.  And, of course, it didn't help that I'm still providing Bah-bie assistance with most everything. 

Tod-lar is moving from passive to more proactive member of our family.  He's learning to rely a little more on himself and a little less on Mama.  This is both exciting and frightening.  To me, his behavior (or misbehavior) this summer was his way of processing this profound change.  It's what he needed to do.  And my job was to manage it.  I had to keep behavioral expectations high and follow-through on consequences, while providing a little more reassurance than usual that I still loved and supported him, but without giving in to the mommy phase.  This balancing act is difficult, especially when the misbehaviors occur constantly for weeks on end, and you have another child who also needs your love and attention. 

The teenage years are going to be fun, eh?

Now, Tod-lar is worrying less about mama and is focusing more on his excitement about growing older.  Yesterday morning, when Husband, Bah-bie, and I awakened him by singing "Happy Birthday,"  he smiled and proclaimed, "I'm big now!  I'm 3!" 

Yes, you are, my little man.  Yes, you are.  And I couldn't be more proud of you.

We Got Poop

[Warning:  this is a really long post cause I gotta lotta shit to talk about.]

Since my last shitty post, Bah-bie's been unloading her innards twice, sometimes three times a day -- no finger (or unlit matches, or thermometer) up the bum required!  (However, even if I'd had to stick my finger up her bum, it would not have been a new parenting low for me since nothing beats the time Tod-lar managed to shoot poop in my face, hitting me square in my right eyeball.  For all you new parents out there, let my experience be a lesson to never, ever open a newborn's diaper until you've heard at least three loud squirts.) 

"So what worked?" you ask with bated breath.  No magic bullet.  Just a combination of things: blueberries, (which, it turns out, Bah-bie can inhale by the pintful), Raisin Bran (please remind me who suggested Raisin Bran!), prune juice, plums (she'll now allow Tod-lar to feed them to her under the plum tree, which has increased her consumption considerably since we don't have to wait for daddy to be home -- not to mention the absolute fucking cuteness), and something that I think has helped considerably and was recommended by my pediatrician, NONFAT MILK.  Given Bah-bie used to drink milk-based formula, she should be fine with dairy, but the fat in whole milk may have been making her constipated. 

The best part is that because the poop is flowing easier, she's down to whimpering from crying.  Progress for sure.  The pediatrician, though, claims that however long she's had this problem, it'll take her twice as long to get over the psychological association of poop=pain.  This means it could take her as long as ONE YEAR to fully get over this issue.  I, however, am optimistic it will be sooner (please keep her in your prayers -- they obviously worked).

But the poop saga doesn't stop here.  No siree.  Not one for being left out, Tod-lar decided it was time for him to have a poop issue as well.  Instead of constipation, however, he decided to liven things up a bit by using poop for revenge. 

When we last left our potty learning Tod-lar, he had finally decided to pee in the potty, but still insisted on pooping in a pull-up.  I was fine with this.  I know it usually takes a little more time to be poo-potty-trained than it does to be pee-potty-trained, so I was totally okay with him using a pull-up whenever he needed to poop.  For an entire month, whenever he felt the need to pinch one out, he'd take off his underwear and go to the cabinet to get a pull-up.  Then he'd stand in a corner, slightly hunched, bracing himself with his hands positioned just above his knees.  When he was done, he'd ask me to clean him up.  Clearly, the dude knows when it's about to start flowing.

But then he started having "accidents" at school.  Okay.  Accidents happen.  So we talked about it, and he agreed to get a pull-up or tell his teacher whenever he needed to poop.  But THEN, the other night, Tod-lar did the unspeakable: he pinched out a stealth poo in his underwear while eating dinner.  I saw no grimacing and heard no grunting -- NOTHING.  Then all of a sudden, I smelled it. 

"Bah-bie, did you poo poo?"

"Nooo," she said shaking her head.

"Bud, did you fart?"

"No.  I poo poo."

"You pooed?"

"Yeah."

He stood up and started climbing out of his shorts. 

"Let me see."

And there, in his Thomas the Train underwear, was a HUGE, nearly perfectly round ball of poo.  As I tried to ease the underwear off of him, the huge ball of poo slowly rolled out of his underwear onto my KITCHEN floor, landing with a thunderous PLOP!  It was like watching the opening scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark, only with a huge poo ball rather than a boulder. 

Bah-bie saw it, pointed and screamed, "YU-YEE, YU-YEE," and then began to cry. 

"Nobody move."

I grabbed a plastic grocery bag, picked up the ball of poo, tied the bag, and threw it out the back door.  Then I herded Tod-lar to the bathroom to hose him down.  After all the crying (mine) and screaming (theirs) stopped, I asked Tod-lar why he had pooped in his underwear. 

"Did you do it because I wouldn't make you chicken nuggets for dinner after I'd already made you pasta?"  Because I am not a fucking restaurant.

"No."

"Then why?"

"I wanted bread."

"So, it was because I wouldn't give you bread until you'd eaten your peas?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh.  Well, first, if you're upset you need to talk to me about it rather than pooping in your underwear.  Say, 'I'm upset, Mama, because I want bread!'  Second, we're going to throw out all your pull-ups."

"What?!  NO!  WHY?!"

"Because you don't need them anymore.  If you're going to poop in your underwear, then you don't need pull-ups."

So we went around the house and collected every stash of pull-ups, went outside to the garbage can, and ceremoniously threw them all away.

The next morning, Tod-lar had to poop.

"You can either poop in the potty or do it in your underwear."

"I don't have to poop."

"Okay."

An hour later . . .

"I have to poop, Mama."

"Like I said, you can either do it in the potty or do it in your underwear."

He turned around with a little sigh, went to the bathroom, pulled down his pants, put the stool in front of the potty, climbed up, grunted, and that's when I heard the kids being dropped off at the pool.  It was music to my ears. 

He's been pooping in the potty ever since.

But here's the thing:  what if he'd decided to just poop in his underwear? 

No need to worry, my friends, for I had Plan B. 

When I pick him up for school, we usually go do some really fun activity, like ride the train at the park, or go to a local pool.  If he'd decided to poop in his underwear, we would have to stop doing those activities and stay home.  After all, it's too difficult to clean up poop in underwear, especially when we're out.  So, staying home would be a natural consequence of him choosing not to poop in the potty.  Believe me, people, I know that kid, and he'd get tired of that pretty quick.  It might have taken a week, but he would have gotten my point.

Don't mess with the mama bull, cause you'll get the horns.

Bwahahaha.

-----

(And a special thanks to all you delurkers out there who came out of hiding to offer advice on Bah-bie's crappy situation!  I just love delurkers!)

Unsolicited Parenting Advice #4 -- How to Turn Your Suddenly Rude Tod-lar Back Into the Polite Little Boy He Once Was

It is likely that one day you will wake up to find your very polite Tod-lar has been replaced with a demanding and rude little boy.  Don't be alarmed.  If your Tod-lar attends the incubator-of-unknown-viruses-and-unseemly-behavior, otherwise known as "preschool," then, sadly, this is to be expected. 

Now, let me forewarn you that while rude Tod-lar behavior can strike at any moment, this clever creature will usually opt to do it when your reflexes are low and your synapses are not fully firing -- before your morning coffee.  That is when you are likely to hear, "I want milk.  Get me my milk!"   When this occurs remain calm.  Obviously, he has momentarily confused you with one of his bitches. 

When you do not respond to his demand because you are not his bitch and his "fetch me a chicken pot pie" tone is completely unacceptable, he will repeat his demand more loudly.

"I want milk!  GET me my MILK!" 

At this point, though you may want to either a) scream at him for acting like a total ass, or b) pour Drano in your ears so you never have to hear this horrible tone bellowing from the lips of your sweet son again, it is best to remain calm and step away from the Drano.  To help you remain calm, remind yourself not to take his rudeness personally.  Remember that he is trying  a new behavior on for size, and your job is simply to show him it does not fit, nor will it ever fit.  EVER.  To help you step away from the Drano, be sure to store it in a hard-to-reach area before the Tod-lar even begins exhibiting this most annoying rudeness.

Next, get down to the Tod-lar's level but, rather than facing him, try to situate yourself so that you're shoulder-to-shoulder with him.  This promotes, according to sociological research, a far less combative situation than the face-to-face position. 

Then, check to ensure you are emotionally distanced from the situation.  Remember, you are not engaging him in a power struggle.  Rather, you are simply following-through on a naturally occurring consequence.  If he wants milk, then he needs to ask politely.  It doesn't matter if he's asking the waiter at your local family-friendly restaurant, his teacher, or you.  Thus, it is as if you are merely the milk messenger, and it is the higher powers of politeness who have determined the proper way to request it.  So, if Tod-lar is engaging in any sort of power struggle, it is with those higher powers, not you. 

Once you've gained your necessary emotional distance, you are prepared to speak to the Tod-lar.  In a genuinely calm and quiet tone, ask him, "Bud, is that how we ask for milk?" 

If he responds with a sheepish, "No," then say, "Well, show me how do we ask for milk."

If his next words are, "I don't know," (even though you know he does) or, "I don't want to!" or "I can't," then in the same calm and quiet tone say, "I can't give you your milk until you ask for it properly."  Again, your attitude here should be "I'd really like to give you your milk, but some higher power says I can't until you've asked nicely."  Then resume making your morning coffee.

Given that the Tod-lar is fairly stubborn and willful, he will most likely begin to whine and cry -- loudly.  Do not reach for the Drano.  Instead, resume your shoulder-to-shoulder position with him and ask, "Are you upset because you want your milk?"  When he replies with a sheepish, "Yes," say, "I will gladly give it to you when you ask politely.  If you don't ask politely, I can't give it to you.  Do you want to try again?" 

If he still refuses and, instead, resumes whining and crying, say, "If you need to whine and cry about it, then please go to your room, where you can sit with Cow and calm yourself down." 

At this point, he may miraculously calm himself down and ask for the milk properly.  Be sure to give it to him with a big smile, and say cheerfully, "Here you are!"  But don't thank him for doing what he was supposed to do in the first fucking place.  (And, again, don't thank him when later that day he says, "Mama, I not calling you 'poopy-pants.'"  Just say, "I should hope not!")

Keep in mind that the Tod-lar will attempt this same rude behavior over and over again throughout the day, and may even continue it into the following day.  This means there will most likely be instances when the Tod-lar does go without milk and may need to calm himself down on Cow.  Don't worry.  In either case, he will not die, though he will act as if he might. 

With the same consistent response as described above, however, this rude behavior should fully stop by the end of the second day. 

Good luck.

I'm Listening

"Mama, I'm mad at you."

"You are?  Why?"

"Cause you weren't listening."

"I wasn't listening?"

"No.  You put my socks on."

"Ohhhhh.  You mean when I asked you to put your socks on, and you didn't, so I told you if you didn't do it by the time I counted to five then I would do it for you?"

"Yeah.  You weren't listening."

"I wasn't listening?  But, Bud, I told you if you didn't put your socks on by the time I counted to five, I would put them on for you, and what did you do?"

"I didn't put 'em on.  I wasn't listening."

"Ah-ha."

"Mama was listening.  I wasn't listening."

"Riiiiiiight.  Well, do you feel better now that we talked about it?"

"Yes."  [momentary silence]  "I still mad at you, Mama."

"Well, that's okay.  It's okay to be mad at Mama.  Do you still love me?"

"Yes."

"See?  Sometimes we'll be mad at each other, but the important thing is that we still always love each other."

"Yes."  [momentary silence]  "I still mad at you, Mama."

"I know, Bud.  I'm listening."

I Don't Think They Sell Those

"Did you pee pee in the potty, Bud?"

"Yeah, Mama.  I pee pee potty.  I no have to pee pee anymore."

"You don't?"

"No.  There's no more pee pee in my penis."

"Oh.  I see."

"I need to buy a new penis, Mama."

"Really?  Why?"

"I need to buy penis with pee pee in it."