"That's Not Food!"

Books are not for reading. They are for destroying. At just a few days shy of eighteen months, Alex is officially at "that" age.  It's the terrible twos six months early.  The obnoxious ones.  I remember when Andy was this age, I was three months pregnant with Alex.  Good thing I was ALREADY with child, because had we waited a few months, I may have put the whole thing off indefinitely.  It's a rough time to be a mother. Alex is testing me in new and novel ways.  He has learned to climb over the gate at the bottom of the stairs and can get up the stairs, but has zero idea how to get down.  You can almost hear him thinking, "Time to get down.... I'll just ahead and tumble forward and trust that someone's going to be there."  So now I have an ineffective gate, a clueless child, and the new shiny promise of severe head trauma.  Alex's other trick is to squeeze himself out from under his high chair tray, stand up, and literally dangle one f...

And Thursdays with Alex.  And Mondays with Alex. Last year, I would drop Andy off at preschool, haul Alex home in his baby carrier, and deposit him in the living room. He would be fast asleep, and I would take this me time to indulge in such activities as:  Cleaning the bathroom. Playing Bejeweled.  Watching an hour of daytime television.  Facebook stalking old friends. Making eggs, because damn I love a good egg. Things were different last year when it was just me and Al Pal.  I might as well have been alone!  He'd nap in the carrier and I'd either take him home or stick his carrier on a shopping cart at Target and basically go about my business.  I knew the days of having adorable luggage were fleeting, though, and now this school year, after I drop Andy off at preschool Tuesdays and Thursdays (and currently Mondays for his session of a class aptly and honestly named "Mom's Time Out" as opposed to some other title that might suggest actual ch...

I got a baby book from the library about Thanksgiving.  If it's a board book, we call it a baby book, and it is meant for Alex's enjoyment with a peripheral listen by big brother Andy.  If Andy is at the library and sees a child his age looking at the board books, he is quick to say, "But where is your baby?"  And if there is no good explanation, then Andy will ask me, "Why is that big boy taking that baby book?" The book was all about being grateful on Thanksgiving and thanking God for all of the good things in our life. I normally avoid overtly religious books/shows/music/events out of no good reason other than a general wariness of overly religious people.  I can't explain this wariness, and this is probably not the best forum to try.  I am also wary of people who have pets or use more than their fair share of coupons, so it's not like my wariness is reserved just for religion or is at all remotely reasonable. That being said, I absolutely and...

Sometimes Alex is the instigator, pushing or biting Andy and acting as the start button to their noisy squabbles.  Even during these times, I find myself yelling at Andy and telling him to knock it off.  "But Alex was biting me!" Andy might protest, to which I will inevitably dismiss Alex's actions with a "But he's just a baby" or "He didn't mean it" or "It's okay, he's super cute" or "I'm sure on some level you definitely deserved it." I heard my voice echoing against the walls the other day after a raucous began by Alex destroying a block tower Andy had been quietly constructing.  Alex destroyed the tower, Andy got upset, Alex threw a block at Andy, and then Andy pushed Alex down and Alex bumped his head..  They were both crying, and I yelled at Andy after inspecting Alex's head.  "Andy," I yelled, "I don't care who started it, if Alex ever gets hurt EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT IN THE SAME...

This year, Halloween was a cinch.  While Chris labored three nights in a row last year to handcraft Andy's epic bus costume, Andy's disguise this year was purchased for $8.97 after spending four minutes perusing the Halloween aisle at Wal-Mart.  And Alex's costume was free, thanks to generous donations by viewers like you.  By which I mean our good friend D, who was kind enough to give me a hand-me-down dragon costume.  I felt mildly bad for not picking out a personal costume to reflect one of Alex's many varied interests (pumpkins, pop cans, the trash can, that one corner of the family room that is rife with electrical cords and spiderwebs), but I also felt mildly awesome for saving another $8.97.  If I keep finding savings in things like hand-me-down costumes or backyard haircuts, I might NEVER have to go back to work! Andy was Batman.  He's been into superheros lately; I have read him every Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, and Green Lantern picture book ...

Andy has given up his afternoon nap.  I had it good there for a stretch of time.  Both boys napped simultaneously for two hours while I engaged in my own personal pursuits, including but not limited to loading the dishwasher, watching "The Chew," and throwing back a couple of cold ones.  I kid about that last part.  I have yet to day drink while being home with my children.  Perhaps it's just so I can reassure my working mother counterparts, "It's not like staying home is a drunken dance party."  It's not like it's all fun, games, and wine.  It's mostly sweeping.  Have breakfast, sweep. Give the kids a snack, sweep.  Lunching leads to sweeping.  More snacking, more sweeping.  And dinner.  Sweeping. For that good stretch of time where both boys napped at the same time, I would close the door behind me as I left Andy in his room and literally perform a fist pump.  YESSS!  Time free of noise and children and whining an...

The other day, I cracked open a few of the windows in the house.  "Why are you doing that, Mommy?"  Andy asked. I replied, "To let in some fresh air." Andy's face immediately fell.  Panicked, he exclaimed, "Oh no!  ARE WE RUNNING OUT OF FRESH AIR?" The other other day, we went to the big aquarium in the sporting goods store, the one with the big glass walls and the open top.  Chris was holding Alex and lifted him up ever so slightly to let him dip his fingers into the aquarium water.  (Inadvisable, I thought to myself.)  A moment later, Andy noticed and started screaming.  "NO DADDY!  A FISH IS GOING TO BITE ALEX!  STOP!!!" And then, the other other other day, we went to the pumpkin farm, where Chris wheeled Alex's stroller right up to the rickety cage walls of the goats in the petting zoo zone.  (Inadvisable yet again, I thought to myself, noting the bevy of graham crackers and raisins on Alex's stroller tray and the hungry...

Alex has his first official obsession.  Even as I'm typing this, I think that might be a lie.  Surely, there's been an obsession before this one?  Does his undying devotion to string cheese count as an obsession?  His reflexive habit of emptying buckets and containers so that he can put them on his head like a helmet?  His pushy interest in fisting soggy bits of food and trying to shove them into MY mouth as if commanding, "Here.  If it's so good, then YOU eat it."  No, those aren't quite obsessions.  Not like this one.  Not like his absolute, undeniable fixation with: Pumpkins.  My pumpkin LOVES pumpkins. "Pumpkin" (pronounced bpumbum) may even be Alex's first real word after Mama, Dada, Anda, and More.  These are all the words that Alex has, spoken only very sparingly, and I am becoming mildly worried about the whole thing.  "How many words can Alex say?"  the nurse asked at his one year appointment back in June, whe...

The victims. Andy and Alex got into their first car accident this afternoon.  I'm pleased to inform you that everyone is okay and that it was not my fault.  I am quick to point out that the accident is not my fault because I myself caused an accident,with damage to not one but TWO other cars, over three years ago when I was pregnant with Andy.  Playing the pregnancy card did not get me out of the ticket, FYI.  Just once, I'd love to play some sort of card to my advantage. But, today, we were on our way home from a pleasant morning at the park when I was rear-ended at an intersection.  There was a tremendous crash and bump, and Alex immediately issued a blood-curdling scream.  This scream was not unlike the blood-curdling scream I myself gave two days ago when a tree frog jumped on my back while I was sitting on the ground outside.  Alex screamed and cried, Andy asked what that bump was, and I went into mild panic mode, pulling off to the side, an...

Andy's been apologizing entirely too much lately.  In the grand spectrum of preschooler problems, having a child who is TOO sorry is probably way preferable than having one who shows little to no remorse at all.  And yet, I am starting to grow weary of hearing Andy say, "I'm sorry, Mommy" and "I'm really very sorry, Mommy."  The thing is, it's not that I doubt the sincerity of his apologies.  Andy is very sincere.  The problem is that he is too sincere, too sorry, too apologetic, too remorseful over what amounts to trivial or nonexistent issues.  The problem is that he cares too much.  Someone needs to tell this kid to man up already. Here is a short list of what Andy has apologized for in the past two days. - Dropping a macaroni on the floor. - Walking too slow. - Walking too fast. - Wanting dessert. - Pushing Alex out of the wagon so that the baby tumbled out head first (Note: This was the one warranted apology, and possibly the lea...

Alex had his first haircut with a complete and utter lack of fanfare.  This haircut, seeing as it was free, saved us between $6.00 (SuperCuts with a coupon) and $20.00 (Kid Clips without a coupon). What do I intend to do with this savings?  Well, I'll pass it on to Alex, of course.  In the form of crackers. Actually, Andy and Alex both got free haircuts yesterday, so the total savings is somewhere in the neighborhood of $12.00 to $40.00, and that's not including tip.  The thing about children is that they are expensive.  For the most part, the expenses are minimal- a $3.00 t-shirt from Wal-Mart here, a $1.50 cake pop from Starbucks there- but they add up, and fast.  So if you can find the savings in the form of DIY haircuts or by having your first born son sleep in what is clearly a girl's twin bed (that his aunt used for about twenty years before it was handed down), then you have no choice but to go for it.  But don't bother making the homemade lau...

There are days that Andy wakes up with his dial already set to eleven.  We call these days "everyday."  He will burst into my room, start jumping on the bed, pull the string to the blinds to helpfully illustrate that it's morning time, and immediately start demanding his milk and very specific episodes of TV shows.  He will roll his toy train into my room and stand on it in order to either climb into my bed for the sole purpose of jumping directly on my kidney, turn on the light, or execute a complicated half cartwheel into the unforgiving air.  He may start assembling or disassembling various shelving and storage units. Sometimes he wakes up with a song in his heart, which will erupt from his mouth so that I hear "Baa Baa Black Sheep" on endless loop for my first five minutes of the day.  Which is slightly better than his version of "Blurred Lines." Alex isn't much better these days.  He will snuggle with me for the duration of his morning milk,...

Being a mother to Andy and Alex means that- at least for now- I have two people who love me unconditionally, no matter what, regardless of any of my many character flaws and simply because I am their mommy.  My husband, I suppose we love each other *almost* unconditionally, unless I have left food to rot in the sink (his major complaint) or he has kept me up all night with bearish snoring (the whole tri-county's complaint). These two boys really do think I hung the moon.  I have to think that's one of the major reasons we end up having kids- to experience the pure, unadulterated love that passes back and forth for no other reason than the fact that we exist.  To be a mother is to love so hard that your very soul feels like it's going to crack wide open and spill out into the universe.  And my children love me back perhaps not as intensely but with a need that is still raw and unfiltered.  I feel their love in the way they climb so deep into my lap and lay thei...

I never thought I would use the words "brother" and "penis" together in as many sentences as I do.  Mainly:  Do not touch your brother's penis.  And, today:  Hey!  Do not put your penis on your brother's face. There's no way this was good. Andy's become preoccupied with his little Andy.  I try to be matter of fact about his business, and I have explained that his private parts are just that.  Private.  I've also used the word "special," on occasion.  And I have tried to hammer this into his head:  We do not show people our private, special areas.  We do not talk about them in casual conversation with strangers on the street.  We do not fiddle with them too much when our mother is looking at us.  And, sure, we may take a bath with our brother, but that does not mean that it's a free for all regarding our private, special areas.  And for God's sake, stop drinking the bath water, can't you count how many asses an...

Andy's official bed time is 7:15, and Alex's bedtime is 7:00.  I've never understood parents who keep their kids up super late, the only exception possibly being parents who don't get home until later in the evening. But even when I worked, I'd pick Andy up from day care at 5:00, we'd eat dinner, and then baby Andy would be off to bed before 7:00 each night. For me, especially these days, I have just about had it by 6:00 and am extremely eager to start the bedtime routine.  My personal goal is to be laying down on my sofa with wine in hand no later than 7:20, and if I'm even five minutes off on this timing, then something has gone horribly wrong and somebody has some major explaining to do. Can't you just go to sleep nicely like this blue bear on the god-damn moon? That being said, while Alex goes down at 7:00 and Andy at 7:15, they don't actually fall asleep in there for quite some time.  Chris and I close their door and it's like a disco ...

The definition of a true friend:  One who will let you wear his/her pants when you're in a jam. The other day, Andy, Alex, and I made a plan to stop at the bank and then head back to the park where we would meet up with our friends, H and J. Andy and Alex actually had little to do with devising this plan, although the second I had mentioned the word bank, Andy declared rather bossily that he wanted a sucker.  To Andy, the bank is a magical place where women fawn over how adorable he is and then reward this cuteness with his choice of sucker.  To me, the bank is the place that charged me ten dollars for going under an arbitrarily assigned dollar amount in my money market.  Also, it's the place where I used to spend forty hours a week accomplishing the following tasks:  sitting at my computer, poking around other people's leftovers in the refrigerator, and asking if those cupcakes on the table are for everyone. We were going to the bank because my mortgage...