Am I Going Mad or Am I Just a Mommy?

The Weakest Link

Scene: Inside a crumb-strewn Toyota Sienna smelling vaguely of the remnants of a spilled and forgotten sippy cup.  The vehicle's five occupants are getting restless while sitting in traffic on the Southeast Expressway.  MSM is at the wheel and has placed a temporary embargo on any and all kid tunes.  Other occupants balk at listening to Pixies and Arcade Fire.  Failure to compromise= stereo off.

Gramma Brenda and CeCe (age 2 yrs, 9 months) sing (for the thirteenth time, mind):

Rock-a-bye, baby
In the treetop
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall
And down will come baby
Cradle and all

CeCe: Gramma?  Why is cradle up in the tree?

Gramma B: I don't know, CeCe.  That's not a very smart thing to do is it?  Why is the cradle up in the tree?

CeCe:  Gramma, that's dangerous! The baby will get an ouchie!

MSM:  Yeah.  What kind of  stupid git...er, I meant to say what really silly person, would put a baby in a cradle and stick it up in a tree?

Gramma B: That's a pretty silly thing to do, come to think of it.  Who would do a stupid thing like that?

CeCe: I know who!  A man!

That's mah girl!  Two years old and she has it all figured out already.

Lampshade Wearer in Training?

I think someone may have OD-ed on Goldfish crackers and apple juice.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I am a little biased, but I think my two-year-old Ce Ce speaks exceptionally well for her age. We rarely have to ask her to repeat herself, and if we are ever stumped, her four year old brother is there to assist.   We do have to interpret occasionally for those who aren't accustomed to her speech patterns. 

Unfortunately, what I am about to recount was not one of those times. 

While browsing through the produce department of our local supermarket recently, Ce Ce was especially excited.   Perhaps this has to do with the fact that she is a fruit fiend, or that the bakery department with the free cookies for kids was nearby.  (The free cookies are no longer- damn economy!  I'd like the CEO of Hannaford to have to wheel my tantrumming children around just once to understand what impact this has had on mothers everywhere. But again, I digress.)

All of a sudden, Ce Ce started gesticulating madly and shouting "Dawa!  Dawa!" cookie crumbs spewing out of her mouth.  "What's that sweetie?" I responded. "Please don't talk with your mouth full."   She persisted as we passed the tomatoes and the bananas, shouting and struggling to stand up in the cart for a better view.  "Mommy!  Dawa!  DAAAAH WAAAAA!!!!"

She finished her cookie just as we came upon the display of red and green grapes.  She clapped her hands, grinned and then pointed again, this time at the grapes.  Evidently we had arrived at the object of her desire.  Grapes.

"DIARRHEAS!"  "MOMMY, I WANT DIARRHEAS!" Cece exclaimed, clear as a bell while waving madly at the grapes..

Oh, how I wished she still had cookie stuffed in her mouth!  I burst out laughing, and sheepishly glanced around the produce department to see if anyone else had heard.  About nine or ten people were chuckling to themselves.  One man looked like he was about to double over with laughter.  

Quickly I bagged up some grapes and headed far away from the scene, only for it to happen again in front of a display of raisins in aisle 3.  

As I drove home, I tried to recall how many times I had warned my kids not to eat too many grapes and raisins at one time.  I have wiped too many bums far too often as a result of grape/raisin overindulgence.

I guess I can no longer complain that my children never listen to my advice.

In case you were wondering, grapes and raisins are still "diarrheas" in our house.  I think I will be a little sad when she stops calling them that.

  
 

Genetics 101

I guess it's official....

Baby C takes after her Daddy. Toys, shmoys!  Give me my Wall St. Journal! How did Baby Food Futures perform today?

How come I get the kid who likes to stick foreign objects into his bodily orifices?

  

Playing SuperMom

Rough night last night.  For me, at least.

With lucky SuperDad blissfully hopped-up on Nyquil, I had no choice but to transform myself into SuperMom.  It's not a role I do well. I slide into the role of Martyr Mom way too easily.

Yes, a multitude of challenges confronted SuperMom last night, starting at around 2 am. It was our usual pattern, recognizable to SuperMoms everywhere:

- Baby C crying.   I leap out of bed to the rescue.  Don't worry, baby!  SuperMom is on her way!

- Stumble in dark down long hallway, accompanied by affectionate Pee Monster trying to trip me.

 - Binkify baby. Rewind. - Binkify baby again 10 minutes later.

- 20 minutes later: Now where's the flippin' binky gone?

- Sigh.   Feed baby, burp baby,  get new binky.   Plug her up.

- Bathroom break.

- Stub toe in darkened hallway.

- Get attacked by Pee Monster, who swats at my ankle.  Daring new tactic since previous tripping attempt was unsuccessful.   ( He drew blood, by the way.) Oh, do be quiet, Martyr Mom!

- Lock furry nemesis out of  bedroom.

- Reclaim tiny section of bed and scrap of duvet  from SuperDad.

- Lay awake for 2+  hours trying to think of something brilliant to write today.

- Ah, glorious slumber!

My well-deserved rest was not all that restful, as it turned out.  I awoke in a cold sweat shortly thereafter, my heart pounding, with the word "NO!" still on my lips.   I'm not quite sure if I yelled or even spoke it aloud.   SuperDad still lay comatose beside me.

A nightmare.  Bits and pieces of it still remained in my mind.  I was tied to a track, with a gigantic train barreling down on me at top speed, its evil eyes piercing the night.  Its sharp teeth were locked in a fierce snarl, its whistle, a demonic cackle.   It was at this point that I woke up.    As I lay wondering what triggered this dream, I remembered a particularly challenging paper I wrote in graduate school.  When my brain still worked. It was a study of the train metaphor in La Bete Humaine, (loosely translated as The Beast in Man), by Emile Zola.  Zola uses the image of a train as metaphor for man and society during the rule of Napoleon III (1852 to 1870) .  When gripped by the passion of his inherent primitive nature, man is not unlike the train depicted in the novel's closing passage.   In this terrifying scene,  the engineer and conductor are thrown from the train during a fight and are crushed under its wheels.  Like a wild beast without a rider, the train gallops down the track shrieking and spitting fire, towards its final fate. This must be the terrifying image from my dream! Somewhere in the mushy muddle that is my mommy brain, I had recalled something of my pre-kid life!   

I went down to the kitchen, and as I prepared my coffee Ibegan to wonder if all was not lost after all.   As I drank it down, I cast my eyes around my not-so-tidy dining room, still scattered with presents from RJ's recent birthday party.  This is what I saw:

The birthday cards...

the popcorn and rice snacks....

the Thomas Pocky and vegetable puffs (actually quite yummy!) And who could forget the Thomas backpack, lunch box, plate, utensils (pictured on the Thomas place mat), and last but not least, the portable Thomas chalk/whiteboard? Not pictured: Thomas DVD's, Thomas candy, wooden and cast-iron trains

 

Wait a second!  Come to think of it, maybe that train in my nightmare was blue...


Okay, I guess my bad dream was not the product of some painstakingly researched paper of days gone by. I hope that part of my brain is not gone for good!  Sadly, I have no choice but to concede that perhaps an extremely generous and slightly overzealous grandfather and his girlfriend are solely to blame.  Gee, thanks guys! If it's all the same with you, I think I'll sleep with one eye open tonight.

 

 

Cough, Snort, Sniffle, Whine

Okay, I've tried not to complain, but now I'm finally saying it: we are a sick and tired lot here at Six Flags! We have been like this all week, RJ, Baby C, SuperDad and yours truly.  Luckily for him, SuperDad only felt less-than-Super for 2 days and seems to be over the worst. The rest of us with no immune systems are not faring as well.   RJ is coughing his head off, poor Baby C is wondering why I keep trying to suck her brains out, and I sound like Selma from The Simpsons.  Only the Pee Monster (who takes great pleasure from sitting on my head and waking me up at night,) has been spared.

To make matters worse, Baby C is still teething with no end in sight.  She has decided to resume her 3 am feedings, and when she is not eating, she is crying.  We've tried everything we can think of to alleviate her discomfort and get more sleep for ourselves.  What we need now is a Radical New Approach, and preferably one that doesn't involve a "Free to Good Home" newspaper ad or duct tape. I love Baby C to bits, but right now I don't like her very much.   It hurts me to say that. This too shall pass.

Happy 3rd Birthday to Our Little Man!

This has been a hectic and exhausting week in our home, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that the weekend can't get here fast enough! Oh, I forgot: we are supposed to be getting our house ready to put on the market. I guess we won't be relaxing after all.

Three highlights stand out for us this week:

First, Eldest celebrated his 3rd birthday, complete with chocolate cake at home and mini whoopie pies for all at school. What is a whoopie pie, my Canadian family and friends ask? (I know, there was once a time when I wondered the same thing myself.) Enlighten yourselves about these delectable treats! I think he's figured out birthdays= presents + cake, but every time someone wished him a "Happy Birthday," he'd say "Happy Birthday" in response.

We gave him one of the coolest kid toys I've seen, and the good news is that (for once) he's as delighted with it as I am! The pictures aren't of the highest quality, but you can upload them to the computer, and could probably drop the camera from the top of a 3-story building and not break it. Here are some shots by our little Ansel Adams genius:

His Shoe

Little 'Sis Looking On

 

Second, Baby went to bed last night on her back and woke up on her tummy for the first time! She can already go tummy to back. What a prodigy!

Third, this week, we celebrate our 7th Wedding Anniversary (for those who are saying "Huh?," I am referring to our INS-required City Hall ceremony). I'd post a picture of that, but I don't really feel like looking at myself 13 lbs thinner. (In my defense, that was before 2 children!) Love you, sweetie! Don't expect a gift for 2 more months though....