Kidding
Brace yourself for an avalanche of cliches. And one grainy iPhone pic. My freshly-minted, five-this-summer, clever and bold son learned to ride his bike this week. We were talking on Saturday and I said, “You want to ride your bike without training wheels? I think you’re ready.” His response? “Let’s do this thing!” Can you tell he listens near daily to Twins Sports Talk on the radio? He occasionally demonstrates a broadcaster voice subconsciously. This was one of those times. AA pealed off the training wheels and the gaggle of us five struggled and strutted down the driveway. I kept saying things in a low, confident voice like Balance equal weight on both feet and handle bars or a random where you look is where you go or to my husband DO NOT LET GO OF THE BACK OF HIS SEAT!!!!! My husband, on the other handlebar (hardy har har), was all easy confidence. He succeeded in hushing me up a bit and swatting away my overly protective handy-hands that wanted to dive in and grab the wheels. He walked behind him holding the back of the seat for a while, uttered a few guy-tone phrases (AKA mama couldn’t decipher from this distance), and before you know it, SuperBoy was flying. Fledgling birds got nothing on their mamas’ hearts like my son had on mine in that moment. I actually choked because I inhaled so sharply. The baby was on my back and I nearly smashed his chin into my shoulder blades when my…
Read MoreWell it’s the dog days of summer. I have no idea what that means. But I do know that I look around and think wowweeee I’m blessed. Not only because I have this rowdy fun family. But also because our seemingly overwhelming days of nonstop whining and tantrums are paired with blissful afternoons playing at the park, in the pool, reading books, and rushing off exactly no where. Except to catch that baby who insists on trying to emulate his naughty brother. (I do find myself repeatedly exclaiming “do not encourage bad behavior” because the big kids cheer him on whenever he’s being ambitious, shall we say.) The kids are taking greater risks and presumably experiencing more joyous rewards? I was on the phone in the Library when I heard a strange grunting noise. I had no child in eyesight (probably a real classy mom move there, novice nell) but when I stepped into the Entrance Hall, I beheld a car seat that had previously been stationed in the Dining Room, a whole room away mind you, now parked in front of the mail table that centers itself in the Hall. With an occupant. And a chauffer. Let’s just say he was elated and I was chagrined. How she dragged him + the base + the carseat I have no clue. Real buff girl here. Best part of summer? We had all the cousins together for a special event. The kids mauled their littlest cousin. I mean, there were outright scuffles…
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Where is the three year old in this photo? Outside the frame, bawling because someone took her favorite fill_in_the_blank. Having a three year old girl, and this SweetPea with her particular temperament, feels so different than having had a three year old boy who is coming up on five in just a few days here (stop the sands of time!!!). His personality presented its own challenges, as does hers. I wrote about his challenges: Three steps to taming your tantruming toddler; Three & a half year old habits & mama bad habits; how I keep my kids from killing each other; and more in the archives under “kid.” In a way, I was prepared for the prefrontal cortex burgeoning and developing at a rapid, can’t-keep-up-with-the-spasm-de-jour pace. In many ways, I was not prepared for how sensitive to me and my moods she would be. Girl thing or her thing? Either way, I’ve learned the hard way about how to lovingly parent a sensitive three year old. So naturally, I thought I would foist my experience on to you! 1) Hear her out. When she starts freaking out, I try to take her aside and hear exactly what it is that’s bothering her, being sure to repeat it to her so she knows I get it//got it//good. Many times, this simple act of acknowledgment is a calming force. It may take 3-4 minutes to get it all out of her and restate it, but that could mean the difference between a relatively…
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We took a leap of faith and went on an 8 hour car trip to a cousin’s wedding. Three kids under five in the car for that long is not for the faint of heart. I was initially hesitant about being able to make it due to the fact the baby is almost 13 months old and still nurses for primary nutrition. That’s a lot of stopping to nurse. But what I didn’t factor in was the three year old girl. Three. The roughest and cutest age. She made every moment a possible tornado touch down. Living by the seat of our pants//how many cheddar bunnies she could stuff in her mouth. Let’s begin, shall we? On the drive down, she had to go potty. About 86 times. I offered her a diaper. She looked at me with the scorn of a thousand arrows. At the farmer’s market. She sees food. SHE WANTS IT ALLLLLLLLL. She also wants no one else to have any. Back at the hotel. She wants the baby’s pack & play. She wants not to eat the cold oatmeal. She wants desperately to be the baby. She was comforted by snuggling like a mummy in the queen size bed alongside her big brother. The two of them were like cocoon babies. At the wedding ceremony itself. More talking. Upon seeing another child eating a snack. MAMA I need to eat. No, I need what he is having. My stomach is telling me so. Upon seeing another…
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As I’ve been going through like the mad woman that I am and purging out toys, books, clothing we aren’t using regularly or frankly, that I loathe, I’m realizing there are a few staples from the first years of my older children’s now long-past childhoods that the baby loves. That I love. That really, after three kids, I would buy, full-price. At the snap of a credit card against the counter. That fast. Over on my baby registry post I list out the must-haves for babies in general, but these are my real workhorse toys that I am going to put my stamp of approval on. Big stamp. Me. Right there. 1) Silicone teething ring It has different textures along its ridges. It can be clung and clutched. It can be easily wiped off after rolling away from you on an airplane. We have it in in yellow & I bought in on a whim at the coop one day many years ago. Love it! I think this link sells a two pack. Worth it! 2) Wooden rolling wheel We bought one similar to this when I was first pregnant with SuperBoy. One of those “oh, look, it’s wooden and I’m feeling nesty” buys. It has rolled its weight in gold. Yes, my children also bang it on their faces, but it rolls and jingles and the insides do NOT come out. That’s right. No fetching on the parents part. 3) Indestructible books: Baby Faces The avid teether loves these and the older…
Read MorePhoto credit: Emily Rumsey Photography If you had told me when I had my first that I would eventually nurse in public without a cover, I would have blushed. Deeply. I hated nursing SuperBoy in public. I rarely went in public with him when he was hungry, and given that I didn’t feed on demand, but rather tried to put him on a schedule, I could predict this hangry time pretty well. When I did have to nurse him in public, I’d drape a cover over him, me, us, and with lots of kicking limbs and wails from both of us, attempt to do it thoroughly. Then burp him. Then commence on the other side, all whilst wearing disposal nursing pads that I went through like new moms do articles online about how to nurse in public. But at home? No cover. My brother & dad had a shock to their systems. My brother would make eye contact only while using his palm flattened out, thumb down, palm facing me to block the site {and sight} of my actual nursing parts. My dad would hurry through the kitchen and ask my mom Errrr is she going to always do that in here? Even my older female relatives would gently talk about how when they nursed, they would go upstairs or in a different room from their own father or brothers or uncle, because, well, it was proper. My response was that my baby didn’t like to nurse with a cover and I had to feed…
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