Toddler Playdates: A Guide

Tips:

1. Be a laid back mom.  The house will be destroyed.  Every toy will be pulled out.  There will be screaming, yelling, hitting, and grabbing.   There will be a mess.

2. Find another laid back mom. Your child is going to scream, yell, hit, kick, steal, and act like every other toddler.  While you will manage the situation, you don’t need to do it with someone glaring at you.  She will, of course, manager her destructive toddler.

3. Toddlers don’t share.  It’s best to have two of everything because as soon as one child touches a toy, the other child needs that toy.  In Aidan’s case, he stood, pointing at the other child, screeching “MAMA!  MAMA!  MAMA!” until the problem was solved.

4. Toddlers have short attention spans.  They will play with every toy and then through it when they are done.

5. Have snack.  The toddlers can’t scream if their mouths are full.

6. Offer the other mom refreshments.  As much as alcohol would help, it will dull reflects that are needed when one of the toddlers decide to throw a heavy plastic toy into the face of the other toddler’s face.  Offer chocolate.

7. Be prepared for the destruction.  If you’re lucky, the other mom will help put away toys too, and perhaps the toddlers will actually help instead of dumping out the toys as soon as they are away.

Alternatives:

The Park. 

Pros: No mess to pick up.  Lots of room for the toddlers to play.  Screaming and yelling drift off in the breeze.

Cons: No extra food and drink.  Lots of room for the toddlers to wonder off together.  Other parents the toddlers will try to mooch off of.

Final Tip:

The only way to have a successful toddler playdate is to find a mom that is fun to hang out with and gets toddlerhood.

Words from the boys

Sean: Mommy, can you buy me Lucky Charms?  They’re on my diet!

(Note: Their father discusses what’s on his diet.)

***

Sean: Mommy!  Did you you hear that big noise?  Do you know what that was?  That was me cleaning up my toys!

(Note: Without being asked!)

***

Sean: Mommy!  I have a big hug here!  Do you want it?!

Me: Of course.

(He had his arms clasped behind his back and threw his arms around me to give me a bear hug.)

***

Me: You’re one of my favorite boys.

Evan: I am?!

Me: Yup!  Do you know how many I have?

Evan: THREE!

Me: Yup!  I’m pretty lucky!

Evan: What aren’t Uncle Face and Uncle Friendly Giant your favorite boys too?

Me: Um.

(I’m just glad he didn’t ask about his father.)

***

Evan: Can you buy me a night cap?

Me: I don’t think they make them anymore.

Evan: Ok.  I’ll just wear my pajama pants on my head.

(Your guess is as good as mine.

***

Aidan: MOMMYYYYYYYY!

(Ok, so it’s not clever.  But when he runs at me with his arms wide out and yelling that, it’s damn cute.)

(This post was written three times on three different topics/stories.  I blame the kid laying down, whining that he didn’t want me to read to him.)

The Librarian

On Saturday I had to (had to, had to) go to the library.  It was the last day to use canned foods to pay off library fines.  Once a year, I tend to forget I have books and then keep them a week or two longer.  So sad.  But I love the canned food drive week.  I donate to a good cause and pay back the library.  Win-win.

After Aidan’s nap, I packed up the boys and headed out.  The boys stared at The Lego Club designs for a good five minutes, planning what they would build next time we go.  Actually Evan was planning.  Sean was picking out the Lego people he would hunt for next meeting.  Aidan was running around and around the display case, forcing himself in between to cases.  Finally, I grew bored and shooed them into the library. 

Since the ogling took so long, both librarians were busy.  I stopped to wait as Evan and Sean perused the kid section next to the desk.  Aidan made a bee-line for the rest of the library.  I scooped him up and held him as I waited my turn.  Being nearly two and incredibly independent as well as believing he is six, Aidan through a temper tantrum, hollering and thrashing in my arms as I ignored it.

A man, being “helped” by a librarian, as she scurried around the library for him as he stood at the desk, turned around and glared at me.  He stood there, glaring at me. Just two feet away.  Not one to be intimidated by jerks, I glared back.  All the while, Aidan is hollering.

The other librarian became free after a minute and called me over.  I set Aidan down in front of me and explained why I was there.  As soon as he was set down, Aidan stopped throwing his temper tantrum and wanted up again.  Of course he does, he was two the next day.  I paid my fines and wished the librarian a good day.  She smiled and did the same.

I walked into the children’s section and told the boys that they could pick out a DVD and some books.  As Evan and I scanned the titles, Aidan was thrilled to pull out DVDs off the shelves.  I replaced them right back where he got them.  He then turned to a shelf of books, which I stopped him.  He turned back to the DVDs, and I reshelved.  He went back to the books.  Honestly.  That’s enough.

I told him no.

And he acted two and threw a temper tantrum.

Yeah.  Right.

“You may not pull out the books.  Throw your temper here and be done with it.”

With the screaming and hollering time seemed to speed up as I scrambled to put away all the DVDs and the few books.  Are you kidding me?  After what felt like five minutes to me, but surely was only two minutes to the rest of the world that didn’t have a screaming toddler, I decided the hell with this, let’s retreat.

“Boys.  We’re going.  Put things away.” 

I bent down to pick up the last book.

“Here.  I’ll take that.”

I hadn’t heard that tone since Catholic school.  Icy, displeased authority.  I never handled that ton well.  As a meek Catholic school girl, I would do as told with angry tears pricking my eyes, wishing to avenge myself.  Until eighth grade, then I would smile a sharp smile and do as told.  My way with a jab.

I wasn’t meek anymore.  I straightened up and looked into the eyes of the librarian that was scurrying back and forth earlier. 

And I knew she was there to ask me to leave. 

“Thank you,” I replied in a sweet, dangerous voice.  Please ask me to leave.  Please.  I’m a single parent with a screaming toddler, no idea what to make for dinner, and haven’t had a parent break without errands since the third weekend in March, and there seems to be a war on women and motherhood and toddlers.  So please ask me to leave.  I’m ready for a fight.

Ignoring the librarian, I picked up Aidan who lowered the volume a bit. 

“Come on, boys.  We’re going.”

I walked past her without a glance, screaming child in my arms, two tornadoes trailing me.  As I walked by the library desk, the man was still staring, glaring at me.  I shot him a look to kill as I marched past him.  Near the exit, a woman shot me a dark look.  I gave her a look right back.  It’s possible that I might have stuck out my tongue.

I wish she had said something.  God, I wish she had.

Because I would have said, “Seeing that this library has quite a few board books and picture books as well as toddler story time, I naturally assumed toddlers were welcomed.  If toddlers are welcomed, then an occasional tantrum is to be expected.  Seeing that we are in the children’s section and all, I think we’re in the safety area.”

My first thought of revenge was to never go back to that library again.  But then I realized that would do no good at all.  I’ve decided we’re going back to the library a lot more.  A LOT more.

It’s official. He’s two.

Two years ago, on April 14th, at about 11:45pm, I started freaking out.  It had become very obvious I was going to give birth on April 15th.  I’m pretty sure I demanded the labor be stopped at that point, suggesting we start again in 24 hours.  Pain will do funny things to your brain.  Who wants to see what I say when I get a tattoo?

But “apparently” pitocin can’t be stopped.  I think they didn’t want to try.  And then hearing the ex and my mom proclaim my son would be an accountant!  If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’m sure I would have found something to fling at them.  I probably would’ve missed with the IV and the belt and all.  But I would have had *some* satisfaction.

Yup, my littlest dude was born on April 15th, and now he’s two.  Though he’s been acting Two for months now.

Some random facts about Aidan:

1. It took well over a year for his angel kiss birth mark to fade away.  But you can still see it when he gets mad.  That gene came from me.

2. He’s a towhead.  While my brothers and I were all blonde as children, my mom was the last towhead in the family.

3. He now has to sleep with 5 boardbooks, a mama shirt or two, a teddy bear, and a baby quilt. I’m not sure how there’s room in the crib for him.

4. He’s starting to talk when he’s playing by himself.  babble-babble-babble? NO.  babble-babble-babble?  NO.

5. He has finally started to eat meat.  He’ll eat hot dogs and chicken cashew. 

6. He loves watching cartoons and video games.  I feel like a failed parent.

7. He has yet to sit in time out.  I’m pretty sure this means I’m a failed parent.

8. He likes to take the boys’ toys, smile at the boys, show them, and then run off.  He’s a brat.

9. He adores his brothers.  It’s their hands he wants to hold when crossing the street.

10. He has to help me put things in the grocery cart, unload the grocery bags, and unload the dishwasher.  I’m still trying to figure out how helpful this really is.

 

If you’re just dying to know how Aidan entered the world, here it is.  Happy Birthday, little man!  Hold on tight, this year is going to get rocky.

P.S. Yes, I did want to write and publish this yesterday, but I was in detention.  More on that in a post coming soon.

Favorites

When asked who are mother’s favorite is, my brothers and I respond different.  They say me.  I maintain its Face.  When she is in the room, we all say a different sibling.  Because it’s fun to irritate my mother.  But truly it’s Face.  “But he was in trouble the most!  I punished him the most!” my mother says.  True, but if I had done any of the things he had done, I would have been locked up in a convent until I was 18.

When we are asked about our dad’s favorite, we all look at each other and shrug.  I don’t know.

***

When talking to other moms, the discussion of favorites comes about.  Usually to deny favorites or secretly admit them.  I always boasted, “Aidan’s my favorite!  He can’t run away or back talk!”

Guess what.  He can.  Which means I need a new catch phrase.

“It changes from minute to minute.”

***

Evan: You look like a zombie.

He was immediately demoted to below his brothers.  Since it was the *Very First* thing he said today, he was demoted beneath my books, chocolate, and hot showers.

Sean: Wow!  Mommy, you cleaned the whole house!

He was immediately my favorite because it was said without sarcasm and with enthusiasm.

Aidan ran and hugged me.

He was immediately my favorite.

Evan: Mommy, you make the best breakfasts!

Evan was immediately my favorite.

Evan: Mommy, your tummy is bigger than daddy’s!  You have a fat tummy!  (Evan was immediately demoted under his brothers.  Again.)

Sean: Mommy, you’re fat!  (Sean was immediately demoted with Evan.  If we had a pet, they would be beneath the pet.)

Evan: And you have a fat butt!  (Laughter from both boys)

Sean was demoted beneath books, chocolate, and hot showers.  Evan was demoted beneath books, movies, all desserts, hot showers, and Disneyland.

And in *my* defense, I am NOT bigger than the ex.  I do NOT have a bigger gut than the ex.  And my pajama pants make my butt look big.  AND all of this happened in the first hour of the day!

My Mom: Well, in their defense, Fae, you could stand to lose five to ten pounds.

My mom was now demoted beneath the boys, my father, my brothers, my sister-in-law, my friends, and my favorite grandma. 

Sean: HUG!  (He wrapped me into a bear hug.)

He was now my favorite.

Aidan hugged me.

He was now my favorite.

Evan waited until the boys are doing something else and hugged me.

Evan: I love you, Mommy.

Evan was my favorite.

Look at that.  Three favorites.

And my mom is still demoted.

 

 

22 months

Aidan lifted up his shirt and patted his belly.  “BELLY!”

He toddled over to me, pulled up my shirt, and patted my belly.  “BELLY!”

No, no, not belly, baby.

Um, oops. 

“Good job, Aidan!  Belly!  You’re right!”

A few weeks ago, it felt like ghosts of memories were rising from the floor as Aidan toddled around, ran after his brothers, babbled, and threw things.  He was a tornado.  Just like his brothers.  22 months crystalized in my head what a toddler was like because of the major events in our lives at that time.

When Evan was 22 months, I was hugely pregnant with my best friend back in my life and a marriage on the rocks.  Evan carried around a little flashlight, counted to 16 by 2s, said his ABC’s perfectly, and played like he was 8 because his best friends were 10.  Evan would stand at the living room window waiting for “Osh” to come outside, getting up early to wave goodbye as they left for school and standing there in the afternoon waiting for homework to be done.  “Ucy” lived next door to “Osh,” and when Evan came running to play they toned down their games and let him join them. 

Now I look at Aidan, weeks away from two, and he is bound and determined to be 6.  Whatever Evan can do, Aidan can too.  Aidan caries around his Mama Shirt or teddy bears or cars.  He’s babbles more and more.  Words are popping out of the babble more and more with Evan excited to translate.  He’s even translating right and what Aidan actually wants.

When Sean was 22 months, we moved to Arizona to a house less than half the size with the agreement that the ex worked 2 weeks in AZ and 2 weeks in CA.  I have blog posts to document the tornado in action.  He carried around his blankie.  The first week he had his own bed, he went to bed early by himself.  Anything Evan could do so could he, including sports, riding bikes, and crafts. Some ventures turned out better than others.  He liked cars and toy people, spending hours on end playing with toy people, placing them in cars and driving them about.  He made up stories and worlds, content to play by himself.

Adain gets to play with toys that should be to advance for him.  But he loves playing with the toy people and trucks.  He can be perfectly fine sitting there playing with his toys.  Unless I’m cooking, and then  he has to help.

Like the other stages in their lives, I like this one the best.

Clicking into place.

I’m a little off this week.  I got knocked off my game, and I’m still trying to jump in.  I can’t fall asleep.  We’re late for school drop off and pick up.  I’m late to make dinner.  There are still errands to run and surprised purchases to make.  The boys are throwing fits and whining.  Aidan adores the word “no.”  I’m taking too long to get to chores, and chores are taking too long to do.  The weeks of smooth sailing have hit choppy water, and I’m at lost to make it through.  I feel rushed and stressed and stretched and klutzy.  But I know I can do this. 

In the chaotic whirlwind that tosses me around, I pick up Aidan to carry him.  I stop and look at the side of his face as he stares out to see what is ahead of him.  He’s beautiful.  He’s perfect.  Just like his brothers.  Everything clicks into place.  I can do this.

The New Dictator

I have secretly called Sean “The Dictator” for almost three years now.  My parenting teacher says I can’t do that because labels make people, even if I never say it, and he’ll still know.  Seeing that his asperations now are becoming a Sith Lord, I think the decision of being a dictator was never in my court.

But Aidan has become pushy.  More and more so.  He’ll pull my hand to where he wants me.  If I don’t budge, because I’m doing something like making dinner, he’ll get behind me and push my knees.  Which is quite effective, since I don’t like falling.  He treats everyone to the same demands.  We’re all just dolls for him to move where he wants us, to get what he wants.  But unlike Sean, Aidan’s requests are usually very sensible.  Juice, snack, ball, car, play with me, turn on the TV.  Ok, the play with me is hard when I’m cooking dinner.

Last night, as we froze because winter swung back around my little area and we were at Evan’s baseball practice, Aidan took great delight in pushing Sean around.  Aidan grabbed the back of Sean’s jacket and nudged him.  Sean thought it was a great joke and allowed to be pushed wherever Aidan went.  They discovered it was the best when they rammed Sean into me, and I played the clown.

Then I read this post from when Sean was the same age.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.

The Other Foot

Six years ago.

I was invited to be on a panel discussion, talking about religion and marriage.  One main discussion point was if it was ok to marry someone outside your own religion.  I represented the Roman Catholic view point.  Only half the panel was married.  I was the only one, who not only dated men outside my religion but married someone outside my religion.  I shocked most of the panel, and I was shocked by them since I was raised in a two religion household.  Nothing shocking.  Just two different versions of Christianity. 

I felt my best moment was when I kept an interested, unskeptical look on my face when one panelist declared that she didn’t need to date since God has already made her soul mate and He will bring that man into her life when it was time.  I was sure she was confusing the Bible with some fairy tale.  I could see how that would bring confusion.  She, on the other hand, could not wrap around the idea of marrying someone who was not of my faith.  “But how can you grow closer to God without your husband sharing that relationship?”  “How can you grow stronger in your faith if your husband doesn’t help you?”  “But what of the children?  Won’t they be confused?  How will you raise them?”

Good question.  And I answered that one too, pointing to my first-born son in the arms of his father in the back of the room. 

As I listened to another panelist, one that didn’t think I was insane and going to hell, the ex held Evan up a little and pointed to the door.  I nodded.  I understood, even when he tried to text me a moment later.  He was taking Evan home; it was past the poor little guy’s bedtime.  It was really sweet of the ex to come and bring Evan.

I finished up the panel, answered questions from the audience, gave an interview to the university’s newspaper reporter, and caught a ride with a friend home.

When I got home, I listened to the ex’s tale of woe of dealing with a baby, trying to keep him content and quiet, understanding it all since I too had been there.

The ex: So then I realized he had a dirty diaper.  So I took him to the bathroom.  There were no changing tables!  I started looking for a place.  I couldn’t find one anywhere!  I ended up rolling the stroller outside and changing him there.  It was an explosion!  It was a four-wipe mess!  Poop everywhere!  I finally got him cleaned up and decided to put him in his jams.  He moved and struggled and yelled, and finally I was able to get him zipped up.  I picked him up and realized something was wrong.  I held him.  I patted him.  And then it dawned on me, I forgot to put on his diaper!  I then unzipped him, fought with him, and finally got his diaper on and zipped him up.  It was hell!

Me: Wait.  You forgot his diaper?

And then I laughed.  And laughed.  What idiot forgets to put on a diaper on a baby?  And I laughed.  It was a great story to tell to other moms while the men were grilling and drinking beers.  And we laughed.

Until yesterday.

It was the morning crunch time.  I was almost ready for the day.  Evan and Sean were at various stages of ready.  My God, I hated nagging, yelling, stressing.  I grabbed Aidan who was running around and laughing, trying to play “Catch me if you can.”  I tossed him on the changing table and pulled out a few clothes out of the drawer. I took out his feet out of the pajamas and took off the diaper.

Me: Diaper rash.  Hold on, kid.

I ran to grab the Aquaphor out of the boys’ room.  That stuff is great for mouth sores and dry hands as well. 

Me: Sean!  Get. Your. Pants. On.  NOW!  EVAN!  What are you doing?!

I walked back into the nursery.  I pulled Aidan off the light switches, laid him back down, dressed him quickly, and put him on the floor to toddle after his brothers.  I looked at the time.  Actually, not bad.  Considering.

For some reason, they jammed through the last of the routine as Evan realized that if he hurried he could play a video game for a few moments.  Which I shouldn’t allow.  Because when it was time to leave, everyone dragged their feet to get their backpacks, lunches, and shoes.  We were back behind schedule.

I grabbed Aidan. 

Me: You’re wet.  Very wet.

I ran my hands down his very wet pants.  That made no sense.  I patted his butt.  Crap!  Crap, crap, crap!  What idiot forgets to put a diaper on a toddler?

 

The third one

We stood there, three moms watching the chaos of the playground.  They had a general eye on the situation and their children.  I had a general eye out for my boys, but my focus was on the toddler who thought he could do the climbing thingy.  But as always, I’m calm, radiating a confident laid-back air as I watch Aidan, suspended three feet up, reaching for a rope rung.  I knew he wouldn’t reach it.  I knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to climb the spiderweb.  He didn’t know it yet.  And knowing my youngest child, who believes he is as big and talented as his older brothers, he was probably going to try it and fall.  I was close enough to be  at his side the moment he hit the ground.

Compatriot Mom (just because she’s up for anything I suggest and I’m up for anything she suggests.  Well, almost, she’s still trying to convince me that it would be a great idea for us to get drunk and play miniature golf at midnight.  I say we should skip the alcohol and go and bring The Flip.):  He’s going to fall, isn’t he?

Me: Yup.

Walking Mom (because we go walking three days a week or actually we plan to go walking three days a week but then there’s sick children, school meetings, volunteering, errands, so we can’t go as often as we like.): You’re pretty calm about this.

Me: Yup.

Compatriot Mom: Good job, Aidan.  That’s a boy back up.  He’s a smart kid.  You’re so easy-going.

Walking Mom: It’s the third one.  With our first one, we sterilized everything.  We got the bottle just at the right temperature.  We kept him from touching trash at the park.  We coddled him.  The second one.  Nothing was sterilized-

Me: Don’t you need to do it just once?

Walking Mom: We’d pull the bottle right out of the fridge.  We told him to drop the trash when he picked it up.  My husband said if we had a third, we would just dump the formula and water in the kid’s mouth and pick him up and shake him.

Compatriot Mom: Totally.

Me: No.  I was always like that.  Evan was like 10 months when we took him to the beach the first time.  We were sitting under the umbrella and he shoved a fist full of sand into his mouth.  I thought, “Fine, he’s tried it; it tastes gross; he’ll stop.”  Then the kid was grabbing handfuls and handfuls throwing them into his mouth as fast as he could.  I just stared.  I dialed my mom and said, “Mom, how many handfuls of sand should I let Evan eat?”  My mom said, “None.”  “Oops.”  And she said, “You know, birds poop on that sand.”  AHHHH!  “STOP!  STOP!  STOP!”  Yeah, my dad still asks, “How many handfuls of sand should you let a baby eat?”  And then he laughs.

The other moms just stared at me.

Walking Mom: So the apple core thing was just another day for you?

Compatriot Mom: Apparently.