I left the boys playing on my bed as Evan piled pillows up for them to jump into with a bounce. I remembered I needed to check something on the internet. I heard the pitter-patter of little feet and turned to see Sean running into the kitchen to get his juice,
Evan: Sean! Seanny! Se-ann-y! SE-ANN-Y! Sean! There you are! Sean. Come here. Come here, Sean! Come here, Sean. Sean! Come here! I told you to come here! Come on, Sean! Come here! SEAN!
And now you know how I feel, kid.
There’s a reason I don’t blog when the boys are awake. It may take me longer to get around to reading, commenting, and writing, but it’s just not smart when you have a three-year-old and a twenty-two-month old. Sometimes I forget why I have the rule, and I need to be reminded. My dad says it’s the blonde genes coming out.
Yesterday I kept telling myself I’ll just read one more post, make one more comment. Evan, who woke first, was happy to color on the table next to me with markers, telling me what he was drawing and what they were saying. When he grew bored and wandered away to play with cars, Sean replaced him, coloring with glee. It was at this time that I thought I was being a bad mother and decided to play with the boys.
I picked up the markers and brought Sean out to play with Evan and me. Soon after we started playing, Evan let out an “oh my gosh. I need to go potty.” I went with Evan, leaving Sean alone.
I wasn’t gone that long.
So I thought.
I also thought I had put away all the markers.
When I returned to the room, Sean was busy coloring his hand blue. BLUE. Every part of his hand was BLUE. BRIGHT BLUE.
Sean looked up and smiled his huge beautiful smile. “Blue!” He showed me his hand. “Blue!”
I stood still with shock as I stared in horror at Sean’s wet bright blue hand as he sat in the middle of the floor of light tan carpet in a rental home.
Ok, go get the paper towels. I took two steps toward the kitchen, away from Sean.
No! Wait. What if he touches the carpet when I’m getting the paper towels? Where are the wipes? There they are.
I took three steps toward Sean who was sitting near the wipes. He looked at me with confusion written all over his face. I tried to give him a reassuring smile, which might actually have been a grimace. But what ever look I gave him, it was clear that he thought it meant we were going to play “Catch Sean.”
With a big grin on his face, Sean dropped the marker and placed his hands in front of him to get up and run.
NOOOOooooooo!
I crossed the room and picked him up. I stared at the blue handprint stain on the carpet.
I carried him facing away from me to the bathroom, where I scrubbed his hands cleaned. I returned to stare at the stain. Should I run check the magic box for an answer or should I just start dapping it? Windex worked on the nail polish stain. Would it work with markers? What should I do? What should I do? What should-
My eyes landed on the baby wipes. The magical baby wipes that had taken out poop stains, urine stains, even a pen stain. I dropped to my knees and started to clean the stain with baby wipes. Once the stain was almost gone, and I couldn’t get it out any more. I checked the magic box, which said to use hand sanitizer. And you know what? It worked.
And Sean was so curious that helped me blot it out, and then I decided it was time to play outside.
To minimize the risks of accidents I make Evan try when I need to go, so I was a little indisposed when this little gem dropped out of his mouth. Evan played with his Spidermen from McDonald’s as he sat on the potty, pretending to do his business.
Evan: Look, Mommy! My Spidermen don’t have penises! They have butts, though! They can’t pee! They can only poop! But I have a bottom AND a penis! So I can poop and pee! Mommy! You can poop and pee, too!
Is it too early to start making room for that medical diploma?
We’ve had quite the run of bad luck lately. And I mean to stop it.
It began the weekend of the move, when my husband disconnected the cable on accident. When the picture came up the large, old TV just wasn’t the same. It held a blue tint that blurred away when you stopped paying attention.
The next part was my fault as I refused to take the small garage fridge instead of my beloved kitchen fridge that I argued for thirty minutes to get over the stainless. (Stupid stainless with their no magnets.) Finally my husband gave up and searched Craig’s List for a nice used fridge. What luck! He found a deal of a fridge, washer, and dryer all for 900 bucks. Watch carefully.
Next my husband was determined to get the best deal possible on a new screen TV for the new house in Arizona. No amount of persuasion could convince him to wait until Arizona, so he found on Craig’s List a company that was selling TV’s 60 bucks cheaper than Costco’s sale. Are you still watching?
The move went as well as it could except that the owner completely underestimated the amount of stuff we own, and my dad had to go buy more boxes several times.
Then on the way to Arizona, Evan got car sick. The kid never gets motion sickness. But at least he gave us enough warning for my mom to shout that she had a zip lock bag full of goodies I could empty out. Any one remembers The Exorcist? At least I caught most of it, and we were luckily near a rest stop. But I had to deal with it as my mom can’t.
Meanwhile, it seems that the gas dryer we bought wouldn’t work because the house had an electric outlet that our realtor couldn’t remember to tell us.
The fridge was too big to fit into the kitchen, so the men lifted it over the opening over the counter. (“opening” as in it should have been a breakfast bar if it wasn’t wasted space.) The fridge was upside down for five minutes, and after an hour, my dad plugged it in, only to have the fridge start burning Freon ten minutes later.
The TV turned out to have a shadow on it that really isn’t a big deal, unless you’re my husband, who just can’t stop staring it. We have named the shadow “60 bucks.”
After 24 hours of settling the Freon, the fridge STILL didn’t work, after it had been running 12 hours. My husband called an appliance guy who said wait 48 hours. Freon takes a while to settle down.
We found another dryer on Craig’s List, electric this time, and we shelled out another 200 bucks for it and placed an ad for the gas dryer for $200. We got the dryer home to find that the plug didn’t match. It had been a week since I did laundry, and the boys needed socks. Wear the dirty ones; no one will notice.
After 48 hours, the fridge still DID NOT WORK. We shelled out the money to have the appliance guy pronounce it DOA. While I swear I checked the fridge out at the guy’s house, the appliance repairman insisted it never worked as it was missing electrical appliances. F-ing awesome. Luckily, the repair man worked for a company that fixes fridges to resell, which included a warranty. Done.
My dad put on a new plug on the dryer, so I went to do laundry. The water refused to flow into the machine. I hate that guy who sold as the fridge, washer, and dryer; I want his head.
We got a new fridge, which is smaller, a little older, and radiates a loud hum, but I don’t care because it works. It turned out the water wasn’t on to the washer. Hey, it works fine now. Someone bought the other dryer for $150, but beggars can’t be choosers. My dad told me my luck had turned around.
Remember that weird color on the old TV in California? Well, that was the TV, not the cable, so now we have to buy a new one. My husband wanted to buy it on Craig’s List. Just please bring your on DVD player and DVD to check it.
Then I noticed a weird dent in the garage door. It was odd because it looked like someone had backed into a closed garage door from the inside. What idiot would do that? The next day I found out as I backed into the garage door that hadn’t retracted all the way up. Now it wouldn’t go down. My dad came over and helped me close it. After three days of calling and calling and calling the rental place, my dad decided HE would fix it, and he did. “Your luck is changing, Fae. Cheer up!”
Until two days later when the heater didn’t come on, and I was forced to get my husband out of bed and into a hot shower to make it to church not on time. Um, Dad? He rushed over to fix it so his grandsons didn’t freeze. Two days later he came over again with a different fix as well as the day after and the day after that. The door to the heater was loose, which activated the emergency shut off, which we had to find a way around. As of today, my dad fixed it for good. Don’t even say it, Dad.
I feel like tempting fate and asking what will happen n-. But that’s silly. I’m very superstitious. I’m a Catholic, Irish girl. The cards were stacked against me there. Just add some Romani, and I really would be fearful. So I’m determined to change my own luck because I’m hoping God is working on that cure of cancer I’ve been praying about. I’m buying a lucky bamboo. I’ve hung my crosses. I plan on getting holy water to douse the house. I’m in search of a horse shoe. It’s the full moon tonight, which is perfect to leave something out for the brownies. Don’t even make me pull out the big guns and ask my Grandma because I will. My luck will change!
Knock on wood.
It’s St. Patrick’s Day! Or soon it will be. As a Catholic and Irish (ok, I’m an American mutt, but I DO have Irish in me too) girl, St. Patrick’s Day holds a special place in my heart. It has more to do with celebrating my Irish roots than anything else. So here are a few things I did with the boys. Depending on the age and ability of the child, the more the child can do of the activity.
Heart Shamrocks
(Remember all those hearts I made you cut out for Valentine’s day? The boys enjoyed this. I used a glue stick, so that Sean {22 mos.} could glue. I think it turned out rather cute.)
Things you need
§ Green construction paper
§ Heart shaped cookie cutter
§ Scissors
§ Pen
§ White paper (or any color you prefer)
§ Glue
Using the cookie cutter and pen, trace three hearts on the green construction paper. Cut out the hearts as well as a strip of paper for the stem. Have the child glue the hearts with the points together on the other sheet of paper, creating a shamrock. Glue the stem where the points meet.
Stamped Heart Shamrocks
(It was easier to get Evan to stamp the hearts. Sean preferred to smear the paint around. At least it was green. The boys had a lot of fun with this. Anything with a mess.)
Things you need:
§ Smock
§ Paper
§ Potato
§ Knife
§ Green paint
§ Paper plate or pie tin
§ Paint brush
Take the potato and cut it in half width ways. Carve out a raise heart. (Yes, it’s easier said than done.) Place the smock on the child. Pour some green paint in a plate. Have the child stamp the hearts points together creating a shamrock. Using the paint brush, the child can paint a stem.
Green Carnations
(Oscar Wilde believed green carnations were the perfect flower because they were so artificial. While Wilde was not Irish, green carnations are found everywhere on St. Patrick’s Day. Evan and Sean loved helping, though Sean didn’t want to leave the flowers alone. This can be potentially messy. This is also a great way to explain how flowers get water.)
Things you need:
§ White carnations
§ Vase
§ Green food coloring
§ Water
Cut the stems on the carnations at an angle. It’s best to do it at the nub. Remove all stems that may be under the water. Fill the vase with water. Have the child add a couple of drops of food coloring. The darker the water, the darker the color of the flower. Have the child place the flowers into the water. After three to four days, the carnations will have turned green. The longer you have the flowers in the water, the more color the flower will have.
Coffee Filter Shamrocks
(If you’ve read my crafts, you know I’m big on coffee filter crafts. This was easy, fun, and messy, just the way my boys like it.)
Things you need:
§ Shamrock cookie cutter or template
§ Coffee filters
§ Scissors
§ Pen
§ Markers (green or blue and yellow)
§ Smock
§ Water
§ Paint brush
§ Bowl
Flatten out the coffee filters, using a book or something heavy. Trace the cookie cutter or template onto the filter. Cut out the shamrock. Place the smock on the child. Let the child color it with green markers or with blue and yellow to come out with green later. Have the child paint the shamrock with water. Allow the shamrock to dry.
Spiral Snake
(One of the most popular story of St. Patrick is how he charmed the snakes out of Ireland. The truth is there have never been snakes in Ireland, and that snakes represent the Druids, and given the track record of my church, I have a feeling that he drove them out violently. But Evan wanted to make a snake, and it’s a cute story, when you don’t know the truth. The boys had fun decorating their snakes, and then they had fun running around with the snakes trailing them. The fatter your spiral, the smaller the snake. Don’t make too long of a snake or it’ll break. I got it here: http://www.enchantedlearning.com/crafts/animals/spiralsnake/)
Things you need:
§ Construction paper (whatever color you want your snake)
§ black marker
§ crayons or markers
§ scissors
§ string
§ tape
Draw a spiral with the black marker on the paper. Make sure the beginning of the spiral is large as this will be the snake’s head. I had my children color first, but older children can color the snake after it is cut. If your child is proficient with scissors, have the child cut along the spiral. Tape a piece of string under the snakes head.
If you’re wondering why all the shamrocks around St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll tell you. Yes, there are a lot of shamrocks on Ireland. But it is said that to explain the three-Gods-in-one concept, St. Patrick picked a shamrock, held it to the crowd, and pointed out how there where three leaves but one shamrock, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Please let me know how you liked the crafts.
Evan: Oh my gosh! Ohmygoshohmygosh! OH MY GOSH! I have to go potty NOW!
We’re in the middle of Costco. The very middle of Costco.
Me: Ok. I’m putting you in the cart, so we can go fast.
Evan: Ok!
I placed him in the cart and start jogging down the aisle.
Evan: I want to try that!
He’s pointing to a hummus sample bar.
Me: Later. I thought you had to go potty.
Evan: Oh my gosh! I do!
We got to the registers, where I looked for an out of the way place to ditch the cart. If I wasn’t already half though with the shopping, I would have abandoned it in the aisle. I pulled out the boys. Pushing Evan ahead as I wrestled with Sean’s new passive resistance technique, we managed to get into the restroom in the nick of time.
I shoved Evan into a stall, shutting the door behind us. I placed Sean on the floor and helped Evan pull down his pants and unders. I lifted the seat to realize the door was hitting my rear. I turned to Sean, who was trying to make his great escape.
Me: No, Sean. We’ll leave in a second. We have to close and lock the door right now.
I locked the door and turned to Evan to find – HE’S PEEING ON THE WALL! Are you kidding me?!
My mind reeled with all the stories of how disgusting men’s bathrooms are. How my brothers couldn’t pee in the toilet. How my husband talked about a ballpark’s restroom floor covered in piss. How the first time ck ever commented was to say women who pee on seats should be cursed with children who refuse to potty train. Not that I pee on the seat but that I will have to potty train my grandchildren because my son is so irresponsible.
I grabbed his hand and penis and pointed it to the toilet.
Me: (whispering sternly in his ear) Evan. We DO NOT pee on walls. We pee IN potties. Do you understand?
Evan: But I created raindrops!
Me: (through my teeth) I. Don’t. Care. WE DO NOT pee on walls. If I catch you doing that again, you will not be able to pee standing up anymore.
Evan: Ok, Mommy! Look, I peed in the potty! Don’t flush it until I leave!
Like the good woman I am, I cleaned up the piss before we left. I herded the boys back to cart to find that they already sent everything back to be re-shelved. And I thought about leaving.
Me: New plan. Everyone in the cart. No one complains, cries, whines, or hits, and I will buy the churro AND the berry smoothie. Everyone got it.
Sean is teething, which is the toddler equivalent to PMS. Add to that Sean was upset that he couldn’t go outside with his Uncle M to feed the dog. Sean is a pouter. His temper tantrums include him falling to the floor, face first, sometimes crying. Sean had yet to fall to the floor, but he was pouting. Evan, being the tormenting older brother he was, couldn’t help let the opportunity go by without getting into Sean’s face and being . . . well, a brat.
So Sean did what any naturally pissed off, irritated, annoyed person does when confronted with a bully.
He hauled out and punched Evan in the face. When I mean punch, I mean Sean cocked his fist back and threw his weight behind it. Evan landed on the floor.
For a minute the world stood still, and the four grownups, Papi, Uncle M, Daddy, and me, didn’t know how to react.
A family story reemerged.
T was T, which is to say T was a tormentor. He tormented me from the moment he could crawl, and then when M was born, well, it was just one more child to torment. T just knew how to get under people’s skin, could see the weakness, knew this would get him attention. So one day, T picked on M, who was just a mere toddler, over and over, ALL DAY. M was a good natured little guy, enduring it with the fortitude of a rock, until the evening. T was at M again, which probably wasn’t smart as M was as big as T, though two years younger. Then in the midst of the teasing, M pulled back his fist and cocked T in the face. My mother felt her hands were tied as T really did have it coming.
I wanted to laugh but knew it wouldn’t help.
Papi: Sean. It’s time for time-out.
I snapped to action.
Me: Sean. That was a wrong decision. That was not nice. Now you have to go into time-out.
I scooped up Sean and placed him in the make-shift time-out chair. I set the timer for a minute and half. Turning towards the crying Sean who was being reminded to stay there by Papi, I saw Evan going in for the kill as now Sean was a sitting duck. I swooped in and sent Evan to play with Uncle M, rather than taunting his imprisoned little brother.
At the end of the time-out, where amazingly Sean stayed sitting the whole time, I placed Sean on my lap and told him I loved him and that he needed to hug his brother.
Sean went toward Evan to hug him. Evan raised his arm, holding a stuff dragon. I stuck out my arm to block the blow before it hit Sean. Evan’s momentum kept going, sending him face first into my arm. With a wail, Evan shouted “MOMMY HIT ME!” DON”T HIT YOUR BROTHER.
Begun, the clone war has.
It was a beautiful day in Arizona, a day that the news channels predicted rain, a day that there was not one cloud to blight the bright blue sky. Since, my husband had come in the night before, missing the whole week with the family, we decided we should take the boys to the park.
Evan sprinted to the playground the minute his feet touched the ground with his father trailing him. Sean also sprinted in his wiggle-waggle way, pumping his arms side to side instead of back and forth, so I was able to walk along behind him, allowing him to feel the wind created by his run. Evan jumped off the concrete guard into the sand, yelling for his father the join him on the slide. Sean noticed Evan had cleared two green balloons, slowly leaking helium.
Sean waddled over to the balloons. “‘Loon! ‘Loon!” He bent down to investigate the green balloons, still round with air. The wind started to push the balloons away, and Sean stood up to watch. Then he bent down and snatched one balloon.
He intended to grab the second balloon, but the wind wouldn’t allow it. The balloons were still knotted together at the end of the gold ribbons. As Sean walked to grab the other balloon, the wind kept the ribbon taunt. The balloon lay a mere foot away from Sean’s outstretched hand. Sean walked; the balloon floated away. No matter how stubborn Sean was to catch the balloon, the balloon was just as stubborn not to get caught. Walk, float. Walk, float.
Finally Sean gave up, leaving the balloon to its own devices. He turned and walk towards me holding out the balloon for me to inspect. He noticed a tug and turned around to see the other green balloon had followed him. He took a step, and the balloon floated behind him. Step, float. Step, float.
Frustrated by the whole event, Sean handed me the balloon and pointed to the ribbon that chained it to the partner balloon. I tried to pull off the string with no luck. I fumbled for my keys and the pocket knife linked to them, leaving the balloon in Sean’s capable hands. As I tried to flip out the scissors, Sean yanked, pulled, tugged on the ribbon, until it flipped off the balloon. The balloon inflated to a rubber pool, leaving Sean in disbelief. He looked up at me with puppy dog eyes, and I braced myself for his now all-too-famous crying temper tantrum.
“SEANNY!” Evan called from the top of the slide. Sean turned around and ran to his brother.
She’s doing it again.
“You want to fold it like this. If you hold it like this, it’ll go more smoothly.”
I CAN DO THIS. I can do this WITHOUT your help. WITHOUT your judging. WITHOUT your criticisms.
And I remember. . . .
She’s judging me again. I can never remember seven times eight. T always does, and he’s younger. Now she’ll see I’m crying because I can’t remember and we went over this a hundred times. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I know this. I know this. I know this. C-O-N-S-I- That’s not right! I can see it in her face. I misspelled it AGAIN. Why am I so stupid? I’m tired. I want to go to bed. I don’t want to stand here and spell out the words AGAIN. Stupid tears. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Damnit. Why does she have to judge me? I did it right. Sort of. Why can’t she just let me do it my way? I just want to finish it. Stupid badge. If she wasn’t the leader, it wouldn’t matter if it was perfect or not. I’m listening. Can’t you tell? I thought I did it right. I did it the way she told me to. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I’m trying! I can’t get this. I don’t care how I got the right answer. I got it. Stupid math. I’m not like her. I’m not good at math. I’m not going to work during the school year like you. I’ve got too much to do. No, I don’t get it. No, I don’t want to go to school early AGAIN because I need help. Why do you care any way? It’s late. I’m tired. I don’t get it. It’s stupid. Now, I need to wipe my eyes. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I KNOW!!! I went yesterday and today! I don’t know why I can’t get a job! There are no more openings. Why are you so mad? I’m trying! I failed! I know I did. I know I can’t stay in school if I don’t get a job. Yes. I mean no I don’t want to come home. Don’t you realize yet, woman, that I miss you and you’re wasting our twenty minutes yelling at me. Yes, I called them twice. I don’t know why I call. I don’t know why I have to cry every time we talk. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Before I got defensive, before I raised my walls, before I stopped listening, I noticed how my mom held the blanket I was trying to hem. I listened to her voice. I really listened and realized she wasn’t judging or criticizing. She was trying to show me the best way. I’m not a kid any more, so I swallowed my pride and laughed at my mistake.
“Thanks, Mom. I think I got it now.”
I was cleaning up the countertop as Evan went potty on his seat. I turned to find Evan was not concentrating at all on the task at hand, but he was learning that his penis made a great substitute for a joystick.
Me: Evan, stop playing with your penis. Go potty. You only play with your penis alone in your room.
Evan: Sure, I do! I play with my penis with my friends!
Me: (One eyebrow raised) No, you don’t. Go potty.
