Adventures With Baby

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm now on the third outfit, second bath, and innumerable diaper with Tula. Whoever said it would be best to go with "baby's natural rhythms" was either not a parent or full of what goes in the diapers. Tula, naturally, thinks this is delightful. She's been busy offering not-so-gummy grins and splashing me in her bath. It's a great look for her, but really pathetic for me. Plus, she's figured out how to roll over in her towel and investigate the toilet. Not good.

She's also furious with me because I've done away with her escape plan. Like many babies, Tula has a Bumbo chair. I love this thing. I can put her in it on the kitchen table and feed her. Way easier than the high chair. Or it was until Tula discovered she could escape it. Boomer and I found her crawling on the kitchen table in a quest for the salt shaker as we were fetching sweet potatoes from the pantry. Exit Bumbo, enter high chair. Her Highness is displeased.

Now we're on to crawling. This is quite acceptable as we're independent and grooving. We're also grooving toward the television and the end tables in an effort to eat Peanut's art projects. I want to know where the Potted Plant stage went and if I can get it back. The laughter you hear is Peanut's.

But then Tula cries. And as I pick her up in an attempt to actually get the clean diaper on her, she wraps her little arms around me and does not let go. And the little frustrations of my day melt away. Peanut is ready and willing to play with his little sister. All is right with my world again.

Call me Mother of the year.

The Ending of an Era, The Turning of a Page

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm choosing the line of a Tim McGraw song because it is exactly what I did last night. I was looking through Peanut's notebook from Beloved Teacher. It's a log between her and I, giving updates on our boy's behavior and thoughts on where he's going and needs to be.

There's a lot in there.

There's the high points of his good behavior, his gentleness toward the kids who are smaller than him. There's the day he learned how to hold his crayon properly and write his name. There's a note of congratulations from the day he became a big brother. I'm reading also his lower points: the tantrums, the hitting, the day we realized that he needed more testing and the new diagnosis.

I realize as I hold this notebook that I have the history of this year. I hold all the joys and the frustrations of parenting and teaching Peanut. And I realize as I hold this that this notebook is full. There are no more pages to be written for preschool.

You see, yesterday was Peanut's last day of preschool. Today will be the end of the year picnic. I'll attend his Annual Review meeting and meet with his Kindergarten teacher on Tuesday. And that will be that, until August.

Make no mistake, he's ready for Kindergarten. Thanks to Beloved Teacher, I'm (mostly) ready to let him go. We'll have a fun summer, and I'm looking forward to that. For today, though, I'll eat a hot dog in my son's classroom and realize that I could not have given him the growth he's achieved.

Thanks, Beloved Teacher. For everything.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Tula the Manipulator

Call me Mother of the Year.

Madam Tula has discovered a most diverting new game: Fetch. This game is best played when Tula is in her Excersaucer and Peanut (or Daddy, or other willing participant) hands her a toy. Tula then flings the toy onto the floor and looks adorable as her big brother (read: victim) picks up the toy and hands it back to her. Repeat at will. In an effort to keep Peanut as her slave, Tula is now known to babble at him as he hands her toys to fling and make him fetch.

I'm sure you've noticed my lack of participation in Fetch. I'm not sure quite how to break it to Tula that I'm not wrapped as far around her little finger as her big brother. Plus, I've played that game before with Peanut at that age. It kinda gets old after awhile.

Peanut, however, is entranced at the idea of entertaining his little sister. This means Mommy gets a break, however small, and there are no screaming or crying children. Right now, that's worth a price above rubies. I'll explain to Tula that manipulation isn't a good idea later. Much later.

And now, I've got to explain to Peanut about why gravity is not in our favor as we attempt a loop-de-loop off the couch. Please don't ask. Just know that he's not successful in this particular endeavor.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Blogging Hiatus

Call me Mother of the Year.

So I've been away for awhile. A long while. And I've missed you. I've missed having this outlet for all twelve of you to read and snicker at my adventures. The adventures are still there, and I've learned a few things over the last couple of months.

I've learned that it's physically impossible to keep from laughing as Peanut answers "What is your address?" with "Pants and a shirt, right Mommy?" It is, however, great for a teachable moment. Peanut now knows exactly where he lives and we're working on reciting his phone number.

I've learned that the Potted Plant stage is all too short. Tula is doing her level best to crawl and in the process is doing an exemplary job of rolling all over every possible flat surface. Woe betide the mommy who thought she had another couple of months to childproof. Guess why I haven't been blogging?

I've learned that I can survive a new diagnosis on Peanut. Beloved Teacher suggested that Peanut be retested as some of his behaviors don't quite fit the Asperger spectrum. She was correct- Peanut is dealing with ADHD. And, as it turns out, needs glasses something fierce. I greeted this news with a remarkable guilt trip, thank you very much. Boomer has spent much time reminding me that this is not my fault- in the firmest tones and words possible.

I've learned that there is nothing scarier than watching my baby go for x-rays. We know that nothing's wrong and there's no need to worry. But Tula's soft spot was closing too quickly, and our pediatrician wanted to make sure that there were no problems. There aren't. For the record, Tula objected furiously to the x-rays. Here's hoping the techs have recovered their hearing by now.

Most importantly, I've learned that Peanut is more than excited about starting Kindergarten, and there is nothing better than sitting beside my not-so-small son and listening to him read. Usually with his little sister on my lap. Peanut is an excellent big brother and Tula's lucky to have him. I'm the luckiest, though- I have them both.

And now that I've unburdened myself to you, there are bedtime stories to be read, kisses to be given, and two small ones to be put to bed. Peanut blows you kisses and Tula is showing off both of her teeth.

Call me Mother of the Year.

What They Don't Tell You

Call me Mother of the Year.

I prefer to use this blog to update my extended family on the little moments of my children's lives. Make no mistake, there are many, and they are adorable. I'd like to offer cute little vignettes that make you all think I'm a good mom with great kids.

This won't be that post. It'll come later.

The past few days have been brutal. If Parenthood 101 was a course in college, I'd have failed it. Come to that, if there were any courses about parenthood, the human race would die out of fear.

Peanut's tantrums have increased spectacularly. He's gone back to hitting Boomer and yesterday got his Beloved Teacher. I have my head in my hands in frustration. I don't have answers to why he throws the tantrums, nor do I know how to stop them. I only know they frustrate me and infuriate him. I'm at the point that I can't understand my son. That's scary. I don't know where to find answers to help him. That's scarier. And no one could tell me just how rough this road would be for Peanut. That's scariest of all.

Then came this morning.

Peanut was gearing up for a tantrum (again), and I came to his room with Tula in my arms. We talked, and he was able to calm down enough to hug me and hug his Tula. Watching him tenderly kiss his little sister's cheek made my day. I haven't lost him yet. I'm not letting go. We'll fight this together, kiddo.

Maybe there is a happy ending after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Conspiracy Theory

Call me Mother of the Year.

I do believe my children are conspiring against me. It is now their job to make sure I get nothing done.

Tula is teething now, which is really not fun for either of us. She's in pain and I can't always make it go away, and I can't make her understand that I want to stop her hurting. More specifically, I'd like to stop her hysterical screaming. And for the record, I'm buying stock in Baby Orajel. Thankfully, the swing still works to calm her down on occasion, so there's that.

Peanut's temper tantrums are at a new high. He's not hitting anymore, and I'm thoroughly grateful for that. That said, the length and volume are spectacular, and I'm at a loss at how to calm him down. It seems that he erupts over the smallest things these days. I suspect he's acting out because of all the time I have to give to Tula, but it's killing me that he thinks the tantrums are the only way to get my attention. I'm doing everything I can to make sure I'm using my "inside voice" but all I want to do is shriek back at him. Not good.

In the meantime, the baby is crying, Peanut is finally done pouting, and the dog is howling. One of these days, I'll get my hearing back. I may even be able to smile again, but right now, I'm a wee bit busy calming my house down. Thanks for listening, kids. And Boomer just pulled into the driveway, ready to give me back my sanity. This is why there's a two-parent system in this house. Maybe I'll get something done after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.

When Did This Happen?

Call me Mother of the Year.

I confess that I'm pondering today. Nothing's wrong; we're all finally healthy. It's just, well, Peanut's making me think again.

This time five years ago, I was at work. I didn't love the job itself, but I did love my co-workers. They were awesome. And I was pregnant. Very pregnant. Said cohorts had thrown the baby shower, the baby pool had been set up, and the entire office was on Babywatch. And patting my sizable stomach at every chance. As I left the office for the day, one of my supervisors informed me that I couldn't come to work the next day because she had it on the baby pool and she wanted to win. I chuckled and headed off to my doctor's appointment.

Guess what? I was two centimeters dilated.

Fast forward a few hours. Boomer and I were getting ready for bed. You guessed it, it was time to haul to the hospital. Boomer, having just gotten into bed, was less than thrilled. I was completely terrified. My supervisor was thrilled. Twenty-two hours later, Peanut came screaming onto the scene and totally stole my heart.

I want to know where the five years have gone.

My baby is now a big boy and an awesome big brother. He's getting ready for Kindergarten, loves his Leapster 2, all things Cars, and helping in the kitchen. He's reached all his preschool goals and can read and write his name. He is a loving and lovable little boy.

And my heart is breaking because his world is getting bigger. He wants to try his newfound independence and I want to hold him close and never let go. So I'm taking a deep breath, unclenching my fingers, and letting go. Up to a point. Let's face it, if I'm like this when the poor kid turns five, I'm really in trouble when we hit the teenage years.

But for now, there are birthday cupcakes to be made for preschool and a party to be had. And if you see me at 8:10 tomorrow evening wiping away a tear at the idea of having a big boy instead of a little baby, I hope you'll forgive me. And join me in a cupcake. They're a Peanut special.

Call me Mother of the Year.