Thankful Bits and Pieces

1.   The pilgrims didn't have Chick Fil-A nuggets at the first Thanksgiving. Or construction paper. Or lemonade. In fact, I wonder if they had turkey. They celebrated gratitude. We try to teach RJ an attitude of gratitude. So far, so good. He thanks me for changing his stinky pants and for doing his laundry. Tonight, his giggles of glee for a clean blankie were a soothing balm for my soul. And today, we were in fact thankful for chicken nuggets, construction paper and lemonade. RJ's school celebrated Thanksgiving today with a school-wide feast. I am thankful for the little Lutheran school that taught me to celebrate Thanksgiving, and I am thankful that a little Lutheran school is right up the street for my little boy. The chicken nugget feast was precisely what my little man would have ordered if he had the choice.  He, by the way, is thankful for his big tractor, his mommy, and his daddy.

2.  I am thankful for Buzzy, the classroom bumblebee. RJ has been wondering when he would ever earn the chance to take Buzzy home. He earned Buzzy for the whole Thanksgiving weekend! Buzzy napped with us (in a pull-up, per RJ's special request). Note: a stuffed bumblebee pull-up can be easily fashioned from an antique handkerchief. The big girl panties (Buzzy is a girl apparently) took a little more skill--but a toddler sweat sock and a pair of scissors made Buzzy a happy bee in her panties.

(If you look very closely, you can see Buzzy's big-girl panties)

RJ is so proud of earning Buzzy that he is currently sleeping with Buzzy in his arms. I'm thankful he's sleeping. And I'm thankful that my little guy has something to feel proud of these days. Timeouts are far too frequent, and when you're three, everything is a no-no.

3.  I am thankful for my toddler Four Seasons in northern Oklahoma. RJ still calls his Ponca City backyard "his" backyard. The food is five stars. There is no supper better than one cooked by mom. And, the host and hostess are always available to race cars, fly helicopters or play "pitch" out back.

4.  I am thankful for Huggies. Big and small.

5.  I am thankful for our darling nanny. She visited this week, and I'm becoming more and more convinced that she is in fact Mary Poppins, complete with magical powers. After just a two hour visit, RJ was content. His attitude of gratitude had returned from a long vacation. (He tells me his sweet attitude was on the roof.)  And, we are all thankful that she and her baby boy will continue to be part of our lives.

6.  I am thankful for a husband who believes I can do it all: work, kids, cooking, house, and cats. I can't. But he never calls my bluff.

7.  I am thankful for my mentors. They have spent countless hours counseling me, consoling me, and convincing me. We've argued, and we've gone days without speaking. I've been right. And, I've been wrong. But they always take the time to let me voice my opinion. A lot of "big law" firms won't do that.

8.  I am thankful for microwave popcorn. Seriously. It's good. It's fast. And it makes my house smell like a movie theater.

9.  I am thankful for a friend who understands the pitfalls of motherhood and who shares the bittersweetness of moments we are glad we've had and we know we'll never have again. (I'll be happy to have GiGi sleep through the night, but then again, I'll miss those midnight snuffles, snorts, and smiles.).

10.  I am thankful for a happy baby:

11.  I am thankful for chocolate chip cookies, Chex mix, Rice Crispy treats, and cookbooks. RJ and I cook every afternoon. He learns to count. And I keep my sanity (I love my children, but by 4 o'clock every afternoon, my creative meter is sitting at zero. Cooking keeps my wee one entertained, and we get supper on the table too!). 

12.  I am thankful for treadmills, strollers, and tennies. Someone has to taste test the fruits of our cooking endeavors, after all. 

13.  I am thankful for naps. 

14.  I am thankful for the public library. Books, movies, music, and RJ gets to play Thomas games on the computer (and I get to avoid the video game discussion for at least a little while longer at home). 

My list could go on for miles and days. I am blessed. The End. 

Try, Try Again

Aim high. Do your best. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. I know them all, and I've tried to always aim high, do my best, and try, try again. Being a short term stay at home mom, I'm learning the most important thing is to try, try again.

We haven't succeeded at potty training. I've done my best. He has aimed high. And low.  But, we'll try, try again until we have success. I know without a doubt that RJ will not go to the first grade while still asking for a Huggie. "Mommy?" he asks every so politely every single day, "I needa Huggie to poop." I've tried rewards. He points out every toy he sees and says, "Oh! I gonna get that when I poop!" (My bank account isn't worried given his fondness of Huggies.). I've tried scientific reasoning, which, not surprisingly, doesn't work so well with a three year old. He doesn't really understand nutrition ("Candy gonna make me strong!"), so explaining why he doesn't need certain nutrients is probably futile. I've appealed to his moral conscience. I tell him to do what he believes is the right thing to do. Apparently, the right thing to do is to ask permission rather than beg forgiveness.

We have bad days. Really bad ones. I yell. He screams. We go to bed angry, and sometimes I think he hates me. He tells me I have bad breath. He tells me he doesn't like my pony tail. I, in turn, tell him I don't like his attitude, and away we go to timeout. (In his defense, I had eaten salsa that day for lunch).

But, there's nothing like a three year old to remind you how to really try, try again.  We went to the park last week. And, he saw an airplane. He has seen thousands of airplanes. He has flown on planes. He eats breakfast once a month at the fly-in breakfast. He is a valuable customer of Enrique's at the airport. Airplanes shouldn't be exciting anymore. But they are. "Look!" he screamed, "An airplane!" "It's soooo high!" "I gonna catch it!" And he began to jump. And jump and reach and stretch. And with each jump, he tried again to catch that airplane. By the time he was finished, I believed he could catch it too.

He tried, and he tried again. He didn't catch that airplane, but he did remind his mommy that little things can be exciting. Bad days can come (and they do), but if we try, try again, we can find that RJ/mommy magic. Little moments. Big ambitions. And we will try, try again.

It Takes a Village

It takes a village to raise a child, so they say. Maybe not a village, but an extra set of hands certainly helps. As does 15 minutes of toddler planning.  I try to plan for every day to have an adventure. If we don't, RJ and I are not speaking by the end of the day. Actually, he's still talking ("Moooommmmyyyyy, I waaannnaa [fill in the blank]").  My child has been vaccinated with the talking needle. So, we have a daily adventure. A couple of days ago, our adventure was Target. I don't claim that our adventures are all educational or even productive. The point is to get the three year old out of the house and talking about something other than wanting to play cars.

At Target, we looked at baby bottles and baby monitors. I'm toying with the idea of a video monitor for GiGi's room. She's a different kind of cat. She prefers her crib, and I'm certainly not one to argue with her. For now anyway. When she's 13 I'm sure I will be one to argue with her.

Given the recent seismic activity, however, I chickened out. I need to sleep in the room with my babies. Call me crazy, but I thought that putting up with tornadoes, blizzards, bone chilling winds, and floods entitled me to a floor that doesn't shimmy and shake like Dance Fever. I guess I was wrong.

I digress. On our adventure, we visited the linens and talked about table settings. My son may be a decorator someday. The point is, we went all over the store. Clear to the back and to the front again. While picking up bread on the first aisle, a lovely mommy with three children in her cart stopped me. (I wanted to take her out for coffee to ask the question, "How do you do it? I mean really, three! How do you do it and still have on makeup and matching clothes?!")

"Excuse me," she said, "You have a lollipop stuck on your pants." She was polite. There was a sucker stick on my boom-boom. And it had been there through the baby department, the linens, the shoes, and the groceries. It was red. Of course. And very sticky. Obviously. (The pound of lollipop bribes in the trunk of my car had finally come back to bite me.) Only another mommy had the kind heart to actually tell me rather than giggle.

And with that, I realized that while I may have joined the village of lawyers when I passed the bar, I am also part of another village: mommies. Mommies unite. We look out for each other. I pick up lost baby socks and pacifiers for strangers. I commiserate over potty training--which may be subject of an entire book someday if RJ ever learns to poop in the potty. As I embark on month two of maternity leave, I am realizing that it may take a village to raise a child, but the real truth is that it takes a village to raise a mommy.

And Now There Are Two

I have been the mother of two for five weeks now, and I feel like I’m getting the hang of it. Kind of like getting the hang of law school after the first semester. I know to make RJ’s lunch ahead of time (just like my outlines).  I know to take advantage of my extra unexpected 10 minutes rather than wasting it in front of the television (flash cards anyone?).  I’ve learned a few new things in the past few weeks:  

Offering to buy a newborn a red convertible when she turns 16 will not get you three hours of uninterrupted sleep. I’ve tried. But, offering to pay a three-year old in Oreos will get you 15 minutes to load the dishwasher. 

Cats and three-year olds have a lot in common when it comes to vacuum cleaners. They both go crazy when you turn the sweeper on. They both weave between your legs while you run it. And both will make you nuts. But you can teach a three-year old to suck up rouge Cheerios with the hose attachment. Cats won’t do that. 

A five-week old can sleep through 87 preschoolers jumping in a bouncy thingy. And she can sleep through Monday Night Football. And the vacuum cleaner. But if you drop a Hot Wheels on a tile floor three rooms away, her frazzled little nerves will come completely undone, and she will wake up. Screaming. 

If you show a three-year old a picture of a bulldozer, he’ll turn the book upside down and inside out trying to get a glimpse of the bulldozer’s mouth behind the box blade--just to see if he’s smiling when he (the bulldozer) has to go to bed. (“Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site” is our new favorite book.). 

“La, la, la, not touching her!” is a new game. We have a new rule about personal space. And a chart to earn magnets for respecting it. If RJ was a cat, then GiGi would be tuna fish. She is irresistible to him. He touches her hair, her face, her hands, her carrier. I am not surprised to hear myself say things like, “Do NOT lick your sister on the mouth again!” 

A five week old is a magician. How else could she barf out her nose? (RJ is understandably repulsed: “Ewwww, she barf again!” “Then don’t lick her face!”). 

And, finally, I’m learning that taking advantage of the extra 10 minutes sometimes means an extra 10 minutes to rock my little boy instead of to load the dishwasher (He asked to be snuggled today. How could I turn that down?).