I Live with Smaller Versions of Rainman and Monk….

Small people have the dubious task of growing up to be big people.  The process is both amusing and frustrating to both them and any innocent bystanders.

We marvel when small people begin to show signs of advancement – oh, he rolled over, oh, he is sitting, oh; there she goes – crawling….milestones to be enjoyed.  Soon they are walking and talking, just like little people should.  With these advances, comes joy and yes…the destruction of any remaining adult brain that the parents might possibly have held onto.

It began simple enough.  Davey started talking.  He would listen carefully and repeat words and phrases.  Stupidly we encouraged this behavior, like so many other unaware parents.  Eventually he understood that he could just say what he wanted rather than go through the elaborate pantomime hand gesture/grunting routine.   Not to be outdone, Alivia followed in her big brother’s footsteps and soon was asking for things as well.   And they did…again, and again, and again….

“I want strawberrberry milk…I want strawberryberry milk…I want strawberryberry milk…” accompanied with a tiny “More milk pease…more milk pease…more milk pease…” over and over again.  The soundtrack of my life at the moment.  Apparently it is not enough to ask something just once, it must be repeated in triplicate over and over again until some deranged adult finally responds “YES-YOU CAN HAVE MORE STAWBERRYBERRY MILK BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT!!!”  Even then it must be repeated at least one more time, just for emphasis.   And this goes on ALL FREAKIN’ DAY!! 

For this reason we began to refer to Davey as Rainman.  The hubby threatens to teach him to say “Wapner at 5” and “Kmart Sucks” on a regular basis.  Although I suspect he is beginning to understand that this would come back and bite him in the butt if I didn’t do it first.  And yeah, I did teach him to say ‘Ello Poppet! which he does with a perfect British accent – your welcome mom!

We then began to notice a new behavior.  I have these mums planted along the sidewalk in front of the house.  One afternoon I noticed that Alivia would carefully touch each plant as she walked down the sidewalk.  Soon I began to notice both kids would exhibit this gesture on a regular basis, not just with flowers but other random objects.  I was at a loss for words when one day the hubby said “Monk”.  Boom – that was it…we were living with small versions of Rainman and Monk.  Personally, I suspect that thinking of them in this way keeps us from totally losing it, because man – that gets annoying REAL fast.  And naturally they both know it and use it to keep us off-balance.  (Not hard at this point)

I have been assured that such channeling of these characters is ‘normal’ for small children and I shouldn’t be concerned.  I can’t help but wonder what the next phase will bring.  Perhaps Davey will show up one morning wearing an old beat up raincoat, clenching a cigar in his hand and muttering the words “Just one more thing, ma’am” in a very Detective Columbo-like manner... 

A Simple Act of Thank You...

When I was around 3^rd or 4^th grade, we lived in an area that consisted mainly of student housing.  My parents both worked at the university while my father was in the process of getting his Masters and PHD.  There weren’t a lot of kids in the area, and those that were there were years beyond age in most aspects.  Being an only child with parents who both worked, I grew up pretty quick.

I was what was commonly referred to as a Latch-Key child.  I always found that amusing since 1, I never actually had a key, and 2,  I don’t think any door on our house had an actual latch.  Bottom line was that my parents worked, and I was raised as a small adult.  I came home from school, left a note of where I was at, made sure I was home by 5 pm, and only called my parents in cases of emergencies.  I knew my limits and being somewhat responsible, adhered to them without any issues.

Of course I knew about talking to strangers, not accepting candy, never getting into strange cars, all the horror stories parents tell their children.  I was also raised to be polite, respect my elders, and most importantly, use common sense.  (Yeah, I don’t know what happened – I used to be such a nice kid!).

One afternoon, I was outside playing in the yard.  It happened to be a weekend so my parents were home.  My mother happened to be sewing in a little room off the dining room.   We lived on a corner, about two to three blocks away from a student apartment complex that happened to house many foreign students, the majority of which were Asian and Indian.   A young man was walking along.  He saw me playing and after a moment came over to speak to me.  After several attempts in broken English, it became clear to me that he was looking for this complex.  I managed to get across to him that he was indeed going the right direction, and that he didn’t have that much farther to go.   He thanked me and went on his way.  I didn’t think much of the exchange and went on about my business of saving the universe from some villainous person whom I have long since forgotten.  (I’m pretty sure I was successful in case you are interested.)

About a half hour later, the young man appeared again.  He came over to me and after another exchange in broken English, I began to understand that he wanted to give me something.  Not sure exactly what to think, I told him that I would have to ask my mother.  He nodded and waited while I went and got her from the sewing.

It turns out that this nice man had been looking for this apartment complex for some time, and for whatever reason, had been given wrong information by people who thought it was funny.  He almost did not stop to talk to me, but decided to try again.  Because I had not only given him the correct directions, but I had been nice to him as well, he wanted to give me a gift to say Thank You.  Since my mother said it was ok, I accepted. 

This gift turned out to be a small picture.  In a cheap 3x5 frame is a tiny scene lovingly created by some unknown person.  On black cloth, tiny rice leaves were used to create the image of a small house with a mountain in the distance.  I got the sense that there is water between the house and the mountain, but that could be my interpretation of the scene.  He had three different pictures, one in blue, one in green and one in red.  I don’t remember if they images were different, but I do know that I chose the red one after careful inspection.  We thanked each other again, him for my kindness and me for his. 

Years later, I still have that picture.  I have carefully moved it along with my other possessions.  It usually resides in a spot that is not necessarily hidden away, but not really out there for everyone to see.  For some reason, I have kept this lovely picture for myself.  As time has passed, I consider it to be one of my most prized possessions.  It still sits in its little cheap frame, although the stand broke off the back long ago.  I found a little wooden holder to allow it to sit on a shelf.  If never occurred to me to get a new frame.  I’m not sure why, other than the fact that he put it in this frame and therefore this frame ‘fits’.  The red is not as brilliant as it once was, but in my eyes, it is still as vibrant as it was when the man handed it to me. 

I do not know the young man’s name.  I never saw him again after that brief encounter.  All I know is that one afternoon, long ago, two people who didn’t know each other managed to perform a simple act of kindness.  So, to that young man, whomever and where ever you are, I still have and cherish your gift.  And I thank you…

Remembering....

Today is 9-11

I wrote that on my Facebook status and just kind of stared at it.
I heard and saw comments today about how people were already tired of the “remember” postings.  Mostly from younger people, some of whom may have been alive and some not even born yet. 

There was a time when I would have thought the same thing.  I remember when I was very young my parents watching the Watergate hearings on television.  I was too young to understand what was going on, and my only concern was “why can’t I watch cartoons?” 

The events of September 11^th were probably the first overwhelming event that I ever really connected with, for lack of better words.  I did not know anyone personally; all though the home offices of the company I worked for were located in New York and I had contact with several of them through the years. 

I was closing that evening.  Normally I would have slept in however the dogs had different ideas so I was up and moving at my normal time.  The television was on CNN as my husband had it on before he left for work.  I had never been a big news watcher, but for some reason when I came back from walking the dogs I did not change the channel.  Instead I fed the animals and sat down on the couch.  The first plane had just crashed into the first tower.

Like many others, I thought I was watching a video of somewhere else.   The sound was low so I wasn’t really hearing anything, but I didn’t change the channel.   It finally dawned on me that no- this was not some other country, not some movie.  I turned up the sound to hear details, and within seconds the second plane hit the second building. 

I remember going numb.  I remember calling my husband.  I remember calling the girls at work to check on them.  I remember staying glued to the television as much as I could as I got ready for work.  I remember getting the call saying that the mall was closing, and told the girls to just count the registers and go home – not to worry about anything else…just go home.  I remember the unusual silence when I walked the dogs as very few cars were on the highways.  I remember the oddly clear sky as no planes were flying.  I remember the stillness outside as everyone was inside watching the events unfold.  I remember trying to process the magnitude of what had happened.

There was a time when I was like so many others, wondering why everyone was so caught up in ‘remembering’ events that happened in the past.  I would get bored of listening to the speeches, watching the recaps, hearing all the ‘I remember….” comments.  I don’t know why events before 9-11 didn’t change that thought process in me, but I do know that afterwards I stopped questioning why people had to have those ceremonies, whether private or public. 

So to those who still wonder why everyone makes a big deal out of all the ‘remembrance’ postings/interview/speeches/ceremonies…I can only hope that you never have an experience that changes that thought.  And to those who have had that moment, I now understand.

·         American Airlines Flight 11: Left Boston's Logan Airport at 7:59 a.m. enroute to Los Angeles with a crew of 11 and 76 passengers, not including five hijackers. The hijackers flew the plane into the North Tower of the World Trade Center at 8:46 a.m.

·         United Airlines Flight 175: Left Logan Airport at 8:14 a.m. enroute to Los Angeles with a crew of nine and 51 passengers, not including five hijackers. The hijackers flew the plane into the South Tower of the World Trade Center at 9:03 a.m.

·         American Airlines Flight 77: Left Washington Dulles International Airport in Virginia at 8:20 a.m. enroute to Los Angeles with a crew of six and 53 passengers, not including five hijackers. The hijackers flew the plane into the Pentagon at 9:37 a.m.

·         United Airlines Flight 93: Left Newark International Airport at 8:42 a.m. enroute to San Francisco, with a crew of seven and 33 passengers, not including four hijackers. As passengers attempted to subdue the hijackers, the aircraft crashed into the ground near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, at 10:03 a.m.

How Does She Do It?

I never expected to be a parent this way.  Like most people, I figured I would find the right guy, we would settle down and eventually have a kid to warp.  I did it the ‘right’ way – found a nice guy, dated him, got engaged, then got married.  However when it came time for the kid, fate had other ideas.  After a while, you get to the point where you decide – well, no kids for us – let’s have pets instead.

Then comes along a friend who whispers in your ear, “Have you ever thought of fostering/adopting?”  And stupidly you think, “Hell, why not?”  Next thing you know you get a call one morning, and then you find yourself staring at a tiny person a few hours later.

Your first reaction is ‘OMG!  There is a BABY in my house!” followed quickly by “OMG!  There is a BABY in my  house! HOLY SHIT!”

Eventually you come to grips with the tiny person who has invaded your life.  Just when you think you got the hang of it, you get another call and WHAMO – there is ANOTHER baby in your house.

With those calls came the inevitable “How do you do it?” comments.  Well, truth be told, I have no fucking idea.  I would love to tell you “I am super mommy/wife/woman who can handle any shit you throw at me without batting an eyelash, running a stocking, or breaking a nail.  I am Betty-Freakin’-Crocker and Martha-Effing’-Stewart on acid so bring it on!”  But guess what?  I am not and never will be anything even remotely close to the wife/mommy/woman of perfection we were told about in fairy tales of long ago.

I am not the parent I thought I would be.  I scream, yell, cry, have tantrums that rival my two year olds, walk around wondering if I am fully dressed, and if so how much of what I am seeing is powdered donut, snot or god knows what else?  My floors are not spotless, the only dusting that happens on a regular basis is when the three year old gets hold of a wipe and proceeds to take a swipe at the cat, and my lock picking skills are at an all-time high.  Don’t open my cabinets unless you relish seeing my attempts at baby-proofing – which roughly translates into “I emptied out the silverware drawer and shoved in the hall closet so the kid wouldn’t decide to take up juggling sharp knives for fun so be careful when you open the door”.  I don’t know what non-sticky furniture is anymore and just be grateful that the smudges on the window are from snotty noses and sticky fingers rather than someone mooning the neighbors with a shit-covered butt that was recently freed from her diaper unbeknownst to mommy and daddy.

My idea of “me” time consists of me literally sneaking off to the bathroom so I can pee in peace while hoping at the same time that the kids are not duct taping the dog to the couch with that roll they cleverly found while practicing their trapeze act from the ceiling fan.  Eating out involves ketchup packets and happy meals – which by the way are a lie – there is no happiness in those little fuckers despite the advertising.  Current events for me include discussing potty training successes and failures with other poor helpless parents who find themselves in similar situations. 

And still I get the occasional “wow, you are amazing” and “I can’t imagine how you do it” comments.  I think they are meant as praise and encouragement.  I don’t know if I am ‘amazing’ but I can tell you that locking one’s self in the mini-van in the garage occasionally does contribute to what is left of one’s sanity.  That and secretly hiding that Ben & Jerry’s ice cream from every known person on the planet.  And let’s not forget the occasional stop where you manage to sneakily purchase that cheese cake and devoured it in one sitting.

I would like to say “It’s those tiny adoring smiling loving faces that make it all worth while”.  I would like to say “I do it for the children – they are what is truly important”.  But in truth, I think it is the Sara Lee coffee cake I ate between the grocery store and picking up the kids from day care that kept me going.  Yeah, I ate the whole thing in like, 15 minutes.  And no, I didn’t share.  And before you think of giving me grief about it, consider this little shred of wisdom that the hubby shared with the three year old:  “Leave mommy alone or she will pop your head off and drink your blood.” 

And that my friends, is how I do it….

Then and Now…

We bought our house about 7, maybe 8 years ago.  I come from a family of renters.  I personally moved every 4-6 years of my life.  My parents bought their first home when I started High School, so I was pretty familiar with renting and all that comes with it.  My poor husband never really moved until he married me, and then was thrust rather rudely into the world of pack-it-up and move-it-out.  After several years of marriage, several moves through various cities, towns, states, we finally reached a point where we could think of settling down and buying a house.

We lived in the area for almost 1 year exactly when we came to that decision.  I happened to be on vacation, and decided that was as good a time to start looking as any.  Being a realistic person, I figured it would take at least a year to find something we would even consider, let alone go through the process of buying.

It started out simple enough.  I looked at various listing in the local papers and online.  I also took note of several places with signs out front, crossing each place off the list for various reasons…too small, not enough yard, not the right location…all pretty normal.  I finally came across a house that was listed for sale.  The description, price, location and size were enough to convince us to take a look.  So, on that fateful day on my vacation, I made the call.

Turned out the house was not meant for us.  Built in the 20’s, it still had knob and tube electric, complete with the cloth covered wires and Christmas Story fuse box.  There were other issues but basically it was a no-go.  However, our Realtor, a lovely lady, had caught that whiff of “If you find it they will buy”.  Taking note of our wishes and our willingness to do some work, she was hot on the trail – looking for that ‘perfect’ place.   As it happened, she had about 3 other listings that peaked our interest.  We arranged to get together to see them.  As luck would have it, I managed to get hold of my father, and he agreed to come up to take a look with us – to give us some insight on issues that we might not see.  (Dad has done some construction work on houses we lived in as well as a part time job when he retired.)

Again, the first couple of houses were ok, but nothing to write home about.  Finally, the Realtor suggested a house that came on the market that morning…it was further north than we were looking, but it had land – something we wanted.

They say when you find the house you are meant to buy you know it.  It is true.  The minute we walked in the house, all I could utter was “oh my  god” over and over again.  From the minute we walked in the house I knew exactly what furniture would go where, what curtains to hang, what color to paint…it was all there.  Needless to say we bought the house and were moved in within two months of my initial “lets look at houses” moment.

Is it the house I had imagined I would be living?  Nope.  Not even close.  Is it the house I dreamed of?  Again, nope.  But I love this house.  Every perfection, every fault, every inch, I love. Slowly we are making the changes that make it the house of my dreams, but if we changed nothing  at all I would still love this house.

While we were in the process of buying, I came out to the house while it was being inspected.  I took several pictures so that I could let my mother and my in-laws see the house.  I came across those pictures the other day.  This evening, after the kids were asleep, I wandered around the yard, taking new pictures of the outside and find myself comparing them to the originals.  I find it amazing how much things have changed in what I think of as such a short time.  Equally amazing is how much has not changed. 

We moved into this house with 3 cats and two dogs.  Today, only one of the original cats is still with us.  We still have 2 cats and two dogs – as they replaced themselves as animals will do.  We have added two small children into the mix as well.    Had you told me years ago that I would be living in this area, in this house and with two children, I would have laughed in your face.

But now I could not begin to imagine being anywhere else…

And in case you are wondering, I still love this house…

The Air is Turning Blue…

Every parent has their own version of their little angel/darling/precious sweetie pie smiling that oh so charming smile right before they spout out some very un-charming dialogue and the worst opportunity possible.    And everyone tells themselves the same lie of “my child will NEVER do such a thing”. 

Yeah, right.

Ok, I have been married for years and have a pretty good idea of what sets the hubby off on  a tirade of verbal assault that can make grown men weep.  And I myself can get a good stream of obscenities going when provoked…who am I kidding – I swear like a sailor when pissed off.  Regardless, I never had any illusions that any child in our care would not be subjected to the occasional swear word.  Nor did I ever think that said child would never repeat those occasional swear words…in fact, I not only expected it , but knew it would happen at the most inopportune time.

Mr. D came to us a couple years ago, and has had the wondrous fortune to ride with the hubby.  This means he has been subjected to Mr B going from mild mannered super daddy to Gwar the uncouth barbarian of the road at the drop of a hat.  And yet he never seemed to show any sign of acknowledging that fact other than to look wide-eyed in wonder.  I should have known then….

There has been the occasion questionable word pop out now and the, but we were able to laugh it off and convince ourselves we heard it wrong.  Until the F word.

It started innocently enough…Davey was playing with toy cars, balancing one on top of the other.  Sometimes the cars would cooperate, sometimes not.  Finally, after balancing car A on car B and having it fall off yet again,  he casually uttered the F word in the midst of his tiny child conversation and continued on as if nothing happened.  We were stunned.

“Did you hear that?” we whispered to each other.  “Yes, I did” we would reply.   

We basically ignored the occasional word, even though we noticed it happened a bit more often.  Actually we had a good giggle out of it because not only did he would use the word in the proper context but with no emphasis at all….he could have been telling you that he wanted to wear his superman shoes today, it was all so matter of fact.  But bottom line was we tried not to make a big deal out of it.

Then came the day when I came home after working late.  I opened the door to have two small children hurtle themselves at me, shrieking “Mommy Mommy”.  No sign of daddy.  Finally he appeared.  The look on his face told me it had been a rough evening. 

“They are swearing at me.”

“What? Who is swearing at you” I asked in confusion.

As if on cue, a tiny voice happily sang out the word “B*CH”.  Only this time it was little Miss A.   To which her brother happily chimed out “DON’T SAY THAT WORD”.  Yeah, I could clearly see how the evening went.

Again we tried to ignore the words, only stopping to acknowledge that they weren’t nice words and could hurt people.  These two are big on “will it owie” – guess that is a standard concern when you are small and have no idea how to control your body when you are trying to run/twirl/skip or switch directions without notice.  Hell, I’m an adult and I often wonder in terms of “will it owie”.

Jump ahead to earlier this week.  I cheerfully went to pick up the kids from daycare only to be met by the first teacher. 
“Davey  said some bad words today.” 
“Oh?” I said.

“He called his teacher an F’ing B.” she said.
“Oh my”  (Yeah – I was pretending to be shocked – so sue me).
“Then he washed his own mouth out with soap.”

Ok, that did surprise me.  We have never even threatened to wash anyone’s mouth out with soap.  First off we can’t do that as foster parents, second, it never occurred to either of us, and as far as we knew he had never encountered even the threat of having his mouth washed out with soap. 

Second teacher – “Davey called me an F’ing B today.  Then he ate soap and said it was ‘ucky’.”

By the time we left daycare, no fewer than 4 people had told me of my darling boy’s expanding vocabulary and newest parlor trick.

That evening the hubby and I discussed the situation.  We both vowed to be more careful of our speech (yeah  - too little too late).  The only thing we could come up with for the soap episode was a recent attempt to lick the bubbles  during bath time.  Not sure why he connected that to language but hey, he is three and who knows how their little brains work.

The next morning, before heading into day care, I went through the list of things Mr D was to try not to do…”no pinching, no hitting, no biting, and no bad words.”   In the past this technique has worked for the little guy.  He dutifully nodded  in agreement, smiled and marched off to day care…muttering “Don’t say that word”…I knew I was doomed.

Sure enough – it was reported that the “f’ing B” words made several appearances.  I asked the day care teacher what she did when he said them.  “Well, I tell him he shouldn’t say those things” was the reply.

“That’s it?  You don’t put him in time out?” I asked.
“Well he starts flailing around – I’m afraid he will hurt himself.”  She then stopped and hugged the demon child, telling him “Be good tonight”.  I was floored.

The next day was more of the same.  “I don’t know what to do…what do you do at home?” I was asked.

“Well, we put him in time out.” 
“But I am afraid he is going to hurt himself.  He has such a fit and starts flailing about.”

I stared at this young girl.  “So he hurts himself…trust me…he will stop.  Put him in time out – show him you mean business.  Otherwise you are going to be fighting this for a long time.”

The next day I picked him up.  “How did it go today?” I asked.

The girl looked sheepish and reported that he had done it again. 

“Did you put him in time out?”

“Yes”…she seemed so proud.  Then she frowned.

“And what happened?” I asked – fearing the answer.

“Well, he got mad at first. Then he sat there and muttered…”

“And….” I prompted.

“He muttered very quietly then started yelling.”  She said.

“What was he saying?”

She frowned again.  “Well he was saying the FB word….and he smiled when he did it.”

Once again I dutifully told Davey not to say bad words, explaining that they aren't nice and it hurts his nice teacher's feelings.

Once again he smiled at me like I was an idiot.  "Don't say that word" he whispered.

"B*TCH" whispered his sister....

Like I said…we are doomed…..

The Toothpaste Blues...

Two small children, ages 2 and 3 make life interesting.  Potty training is an Olympic event, meals are summit meetings and bedtime is everything from a walk in the park to all out war.  And yet we still manage to enjoy moments of pure joy and randomness.

Take for example the other morning.  Mornings during the week are an event in their own right.  Since we both have to leave early in the morning, things get a little hectic when you add two children who each has his own agenda.  As it happened, last Friday I had taken off work for a couple of appointments.  In one of those rare the planets have aligned moments, I did not have to get up before the crack of dawn, and was looking forward to getting a little extra sleep.  I should have known the kids would have other plans.

For once, both kids managed to sleep the entire night in their respective beds.  Ah the joy of such a little thing as to have one’s own bed for an entire night – I was beginning to think it was something I had imagined.   Even the dogs and cats were cooperating – no whining, no barking, no random meows to disturb us. 

At about 5:30, we both awoke to random babbling.  Let me mention that there is a baby monitor in the 2 year old’s room.    We both heard her babbling away, and slowly realized that the 3 year old was actually in there with her.  The two were having one of their many child-like conversations that only they understood completely.  Pretty soon we heard the not so stealthy pitter patter of tiny feet followed by swiftly running feet.  In the darkened room I could barely make out the determined face of a tiny girl, clutching her blanket as she climbed with purpose onto our bed and made her way to the pillows.  She promptly threw herself into the mass of fluff and announced with no uncertain terms “More Milk” as she settled in, a huge grin on her face at her cleverness. 

In the meantime the 3 year old stood on the trunk at the bottom of the bed.  I could tell he looked odd but couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what was off.  Then I realized that he was completely naked from the waist down.  Having been the one to put him to bed the night before, I knew personally that he did not start out that way.  “Where are your undies?” I asked.  He smiled at me like I was an idiot.  Heaving a resigned sigh, I got out of bed and said “Let’s go to the potty” to which he happily scampered off the trunk and toward the bathroom.

We have a baby gate on our bathroom.  Too many things of great temptation are held within, and to be honest I want to prolong the inevitable issues that come along with toddlers and toilets.  As I moved to lift the 3 year old over the gate, it registered in the back of my mind that his rubber boots (covered with space ships) were carefully placed just outside the gate.  I set him down and told him to go potty while I noted the pajama pants on the floor.  I headed off to his bedroom to grab some clean undies and clothes.  Back in the bathroom, I found him standing by the toilet.  “Go potty” I said. 

“Don’t want to potty” came the reply.  “Go potty” I repeated, as I placed his potty seat on the toilet and lifted him on to it.  “Where’s your undies” I asked – not really expecting an answer.  To my surprise he simply said “I put them in the trash.”  Sure enough, when I looked into the trash can, there was a pair of pull ups.  It was then that I noticed that the tub looked strange….it was blue.  At this point the 3 year old stood up and announced that he was done and requested his toilet paper.  Then I looked at him… I mean REALLY looked at him.  His hands looked pasty, and when he turned around I couldn’t help but notice his butt was as blue as the tub.  Slowly it began to come together in my mind. 

Apparently he had awakened and realized that he was wet.  Being a clever guy, he knew enough to head to the bathroom.  Why this required his spaceship rubber boots I am not sure, but when he reached the baby gate he had enough sense to remove them so that he might climb the gate.  He then ditched his pajama bottoms, tossed the wet pull up in the trash, went to the potty and carefully put his potty seat back in its rightful place.  He then looked for soap to wash up with, but instead came across his toothpaste, hence the blue tub, hands and for whatever reason butt.  I then found myself sticking him in the tub to clean up, getting him out just in time for my alarm to go off, alerting me that it was time to get p and get moving. 

I am happy to say that aside from a minty-fresh smelling bathroom and my extra sleep plans being thwarted, everything turned out fine.  I also want to mention that toothpaste is at the top of my grocery list…

The Weirdness of Children...

They say the mind of a child is a wondrous thing.  I say the mind of a child is a weird thing.

Recently we began that age old dance better known as ‘potty training’.  At about two years old, Davey began showing great disdain when it came to dirty undies.  Between this and his interest in what the other kids were doing in the bathroom at day care, we dutifully trooped out and purchased a small potty seat that could also double as a little footstool.  After a lot of inspection and serious discussion, he eventually figured out what the potty chair was for and how to use it.  It didn’t take long before he announced that he wanted to potty in ‘the big potty’ so another trip to the store was in order to purchase a seat that would allow him to do so. 

After much trial and error, it was decided that it was time to attempt ‘big boy undies’.  Some generic training pants were purchased, a multi-pack of your basic blue, striped, and car motif underpants.  After a few trial runs, Thomas the train and Cars themed underpants joined the others in the undies drawer.  Strange discussions, like “You don’t want to pee in your Percy (train) undies do you?” and self-proclaimed declarations of “No pee on my cars” became common place.  Overall, with the exception of nap time and ‘nighty night’ time as well as the odd accident, Davey managed to keep his new found treasures clean and dry.

During all this time, Alivia began to take interest in all the commotion.  She too began to show interest both at home and at day care.  Her “what I did today” sheets began to reflect that at least once a day she would “try” to use the potty along with her fellow toddlers.  A small pink potty chair and a princess potty seat were purchased and we began to let her explore the wonders of the potty.

Being a smart little thing, much like her brother, she was quick to figure out the process – or at least her version of the process.  Step 1, pull down your pants.  Step 2, remove your diaper.  Step 3, sit on the potty.  Step 4, clap your hands and say “Yay!”   Simple enough. 

On a couple of occasions, she managed a dribble or two.  Enough for us to clap and express words of encouragement.    Then came the demands for ‘a tissue, a tissue’.   This was followed by ‘soap, soap – scrubba scrubba – dry dry dry’.  Tears were shed if she was not allowed what she deemed ‘enough time’.  (Let me specify – enough time to Alivia could be anything from a couple of seconds to 30 minutes of her sitting on the potty, jumping up, sitting on the potty ,etc.)  Although the will is there, the functionality still evades her overall.  But not for lack of trying…

This afternoon we arrived home from day care.  As per the routine, Davey is herded from the van to the bathroom.  As usual, Alivia stood outside the door muttering ‘a poopy a poopy’ before wandering off down the hall.  In an attempt to prevent the inevitable tantrum, I placed her pink potty chair out in the hallway and then began dinner preparations.  This seemed to appease her majesty, and peace reigned throughout the land.

Dinner was ready and Davey was seated at the table, ready to declare that he ‘didn't like dinner’.  As I was setting the plates on the table, a small whirlwind buzzed into the kitchen, flung a pair of shorts and a diaper onto the table then buzzed out of the kitchen.  Davey and I stared at each other, stunned.  A few minutes later the whirlwind was back….this time hauling a little pink potty chair.  She set it carefully down on the floor and then proceeded to plunk her little pink butt on the potty chair, carefully placing her hands in her lap and sitting there smiling demurely.  All very lady like.  After a moment, she leaped up and ran over to her chair, demanding “Up Up”.  Again Davey and I looked at each other.  He shrugged and said “Baby sit dere”, indicating that she was ready to eat. 

It took me about 5 minutes to stop giggling at the tiny pink potty chair and the naked baby butt running around the table, demanding to be fed. 

“Have I told you two that you are weird today?” I asked.

Davey eyed me and in a very serious voice said “Yeah”

Moving Forward

As many of you know, we are foster parents to two children.  After two years, the parents recently signed their rights away and we have begun the process of adoption.  Let's just say it is long overdue.

With the news of the parents signing their rights away, many of our friends and family expressed joy and excitement over the result of the Termination Hearing.  The people who came to testify were also happy with the result...ok thrilled may be more accurate.  For most of those individuals, this had been a very long road.  Everyone involved was emotionally, physically and mentally tied to the case.  It was their hard work and tireless efforts that helped get us to where we are today.  I can only imagine the frustration they went through based on our own experiences.  The emotional roller coaster that one goes through is not something anyone can really explain or understand.  Each case is different and I wouldn't dare insult anyone by saying I know how they feel...I can only sympathize.

Despite the outcome - which, don't get me wrong, was what we had hoped for - I couldn't really feel as excited or joyful as those around me.  I kept thinking that I had just watched two people's lives being utterly destroyed.  Again, I know that in the end the bottom line was that these two could not or would not do what was needed to keep their children, but even so it was not a pleasant thing to watch.

I listened to several hours of testimony from, well everyone involved with the case.  I listened to 'mom' answer questions put to her by the judge to verify she understood what she was doing by signing her rights away.  I also listened to 'dad' answer those same question as well.  Both time I cried, not out of joy but out of sadness that these two kids were giving up something so precious.  I like to think that they both really understood.  I like to think they both realized that in the end it was the right thing for the children.  I like to think that the experience will help them both be better prepared for the future.  I like to think that, but I don't think I will ever really know.

I am not sure what I really thought would happen, or what I would feel.  All I know is that my first reaction was sadness...followed by numbness.  Almost as if it weren't really happening...any moment we would get a call saying "oops, we made a mistake!"  

The parents received a final visit.  Something to give them a chance to say 'goodbye'.  The powers that be were kind enough to allow the grandmothers to come as well.  We didn't go to the visit but instead met up with the worker who took the children to the parents and brought them back.  The experience was emotional for everyone involved.  I was glad to be able to tell the kids that this "was the last time."

I had sent word to mom that if she had any pictures she wanted the kids to have to please bring them to the visit.  She sent four pictures.  Luckily I know the people in the pictures since there was no indication of whom they were.  I had also given both parents several pictures of the children, spanning the time they arrived to a few weeks before the hearing.

One friend said "you are a better person than I am - I wouldn't have given them anything!"  Another expressed surprise as well.  I thought long and hard before I sent the pictures.  In the end it was a simple decision.  At some point the children will have questions.  I want to be able to give them good answers. I want to be able to show them "this is your birth mother and father"  and "these are your birth grandmothers".  I want to be able to tell them "your birth mother and father will remember you always".  I want to be able to tell them "they loved you very much and it was a hard decision for them".  I want to do this and for it to be true.  I owe it to the children, the parents, and myself.

It still makes me sad to think of how things had to play out.  But in the end, the children are happy, healthy and will soon officially belong to us.  As we move forward to adoption, I find myself beginning to believe that yes, this is really happening.  I also find myself a little more relaxed, or as relaxed as one can be with a 2 and 3 year old running around the house.  Every morning we sing "Good Morning" and every evening we whisper   "I love you" and "Goodnight".    In between are hours of joy, frustration, happiness, anger, silliness, tears and an overall sense of completion.  

Something I wouldn't change for the world....

Moon and Stars...

When Davey first arrived I dragged out a mobile I had gotten years ago.  It was a pretty typical mobile, little stuffed animals that hung down, a few settings for different sounds/music, and it light up both underneath so the child could see the pretty lights, as well as projecting light on the ceiling. This one projected a moon and stars.  They would rotate around the room for whatever the designated time might have been.   It also came with a remote that you could hang on a door knob, allowing you to start up the mobile without having to walk over and potentially disturbing a small child.

When it came to sleeping, his first few weeks with us were a little rough.  Poor guy had some major ear infections, along with sinus and teething issues.  Sleep was not always kind to him, so we worked hard to make it a more pleasant experience.  Eventually we got things settled, and he began to associate sleep with nice things.  Soft blankies, quiet music, and stuffed animals began to quietly sooth his little tired body, so much so that he eventually got to the point where he would indicate to us that he was ready to go to bed. 

And then there were the moon and stars…
It started out simply enough.  One night when he was crying and hurting, I spent about an hour holding him in the dark.  As some point I turned on the mobile, letting the light dance across the ceiling.  “The moon and stars have come out just for you” I would whisper.  He would watch fascinated as I pointed to various stars as they moved about.  Eventually I handed him the remote and taught him how to use it so he could turn the moon and stars on whenever he wanted too.  We would also let him see the real moon and stars at night.  We have the good fortune to live in the country.  It gets dark enough out there that the views are excellent, something that is becoming harder and harder to see when living in a town or city.

At times he noticed the moon during the day.  He would point it out to us and say “Moon” quiet clearly.   He also figured out how to turn off his light so he could see the moon and stars in his room.   They were, after all, coming out just for him. 

As he grew, he went from the crib to a toddler bed and eventually an actual twin bed.  During that time the mobile he used would no longer fit on the newer beds.  Eventually the moon and stars had to be ‘retired’.  He knew they were still out there, and asked for them occasionally.  I explained that they were still around but were ‘sleeping’.  He accepted this answer as small children will do, but it bothered me that he had too.

Then for Christmas his sister received one of those pillow pets that light up.  He was enthralled with it.  The moon and stars came out for her, but his were still gone.  It took some time as the stores were all out, but eventually we came across them one afternoon while grocery shopping.  He carefully picked out the blue puppy and we took it home.  Patiently he waited for ‘batt-rees’ to be installed, then he ran off gleefully to play with his puppy.  That evening, I tucked him into his bed and turned on the puppy. 
“Moon and stars, Mommy…Moon and stars” he whispered.
“Yes Bug, the moon and stars came back out…and they came out just for you.”

Conversations

Ever have a conversation with a 2 year old?  They say some of the most amazing things.  I am certain that has to do with the way their little tiny minds are always whirling and swirling at top speed, far beyond any adult comprehension.  One evening I had the pleasure of such a conversation.  Mr D was in the midst if some terribly convoluted interaction that involved several toy zoo animals,  a truck,  and one of his sister's  ugly baby dolls (when did baby dolls become so hideous? ), when he suddenly leaped up and insisted I "sit here mommy".  Being a good mommy,  I did as I was directed.
With a very serious look on his face, Davey proceeded to explain to me how "Hucy walk in the woad", and that "Daddy werkin".  We then discussed how "Baby went night night" and that he liked the moon but not so much the wind.  All this was totally spontaneous on his part,  my participation was mainly limited to nodding.
When he first came to us, Davey had some horrendous chronic ear infections.  Needless to say his hearing was not great - the doctors commented that they were amazed he could hear us at all.  This brought about the need for ear tubes etc.  With the tubes, his ears cleared up and wonder of wonders - he could hear.  But due to the loss of hearing during the first, well basically year and a half of his life, we found that he was a little behind in speech.  Nothing to be alarmed about but enough so that it was suggested he work with a therapist.
A year later and whamo...we are now in the presence of a small talking machine.  He can't get the words out fast enough!  I watched him playing last night.  He spent the better part of an hour carefully racing around the living room.  Basically he was serving 'tea' to the dogs, his sister, me, the toy trucks and the various tiny plastic animals.  In between servings he 'ca-cuumed' the living room with the toy popper, brushed "Hucy" with a whisk broom and found Alivia's 'lost' sock-shoe-cup.  The whole time he was jabbering away, nonstop.
The best part is the conversations with his sister.  They are a mixture of real speech and that ever musical nonsense that only small children and animals understand.  It is amazing to me to watch their little faces as they go through a wide range of facial expression during what is always a very in-depth conversation.  Without actually being able to translate, it is apparent that they range from extremely serious to pure delight.
Davey turns 3 this month.  Already he is talking more and more like a 'real person'.  He is already loosing that 'baby-face' and turning into a little boy right before my eyes.  It is only a matter of time before he loses that whimsical jabber of toddler-speak as well.  I know it is part of growing up, but I miss that little guy already...

The Joy of Music

I love music.  Always have.  So I was thrilled to find that both kids seem to enjoy music as well.

Davey has loved music since the day he arrived.  He was ‘dancing’ before he was walking.  With as much driving that we do, he spends a lot of time in the car.  I always had music on in the car and was pleased to see his interest.  Eventually he began imitating my head bobbing and soon after he would ‘car seat dance’, an odd mixture of squirming and bouncing.  This transferred over when he began walking and soon he was dancing around whenever he could.

Alivia was a little slower on the dancing part, but she too began squigglying and bouncing when a tune that called to her would come on the radio.  I suspect Davey taught her as her movements are similar.  That and fact that she watches his every move, studying him with such intensity.    Of course the numerous toys that play music, the constant music playing in their bedrooms and in the car might also have something to do with it.

Not too long ago, I was at home alone with the kids.  I had the radio playing on some local station.  Dinner and bath time were done, so we were basically killing time before they went off to bed.  Psycho Killer by Talking Heads came on the radio.  Both kids stopped dead in their tracks, cocked their little heads and began bobbing along.  This was followed by Turning Japanese.  Full out kid dancing took place.  This was accompanied by lots of giggles and what we call ‘baby freakies’.  All in all a pretty good evening.  I found it cute and of course told everyone who would appreciate it.  (And probably some people who didn’t but were too polite to say anything – thanks!)

If I had any thought that this was a one time occurrence, those thoughts were wiped away completely this morning.  I got out of the van at day care to let the kids out.  When I opened Alivia’s door, Slow Ride by Foghat came on the radio.  Both kids immediately got huge smiles on their faces and their little heads began bobbing along – almost as if they had planned it.  I think it made my day!

Child-eating Toddler bed – Film at 11

Not too long ago my mother decided to clear out some stuff.  One of the ‘stuff’ happened to be a crib she had purchased in case small wayward children appeared on her doorstep in need of a nap.  As we have small wayward children who are constantly in need of naps, not to mention a couple of adults, she offered it up to us. 

Now like most cribs these days, the crib converts into a toddler bed, as well as a headboard for a full sized bed.  After some discussion between the hubby and I, it was decided that when we switched Davey’s old crib for the new one, we would convert it to the toddler bed.  Seemed reasonable enough.

Not being total idiots, we prepared for all kinds of situations.  The lower trundle from the day bed was ready to be pulled out for falling Daveys, a gate was in the wings waiting for wandering Daveys, a general plethora of plans were created and rehearsed for every conceivable emergency that man or beast could possibly generate.

The first couple of nights went smoothly.  No falling out of bed, no aimless wandering in the wee hours of the night.  All seemed at peace in slumber land.  Then sure enough, the first rolling-out-of-bed occurred.  I heard the thumb followed by the cry.  Sure that he had been up and playing, I opened the door to find a rather disheveled sleepy eyed and uncertain little boy.  He had managed to roll himself halfway across the room before I got to him.  Hugs and kisses along with whispered reassurances were administered.  Once safely tucked back in bed, I dragged out the lower trundle. 

The next week I noticed the strange phenomenon that occurred after I would tuck him in for the night.  We always check on the kids before we go to bed.  Usually this in pretty uneventful.  But I began noticing that when I would look in on Davey, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to find him.  By the end of the week I realized this was due to the number of stuffed animals that were making their way into his bed.  Apparently after I would leave his room, he was waiting a bit then carefully getting out of bed and gathering all his stuffed animals into bed with him.  He would then burrow underneath them along with the blankets.  Davey-flage so to speak.   Even so, bedtime in the new bed was not all that traumatic.

Then it happened….Christmas day 2012.
After a rather hectic and exciting couple of days, we hit Christmas day.  My parents had come up to have Christmas.  After meltdown #300+, both kids were tucked into their beds for a much needed nap.  All was quiet while the adults sat in the kitchen, eating cookies and talking.  Eventually I heard a small voice crying out.  After determining that yes, the small voice was indeed real, and that no, the small voice was not going to stop anytime soon.  Resignedly I headed to the source of the cry.

The room was dark so I was not too concerned when I couldn’t make out the small boy attached to the cry.  All I heard was a rather pathetic “STUCK STUCK STUCK!”.  After a moment I turned on the light.  Still no sign of the small boy.  “WTH?” I wondered.   Then it occurred to me he had probably fallen between the bed and the trundle.  Nope- nothing.  That is when I saw it…a tiny arm waiving out from under the bed skirt on the toddler bed.

I suppose I should mention that this bed has a board that runs underneath it for support.  Apparently Mister D had managed not only to roll out of bed and land between the trundle and the toddler bed, but in his sleepy state he rolled over the board and was now, for all practical purposes, stuck. 

I would like to say that being a kind and loving mommy, I was horrified and leaped to his aide, wrenching the treacherous bed apart, freeing the poor boy from his horrific trap.  But no…instead I burst out laughing hysterically.  Eventually I managed to call my husband to come lift the bed, but in the meantime Davey had managed to figure out how to escape with no help from his beloved mommy.   Needless to say he was a wee bit suspicious that evening when bedtime came around.  Now the stuffed animals are appearing on the trundle bed, carefully placed to block small sleeping boys from being sucked into the depths of the child eating toddler bed. 

Note:  Mommy has carefully placed pillows in front of the evil board on the off chance that the stuffed animals are unable to protect the small sleeping boy.  Mommy also makes sure the monster under the bed, as well as the troll in the basement closet, is well fed.  This should keep the boy from being eaten…at least not completely.

Happy New Year 2013!

Welcome to the new year!
Due to lots of unforeseen surprises, complications and just plain exhaustion, I let my blogging drop considerably.  (How is that for an understatement?)
Anyway, with the new year I hope to remedy that and keep things more up-to-date.

For some reason 2013 has me feeling pretty good.  Not that 2012 was bad, but there were a lot of expectations that didn't happen.  I am not one for resolutions.  You are either going to do something or you aren't.  Whether you do or not is not really any concern of mine.  Same goes for me, although that is more of a concern of mine.  At any rate, my intentions are good and my outlook is hopeful.

So how was my New Year?  Well I started out with the flu on New Year's Eve and carried on through most of New Year's day.  Even so, I still felt pretty good about the new year so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.  I did get to see the kids have an awesome time with their Christmas toys and new sled.  We even had snow for them to play in which was also pretty exciting.  Christmas this past year was the first time both kids were really able to begin to grasp the concept that something exciting was happening.  Got to admit, it was pretty awesome to see.  Should be an exciting year for them as they continue to grow and develop.  I am looking forward to seeing how things progress.

Well, that's all for now.  May you all have a happy and wondrous New Year!