Y chromosome

During our first session of the parenting class, a couple began giggling over something the teacher said.  Like any teacher, she was curios over what the joke was.

The Mom: Well, the other day, at the babysitter’s, our son stepped on this huge lizard.  He’s six, and that lizard was HUGE, bigger than his foot.  I couldn’t believe how brave he was.  I wouldn’t have gone near that thing.

The Teacher: I think you need to examine why you’re son felt it was ok to kill something. 

The Mom: ?

The Teacher: Your son decided it was ugly and scary and needed to be killed.

The rest of the class: ?

I related the story a few days later to the other moms at Evan’s kindergarten class as we watched the kids stare at a baby lizard they corralled in a corner.

Me: . . . And what made your son want to kill it?  Um, it’s called the Y chromosome.

We laughed and looked at the boys.  Evan had taken it upon himself to step on the lizard, but he kept missing. 

Me: EVAN!  Don’t kill it!  If you want to do something with it!  Pick it up!  (Pause)  Like I said, Y chromosome.

Evan and Sean Appleseed

I haven’t picked apples since I was a kid.  The family cabin had three apple trees, one twig and two giants.  One late summer weekend, I spent the trip in the branches of one of the giants, eating apples and reading Little Women.

Last year I decided we needed to go to an orchard and pick apples.  But with The Husband’s work schedule, football season, and my lack of motivation, we never went.

This year I was determined to go.  So after a few plans laid to waster, I put my foot down and told everyone we were going, hell or high water.

After driving for an hour, The Husband started to legally represent the children with the adult version of “Are we there yet?” 

The Husband: How far are we going?  Did that sign just advertise a hotel in New Mexico?  Are we going to get there today?  Good job, Fae; we should’ve gone to California.

My husband’s wit is particularly biting and humorous with lack of sleep.

Then we got there.  And the boys were bounding to get out into the fields.  As The Husband hunted for the perfect Golden Delicious Apples, I taught Evan and Sean how to pick with Aidan strapped to me like a ticking bomb.

Me: Ok, you grab, twist, and pull.

Sean reached out and grabbed an apple.

Sean: Twist.

He twisted the apple.

Sean: Pull.

He pulled it off the tree and wandered over to the wagon and the five gallon bucket.  He dropped it in and meandered back.  He picked his next apple and grabbed it.

Sean: Twist.

Sean twisted the apple.

Sean: And pull.

He pulled the apple off.  He wandered back to the apple bucket and dropped in the apple.  Repeat.

Evan, on the other hand, singled out his victim and yanked it off the tree.  He filled his arms with apples plucked from the tree, sometimes with leaves still attached.

Evan: We tried apples at school!  I liked Granny Smith the best!  Can I pick a bunch of Granny Smith apples?  Please!  Hey!  Mommy!  Is this apple a Granny Smith apple?  Is this one a Granny Smith apple?  How about this one?

After Evan held as many apples as he could (around three or four), he ran and dropped the whole bunch into the bucket.  Then he ran back to the trees and yanked more of the trees.

So that’s how we bought 26 pounds of apples.

Any one have a good recipe for apple pie?  Or any other apple recipes?

Recap 9/24

1. Evan finally realized his little brother was sleeping without Pull-ups, and he wanted to too.  It didn’t stop the bed-wetting.

2. Aidan, Evan, and I are very tasty to mosquitos.  More tasty than The Husband and Sean.

3. My boys will grind on anything for weeks without any added stimulation.

4. As scary as it is to be authentic and real face to face with someone, it’s nice when you are able to do it.

5. I’m starting to feel a little guilty for going to hang out with other adults without children.

6. Women LOVE to hear all about relationships, especially when those relationships are having issues to analyze and sort out.

7. Remember Tucson has Autum.  We just call it Post-Summer.

8. Optimism.  Fake it until you make it.

9.  What’s up with a five month old having only a couple of half hour naps during the day?

10.  I swear, my baby spits up all the time.  It’s getting a little annoying.

Who needs sleep?

I’m starting to suspect there’s something wrong with me.  I’m not getting more than six hours of sleep, and I have no urge to nap.  I’m up late with The Husband, and I’m up early with the boys.  With Aidan’s randomly short nap schedule, I’m always on the move.  Even when The Husband was away for the Chargers’ game, I still stayed up late . . . cleaning.

Now I’m no stranger to living on little sleep.  I mastered  it in college, writing papers at 2 am, after everyone was asleep.  Then there were the years of Evan waking through the night.   But I’m no longer as young as I was, and I’m beginning to wonder how bad this no sleep is for me.

I stopped going to bed at a decent time earlier this summer when my world shattered around me.  I feared laying in bed, thinking, analyzing, worrying, and basically driving myself crazy.  I feared nightmares and dreams.  I feared that all I would want to do would sleep for weeks until my soul healed.  I couldn’t do that.  So I worked myself to exhaustion and crumbled into bed to sleep deep enough to forget my dreams when I woke to the first cry or “Mommy” in the morning.

It seemed like a good plan until now when I’m starting to get only five hours of sleep and I feel fine.  Now I wonder if next month I’ll be down to four.  I wonder how this will affect my mind and body.  Will this keep me from making a right choice or react in a helpful way? 

At least, on the bright side, my house looks great, the boys are happy, and The Husband I are actually sitting down and talking about something other than kids, bills, or politics.  And I’m doing some soul searching.  Now if I could only cram more blogging and writing, life would be golden.  Oh, and some more sleep.

A little advice

During the summer, I attended parenting classes that were hosted at my son’s school.  At first I thought they were offered by the church, but it turns out it is a county run program, teaching parents to be better parents.  Holy crap!  A good idea use of public funds!  Lately I felt that would never happen.

Now I didn’t agree a 100% with everything taught.  I’m not how sure that a pure democracy in the household would actually work.  I believe you give children an inch, they’ll take the mile because, seriously, they don’t know any better.  And in my household, The Husband and I are about to be outvoted in another year, when Aidan can actually use his voice.

The class strived to teach us that children are people too with insecurities and pride, intelligence and emotions.  I know.  I was always under the belief that children were like dogs that talked.  Messy, loud dogs. 

All right if you been here a while, you know I don’t believe that.  I actually compare them to raptors or tornadoes.  Usually tornadoes.  But that’s probably insulting.  They do reason, so I’ll try to stick with raptors.

All kidding aside, I did learn quite a few things from the class.

Like:

Pick your battles.  It’s so easy to go into a power struggle with a child.  The teacher would often say, “Just stop and think.  You’re an adult caught in a power struggle with a little child.  Really?”  If it’s not dangerous or crazy, why not let the kid eat with his hands; he’ll learn by example what he’s expected to do.  So she wants to shut the car door; she thinks she’s helping.

Every action has an emotion.  Deal with the emotion.

Husbands can admit they’re wrong.  The Husband went to one class out of six, but as we walked out he said, “You were right about not spanking.  I’m glad I listened to you.”

There was a lot of other stuff to that I have plainly forgotten.  I guess I should go back and read all those handouts.

Now they are doing a new class, and the principal of the school believes in it so much that she’s volunteered to do the child watching (due to church budget cuts, the sitting was cut after the last class).  So last week, The Husband came (and plans to keep going) with me.  We learned to Respond, Not React.  Because when we react, we often don’t act right.  Or we sound like our parents.

Just a little annoying

When the baby thinks he only needs a handful of half an hour naps.

When The Husband isn’t on time for our date.

When Evan tries to rationalize why he should be able to play out of my view.

When I can’t get around to reading other bloggers’ posts.

When I’m trying to find an old post because I know I wrote something I want to quote.

When Sean decides to eat meals at snack time and skip meals.

When wake up to a dirty kitchen I skipped out on because of depression, a headache, and plain exhaustion.

The Sean and Aidan Show

Sean: ABCD.  ABC.  Next time won’t you sing with me.

*~*

Sean:  That’s our baby!  His name is Aidan!  Isn’t he cute?!

*~*

Sean: That’s Aidan!  We got him at the hospital!

*~*

Sean: Aidan wants to play ‘ombies!  He’s a baby ‘ombie!  Brains!

*~*

And Aidan just screams with joy for fun or to be heard over the other two tornadoes.

recap 9/17

1. Sure.  Everyone naps at the same time when I’m away.

2. My laptop is possessed.

3. Matte nail polish is not so matte after two coats of top coat.

4. As a blonde, ultra-pale person, I heart the new fall colors of emerald, sapphire, and amethyst.

5. My boys have learned to sneak food from the pantry.

6. The Husband and I are learning to compromise.  Shocker.

7. I’m surprised how bright life is when you pretend to be optimistic.  Now I know what I’m missing.

8. Of course, I still need sarcasm to get through the day.

9. Evan has learned he has great influence over Sean.

10. Sean thinks he has great influence over Aidan.

B-U-S-Y

How does anyone blog with a baby and toddler home? 

Aidan hasn’t napped the same time Sean has in days.

And if he has, it’s just a half hour.  I think it something to do with teething. 

Or the fact Sean decided to forgo his nap on Monday.  Yeah, that sucked.

YOU WILL NAP!

Damnit.

Sure, I should blog at night.  But that’s when I’m cleaning, organizing, and try to spend some time with The Husband.  Because, you know, I should try to be a good wife every once in a while.  Apparently, husbands think their wives should spend time with them when not wanting sex or playing with the kids.  Go figure. 

Right now, Sean is singing from his bed.  Aidan is playing in his little gym, which he likes for a while and then realizes Nothing is getting into his mouth.  Then he gets cranky.  Which he’s starting to do.

I guess I should be thankful I have one child in school, but he comes home exhausted and grumpy.

The sad thing is it’s children’s music playing in my head that gets me through the day.

I really need to play my iPod more.

recap 9/10

1. I had to take down yesterday’s post because the picture wasn’t coming up in two different browsers.  Stupid Computer Pixies!

2. I’d like to build it up as comic gold, but I plan on still posting it once I figure out the right computer-magic spell.  Then I have to let the public decide on how funny I truly am.

3. Look who’s nearly caught up with all her bloggy friend!  Hey!

4. The Husband makes a pretty damn good dad at times.

5. New, clean, crisp sheets are one of the few things I shave my legs for.

6. AIDAN GOT A TOOTH! 

7. My kids are so weird.

8. Evan confessed to The Husband that the reason he peed his pants at school earlier this week is because he was scared to use to bathroom with all the loud toilets.

9. The Husband is a braver cook than I am, since he tries to invent dishes without any recipes.

10. When happiness costs only a dollar, you buy the cheap, probably-lead-based pirate hat, hook, and eye patch to watch a three-year-old beam with joy as a fierce pirate.