Dirty Little Secret

I know that my children don’t have the healthiest diets. Unless a vegetable is so finely chopped that it (and its nutritional value) disappears into the sauce, my children won’t eat it. And while they do eat fruit everyday, Ironflower only deems one fruit acceptable.

But still, I didn’t think we were doing that badly. We don’t have any trans fats and most of their snack crackers don’t have high fructose corn syrup, at least. But then we had this conversation:

Ironflower: Mommy, I put peanut butter on whatever doesn’t get syrup, right?

Me: As far as breakfast goes, I guess.

Ironflower: And lunch.

Me: And lunch.

Ironflower: But Lovebug likes ketchup, even on breakfast food.

Me: Lovebug loves ketchup, but remember we weren’t going to talk about ketchup at breakfast anymore? Because mommy wants Lovebug to skip the ketchup at one meal?

Lovebug: Ketup! Ketup! Me! Ketup!

Me (muttering): I am such an idiot.

If it wasn’t for peanut butter and ketchup, I’m pretty sure my kids wouldn’t eat anything. We go through a big jar of peanut butter and a HUGE thing of ketchup every two weeks. If the kids were larger I’d be okay with that, but they are only two and three and neither one of them weighs over 30 pounds. And Hubby and I rarely touch the ketchup and never touch the peanut butter.

Is our family weird? Or do all small children have these strange condiment obsessions? And when will they grow out of them?

Ironflower did a FANTASTIC job getting picked up from school this week. Today she even went to the place where they line the kids up BEFORE the teacher called them to line up. When she ran up and hugged me I was so happy. But I was almost as happy when she ran into the classroom this morning, calling “Bye Mommy and Lovebug!” and going to her place for circle time. The bottom line is that she is back to being her independent, sunny self.

I still think her teacher could be a lot friendlier.

Lovebug, is still struggling. He throws tantrums over everything that doesn’t go his way. The kind of tantrums that make it sound like I am beating him with a bat or a golf club. The kind of tantrums that make people stare at us. I was starting to get concerned that there was something really wrong with him, when today I realized a few things. One is that he can talk. Not clearly, not well enough so I can understand most of it. But it’s there. “Ks” means thanks and he is upset if no one says “you’re welcome”. “I-ah-wa” means I want. Two is that he knows at least three colors so it’s no wonder he gets ticked off when I ask Ironflower what color she wants and not him. I always tell him to point and apparently he’s offended. Three is that he needs a LONG hug before being strapped into his car seat.

Recording all the things that I missed in Lovebug makes me feel like a crap mother. But he’s only 19 months old, surely he won’t remember, as long as I manage to step it up now, right?

language development

toddler behavior

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It’s official. I must be the worst mother on the planet.

I took the children to the park this morning. I took them to what I thought was their favorite park. I took them early so we would have lots of time to play before lunch. Sure, some of it was guilt over the hard time Ironflower had staying over at her grandparents’ Saturday night. After being put to bed, she started to freak out. She wanted to go home. She kept my mother up until four am.

I felt bad, of course (though secretly relieved that my mom hadn’t called us to come get her in the middle of the night). I let her sleep extra at nap time yesterday and put her to bed early last night. Hubby talked to her about it. I thought everything was okay.

At the park today, it was apparent that she was still tired. She flung sand with her shovel. She’s done that before when she’s been ticked off. I got her to stop. Lovebug, for the first time ever (and completely independent of his sister), also did some sand flinging. He had to be removed from the sandbox.

We hadn’t been there for very long when Lovebug started trying to escape. The little boy who threw tantrums over leaving the park now wanted to leave. Ironflower didn’t. Until a seventeenth month old knocked her almost three year old self over. The little boy didn’t mean to and it’s not like Ironflower hasn’t been through it a thousand time with Lovebug. But today it caused hysteria.

When I gave up and decided to take them home, they both wailed all the way to the car - Ironflower because I wasn’t carrying her and Lovebug because I made him hold hands in the parking lot.

The day has not gotten better. We have had more tantrums and time-outs TODAY than we have had in the past MONTH. Lunch and snack turned into battles of will. Playtime was filled with grabbing and screaming. Despite the extra nap time they have both been just awful.

I keep telling myself that they’re just tired (although there’s no reason for Lovebug to be). I keep telling myself that they’re both very spirited. I keep telling myself that Lovebug will be really talking within the year. I keep telling myself that passion is a good quality. I keep telling myself that they must feel very secure with me to behave so atrociously with me and not other people.

But (much like my children) I am not a very good listener. I feel like the worst mother in the world. Well, except for Britney Spears.

Hubby (who is with them now, Thank GOD) is going out of town tomorrow. Tomorrow has got to be a better day, right? But if it’s not, how bad would be to let them watch Noggin for twelve hours straight while feeding them M&M’s and Cheetos? I know they wouldn’t protest, whine or throw tantrums about that.

tantrums
parenting

So today, even though Lovebug was throwing a major temper tantrum (he really wants to go to school with Ironflower), I managed to accost Ironflower’s teacher and quiz her about Ironflower’s day. I tried my best to convey my interest, as Lovebug screamed and thrashed in an attempt to get on the playground.

But of course my triumph in convincing the busy and snippy teacher that I’m a devoted mother (I’m a CLASS MOTHER, for heaven’s sake - more on that experience later) had to be marred. I remained calm when Ironflower protested about leaving. I remained together as Lovebug threw himself on the ground at the exact moment that Ironflower demanded to be carried to the car. I ignored the fact that our little drama had an in-the-round audience of six mothers and two teachers. I picked Ironflower up after she said please, then struggled to grab Lovebug. Everyone watched in a horrified silence. I muttered comforting words as I tried to drag them to the car. Something like, “I’ll get you for this when you have your first date”.

I nearly dropped Lovebug when we were about halfway there. He was fighting me that hard (and no, before you ask, mirroring his feelings in a soothing voice was not working). I put Ironflower on the sidewalk and she began crying immediately, “Please carry me, please, please.” I wanted to ask her why she hates being carried unless it is horribly inconvenient for me (and no one else), but I decided that her continued wailing might draw more attention to us. Not since seventh grade have I wanted to be invisible so much. Eventually I just gave up on appropriate carrying procedures and just grabbed them like we were running from a fire.

Lovebug fought so hard when I tried to strap him into his car seat that I began to sweat. Ironflower was willing to be strapped in, but she was angry. She really hates leaving school. When I asked her what she’d done that day (loudly, so she could hear me over Lovebug’s subsiding screams), she snapped, “I DON’T want to talk to you right now!”

Normally, I would have realized that she was still adjusting to the transition. Normally, I would have laughed. But today I burst into tears. I feel like I have used up all of my tricks and everything just degenerates into a struggle and I am TIRED.

How bad would it be to have a glass of wine during nap time?

There’s something wrong. With my children. Possibly the cold that’s been lingering around our house is really a devastating virus, as it’s also knocked Hubby on his behind. But his exhaustion is nothing compared to what’s happened to my children.

Today, at the playground, my children sat on the bench with me and had a snack. They SAT DOWN AT THE SAME TIME at the playground, people. Granted, until that point they kept running in opposite directions so often that I just stood in the middle of the playground, pivoting in the mulch. But then they had their snack. Calmly. Together. And when I mentioned that we’d have to go soon, Ironflower said, “We can go now, mommy.” Only after I realized that Ironflower was peering into my gaping mouth did I realize that I had to speak. I figured that I could at least rely on Lovebug to make a fuss, but when I asked him if he was ready to go, he simply said, “Yah.”

Then my dash away in parking lots/throw tantrums at transitions/highly energetic and passionate children held my hands and walked to our car.

That has never happened before. Clearly, something is very wrong with them. Either they have been possessed or they are gravely ill. I mean, surely this isn’t the way that normal toddlers act? There must be something wrong. I’m just not sure how to explain it to the pediatrician.

tantrums

toddlers

parenting

I have often joked that Lovebug will turn out to be some kind of jock, what with his incredibly hard head and his belief that head butts are a form affection. But the truth is Lovebug has never shown any other athletic promise. He runs, jumps and climbs well for his age, but he can’t catch or hit a ball. We’re still not even sure if he is intentionally kicking the ball when we play our family version of soccer.

So imagine my shock this morning when he started playing hockey. We were watching Max and Ruby (a cute show about sibling rabbits) when some of the characters began playing ice hockey. Lovebug looked up at them in fascination, then ran to get a baton. He quickly began using the baton as a hockey stick, even managing to hit the remote control under the entertainment center like a goal. I was amazed.

It’s a good thing I like hockey. I hope he plays for the Rangers or the Devils and not some lame team like the Islanders.

Sometimes, when people ask me what I do all day, I say “smoke crack.” It embarrasses them and makes me giggle. (Okay, I only said it once, but I’ve been planning on saying it again). Cherann on Confessions a Former Bookworm calls it “the proverbial question.” I once read a great detailed answer on My Mommy’s Place (I can’t remember where, but read Leslie anyway because she’s really funny). And then someone asked Hubby what I did all day. He was flabbergasted - he gets to hear about ALL the things I do ALL DAY in great detail. He answered something about chasing toddlers.

When he mentioned the story to me, I told him my struggle with answering the question. So he suggested I write it out (it’s the only way to get me to remember anything) and here we are.

Annoying Person: So, what do you DO all day?

Me: Well, of course I get up whenever I feel like it, as I never feel like listening to yelling or crying. Then I take a long, leisurely shower (point to dirty ponytail) and dress in designer clothing (gesture grandly at jeans and t-shirt). I eat a quiet, healthy breakfast (look at hips) while reading about current events (lift up bag of new children’s books). The maid cleans the kitchen (point to self) and the nanny keeps the children entertained (point to self). Then I srtoll to a nature preserve (point to playground and stroller) to reflect upon the complexities of the world (gesture towards yelling children). Sometimes I do some personal shopping (hold up bag of Goldfish) and I return home to do some culinary experimentation (hold up an Ironflower acceptable sandwich). Then, of course, the maid and the nanny take over so I can do some writing. Yes, I do a bit of writing - nothing, of course, that could occupy me all day every day. After the nanny (again, point to self) puts the children down for naps and the maid (again, point to self) does the day’s cleaning activity, then I read a book. Yes, a book. I read books. That could occupy me all day every day too. When’s the last time you read a book?

Do y’all think that’s too snotty?

Lovebug is walking around with a sticker on his cheek. It cracks me up that a boy who HATES lotion and sun-block can handle having a sticker on his face. He wanted one after Ironflower got to put one on her “going on the potty” chart, because he loves to do or have anything his sister does or has. The other night he learned how to say “naked”, except to him it’s “nake-ned”. I should have videotaped him running around naked while yelling “Nake-Ned!”, but my children always freeze when a camera comes out.

Lovebug will drop whatever he’s doing to approach the camera with his adorable mischievous grin, which isn’t so bad because at least you can get one good shot in before he tries to grab the camera. Ironflower, who normally thrives on attention, gives most cameras a smile so false that pictures don’t even look like her. Or she hides her face altogether. And trying to get both of them together requires the precision of a strike force and the talent of Annie Leibowitz. On Labor Day they were eating ice cream on my parents’ patio. They were standing next to each other, dripping ice cream all over and having a grand time. I was so caught up in the moment that I waited for a few minutes before starting the camera search.

Of course it was too late. Lovebug started charging the usual camera holders and Ironflower turned away. The magic went uncaptured. At least on film.

Lovebug seems perfectly healthy. He runs around, plays, eats and sleeps like he normally does. But yesterday when I got him up from nap, there was a problem. As soon as I opened the door, I could smell the problem. But instead of just a tickle under a mommy’s nose, the smell was a cloud of poison gas. It enveloped me, but I covered my nose with my hand and struggled over to the crib like any brave soldier.

The carnage was everywhere - on Lovebug’s legs, on his sheets, on his stuffed animals and in his hair. I removed my little survivor and brought him to the changing table. He was fighting me, possibly hoping I could save his bunny too, but my priority was him. I stripped off the sodden clothes and began to clean him. But I realized that I needed a proper surgeon. I yelled for Hubby (who was, thank the Goddess, at home).

He took the patient to the shower and I began to work on his comrades. I gathered bunny, bear, dog and polar bear up and herded them to the washing machine. I brought singing Pablo to the sink. I stripped the sheets and realized that I would also have to clean the mattress liner, the mattress and the bars of the crib. I got to work.

Lovebug returned from his shower in good spirits. Now all is clean. Lovebug has not had any more diarrhea. But last night I had flashbacks.

To call Ironflower a drama queen would be a disservice. I was (am?) a drama queen, Ironflower is a drama empress. Her attitude goes something like this, why be quiet when you can talk and why talk when you can shriek? When angry, she growls, stomps and then howls. But her latest emotion is sadness. Everything makes her SO sad. Things that once rolled off her back, like not getting more M&M’s, cause her to look down, sigh and mope over to the couch.

It would be funny if she didn’t also use her sadness to avoid doing things like cleaning up or walking up the stairs. “I need you to do it, I’m too sad!” she proclaims several times a day. Then she starts to cry. This means that I have to wait for the drama to pass before we can clean up, since Lovebug is just not that much of a helper yet. This means that I have to carry both of them up and down the stairs, since Lovebug hates feeling left out. This means that everything is a negotiation.

She will not be three until December. I keep telling myself that this is just a phase. I’m keep telling myself that it’s good she’s in touch with her emotions. Except that when she is TRULY sad she is quiet, so it’s really more that she’s in touch with people’s reactions. But my sympathy is quickly turning to frustration.

I’ve always tried to her honor her feelings. How was I supposed to know that this would turn her into a monster?