Daring Young Mom

I finally moved Big-O out of his infant carrier which he outgrew 2-months ago. This was scary because it meant I would have to hold him while doing my grocery shopping since he’s only 4-months old and there are no built-in infant carriers on the carts with the car attached to the front. Little-C must have one of these. Surprise surprise though, when you’re as big as a nine month old and have the strength of a 6-month old, you can totally sit up, strapped into the front of the cart. Yay!

He did start tilting to the side by the time we finished and as we left the grocery store, our hip black grandma checker gave Big-O mad props for his sweet “gangsta lean.” It’s funny what things will make you proud when you’re a mom.

It brought me back to those crazy days as a high school senior, driving around in my homey Dana’s maroon Taurus with the windows rolled down, slumping to the side to crank up the volume on the Warren-G. Sweet memories.

So, last night my marriage was just what I though it would be in my naïve younger days, a never-ending sleepover party with my best friend. We were trying to get ready for bed but could not stop laughing. EVERYTHING was funny. I love when I can make him giggle like a wee school girl.

At one point, I was laying in bed next to Dan, we had finally calmed down and were “ready to sleep.” His eyes were closed so, of course, I thought it would be a good idea to get my face as close to his as possible with my eyes open, freakishly, horror movie-ishly wide. He opened his eyes, jumped a few inches and we started laughing again.

It was then I remembered being an annoying young tween who would do the same thing to my older sister to scare her in the night. There are some ages when you will do just about anything to drive your siblings mental. I’m not proud of it and I’m certainly not looking forward to it with my own children but it’s a part of my history so just accept me for me, okay? Gosh! Actually, I’m sure my kids will be above such things.

Anyway, when the night-time staring stopped having an effect on her, I decided it would be even scarier and more annoying if I hovered over her with my tongue pointed at her eye like a dagger. Then when she opened her eyes, “AHHHHHHH!” It worked. Really well. So of course I decided to try it out on Dan.

Me: Close your eyes again.
D: Why?
Me: I want to do something even scarier. Just close ”˜em
D: What are you gonna do?
Me: Just close ”˜em till I’m ready
D closes his eyes.
Me: Uncontrollable giggling, practically the pregnant laugh**
D: are you doing it yet?
Me: No, I’m laughing too hard.
I finally get into position as he waits with his eyes closed in dread. My little tongue dagger is just millimeters away from his waiting eye.
D: Are you ready yet?
Me (laughing again): I’m sticking my tongue towards your eye like a dagger. I can’t do it if you keep asking me questions! I will get into position. Then you ask me if I’m ready and I will squeeze your arm once for yes or twice for no. (and you thought two-year-olds were immature)
D: Okay

The rest is sort of anticlimax. It’s not quite as scary or annoying if you’re:
a) expecting it
b) a willing participant
c) not an older sibling who knows she’s too mature for these games or
d) already giggling like a school girl.

*Little-C’s term for yesterday night.
**There is a very special laugh I get when I’m pregnant. It has never been duplicated when I’m not with child. It has no known rational trigger but when it happens, it doesn’t stop for several minutes, sometimes on and off for hours whenever I think about the trigger. It is always accompanied by tears.

The consequence for willfully throwing peas on the floor at dinner time and refusing to eat is — you get no treats at family home evening….. even if you helped make the brownies. How did I know that her pea throwing was willfull? Well announcing, “I’m throwing peas,” with a gleeful smile and a look of defiance in her eyes was a big hint. So I calmly let her know that she would be getting no FHE treats.

The lesson was on “understanding and being kind to those who are different” and we started with a scripture from Luke:

As ye would that men should do to you do ye also to them likewise. [Luke 6:31]

I explained to Little-C that this meant we needed to treat others the way we would like to be treated. She glanced towards the yummy-smelling kitchen, looked up at me mournfully and said, “I want to be treated!”

Conclusion — she still got nothing, but she did make me feel just a wee bit sorry for her.

Our new nap routine consists of a kitchen timer, 9 inches of strategically placed duct tape, and an easily removable doorstop. Before you call DCFS, hear me out. I set the timer for one hour, duct tape Little-C into her diaper to avoid a repeat of “the incident,” and tell her that if she can stay in her bed until the timer beeps, she can get up, even if she hasn’t actually “slept.” Now if she gets up prematurely, then I add 10 minutes to the time. Of course this is all in hopes that she will get in her bed, be bored out of her mind and drift off before the timer goes. Sometimes it works…sometimes not so much.

But I’m a smart one and I’ve come to notice a pattern – the only way Little-C will sleep during the day is if she can bawl her brains out for 30-120 seconds (that’s how long it takes her to fall asleep once she starts crying). I can’t bring myself to “make” her cry but I’m somewhat relieved when she does. This may seem harsh but if I don’t find a way to get her down for a nap, she finds a way of sucking the joy from herself and everyone else in the family for the rest of the day. And she’s just so great to be around when she’s well rested.

She has to do it for herself and on those magical days, everyone rejoices. Today for example, she was rolling around in her bed in a state of bliss and chatter when she bonked her head lightly on the headboard. She started wailing. I rushed in to comfort her and within 2 minutes she was out like a light. Other days when she’s gotten out of bed so many times that she’ll be in bed as long as sleeping beauty if I don’t do something drastic, I tell her that if she gets up one more time, I’m closing her door. Of course she gets up again, I shut the door on her fully unscary and sunlit room, she screams like her arm is being cut off, “NO, please. MOMMY DON’T DOOOO THIS,” and then falls almost immediately to sleep. She wakes up happy. We are all happy. Am I just the meanest mom ever? Maybe my new hair color is tainting my personality.

Well, I am so in love with all these long layered t-shirts and tank tops everywhere. For the first time ever since being a mom, I can bend over and pick up my kids without mooning everyone or resorting to high-waisted, peg-legged jeans. It is fabulous. I have them in every color and have become completely obsessed with layers. So, although it may appear that I’m taking fashion advice from Avril Lavigne or my kids’ high-school-aged-babysitters, I’m actually just trying to avoid exposing myself as I pick up drool-soaked cheerios off the floor of the airport.

But yesterday I started to get worried. What will happen 10 years from now when layers are no longer in style? I feel very strongly that I will still wear them regardless. So, that pretty much puts me on par with all of those women who still wear their oh-so-popular-in-the-80’s-dorky-mom-jeans. I finally understand these women. They were so excited to finally have clothes that allowed to them to move around in their motherly duties without giving a free show to passersby that they couldn’t let go when low-rise wide-legged jeans came back in style.

I picture my children years from now throwing their hands up in exasperation, “Mom, what’s with the LAYERS? How many shirts can you wear at one time? It’s so embarrassing.” I will likely just laugh at them – my secret little laugh that says, “OOOOhhhh, one day you’ll understand but right now I couldn’t care less if you think I’m a dork.”

Besides, I was always a little suspicious of my friends’ middle-aged moms who dressed exactly the same way we did in Junior High. You know, the “cool” moms? Why were they trying to look like us? Were they attempting to go undercover and infiltrate our society? Because it wasn’t working. You could always tell them apart from the other Junior High kids because they wore way too much makeup and had driver’s licenses.

And think about it. If the kids are teaching the moms how to look, dress and act, who’s teaching the kids?

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I haven’t written about the kids in a few days because they’ve been so darn angelic that I didn’t want to make you sick or have you hate me because you’ve discovered my kids are better than yours. Yorching haters are no fun. So I have another story I can share today brought to you by Little-C being woken up prematurely from her nap by — she says — a “scary monster.”

So obviously I won’t share cookies, graham crackers or other multiple-bite foods with toddlers. It just gets too slimy and you never really know what the slime is. I also learned not to share drinks after watching her eating a cookie while drinking milk from a straw. The milk came up to her mouth white but receded a nice brownish color back down the straw.

But who knew that a bowl of grapes would be off limits too? After the nap today, she begged for grapes but wanted the whole bowl of them out of the fridge. I told her we could share and she agreed. All went well for the first few bites. She would take a grape and then I would take a grape, etc. Suddenly as I popped an average-looking grape into my mouth she let out a terrible wail. “NOOOOOOOO, that’s MY grape. You can’t eat my grape. I WAAAANNNNTTT it!”

What made this grape beloved above all others I’ll never know but there were a few other grapes in the bowl that had the same effect on her. It was like Russian roulette. I’d pop one in my mouth with C looking on and ……nothing. Phew! Another and another…..still safe. But then, “AAAAHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOO! That was MYYYYY grape.” We’re talkin’ real bona fide tears my friends. And, I suppose, real bona fide emotions — for a two-year-old.