Telling Stories

In our house each night includes the same routine.  A race upstairs followed by bathroom breaks, teeth brushing and books in mommy & daddy's bed.  Finally piggy back rides and spins to their beds, a song, a kiss, a hug, and out the door.  As it sounds, it is quite the production and sometimes takes upwards of 45 minutes to get them both in their beds for the first time.

They share a room, so lots of nights this first drop into their beds is followed by many trips upstairs by yours truly, and warnings that they need to get back to bed and go to sleep.  Sometimes I actually just stomp up the bottom few stairs as a warning.  As I do this I can hear their feet scurrying around the room and jumping back under the covers.

For over four years this has been our routine and like it or not we are kind of stuck with it now to some degree.  Looking back I think I am sure we could have made this nightly chore much faster and kind of kick myself for not knowing better at the time.  I wanted to share this because we are coming to the end of an era in our house and I believe this routine might end up being stretched out even longer.

My oldest turned four a few months ago and her comprehension is now far enough ahead that pulling the wool over her eyes is becoming increasingly difficult.  Like most people I know with small ones I am tired at the end of the day.  I mean those kids wear me out!  So on more than one occasion I have been known to paraphrase a book or two, or perhaps skip a page here and there if not enough attention is being paid.  I mean sometimes things just need to move along a little faster.   I for one am sick of that white bunny Ruby always being such a bossy know it all and take a creative story telling approach.

However, over the last few weeks I am able to get away with less and less creativity.  I am constantly being told that I have missed a part, or a page, or that it doesn't go that way.  One of the biggest problems is that sometimes the corrections she is telling me about are actually not even in the story.  They are from other nights in which I was taking creative license and no longer remember what I had said. 

The other night during her giving me lectures for reading inaccurately I told her that she could just go ahead and read the story then.  Now I thought I took creative license, while this kid was another story.  That was the longest story with absolutely no plot I have ever sat through.  It included a song that I did not understand the words to, dancing and parts where I was expected to interact.  Really big mistake.

So for now I am going to have to read the actual stories as they are written; or, maybe a better idea is that it is time for some new books.

Too Old?

How old is too old?  This is a loaded beginning to any sentence and the way a recent conversation began with my husband.  One night not so long ago he turned to me and asked "So how old is too old to have a belly button ring?"  "Why do you ask, because my stomach is eating mine" I replied.

Now, I know I usually tell stories about my munchkins; however, this is related because my body looks the way it does because of them.  I have been told many times in the past that I am probably too old  to still have a belly button ring.  People are actually very surprised to find out that I kept it proudly through both pregnancies.  

Anyone  other than my children or husband would not even know that I had it.  My abs have not seen sunlight for probably five years.  My oldest regularly presses on my stomach and states "Your tummy is squishy because you grew babies in it, right?"  They both think that I am so lucky because I have a jewel in my tummy.  

Usually when people tell me it is time to get rid of it I don't think much of it.  I snuck out at lunch one day at school when I was 14 and got it pierced.  It wasn't until about three years later that my parents even realized I had  it pierced.  It has been a part of me for so long that I can't really imagine life without it.  In fact I have had it longer that I have lived without it. But when my husband commented on it I got thinking- is it time to retire the belly button ring?

After a lot of thought I decided that maybe he was right and that I should take it out.  Clearly, a 29 year old mom of two with a serious case of mommy tummy having a belly button ring is quite ridiculous.  So the other night I took it out.

After it was gone and I looked in the mirror at my stomach I thought it looked odd.  My usual bling was not there and I can honestly say I wasn't sure that I liked it.  

I think it was about 20 minutes later I felt sad about its lack of presence.  I decided that too old or not I am not ready to live without it and put it back in.

Maybe I will try again at 30.

Riding in Cars with Girls

We do a lot of car travelling in our house.  First of all, we kind of live in the middle of nowhere and any sort of town, grocery store, or gas station is 20-30 minutes away.  In the summer time, we fairly regularly live between two locations that are approximately eight hours apart.  There are times during the summer months that my husband and I do this trip weekly.  This being stated, it is fair to say that both of our girls are fairly used to car trips. 

I feel as though this makes us pretty chill travellers.  Typically, I can pack us up for a couple of weeks without much stress in about an hour; however, we have had our fair share of travelling disasters.  Our first trip after my oldest was born; she was 10 days old and we had to continually stop to feed her.  Our typical eight hour trip took us over 12.  Our first trip with our second whom was a terrible traveller  she screamed for three hours consecutively.  Our oldest kept saying, "she sure does cry a lot", and when she finally fell asleep we were all too scared to speak.  We took our oldest to Belize for three weeks when she was about 9 months old.  Three plane rides there and back, cramped seating, breast feeding in public and her trying to scratch the tattoos off of the guy sitting next to us, we arrived.

Each time we decide to attempt to travel with two little ones, I build it up in my head that it is going to be a horrific event.  I dread how many times they will ask, "are we there yet", how many unplanned stops we will need to make for bathroom breaks, how many gross public bathrooms I will have to encounter (I secretly believe my oldest wants to try out every public bathroom she can and loves to poop in public), and how much unsatisfying road food I will end up shoving in my face.  Travelling with kids is just so much more work.

This year we went to Tennessee and oooooh how I dreaded the car ride.  I tried to convince my husband that we should fly, but upon researching the location of the airport compared to where we were staying, he decided that flying would not make sense.  So off we went in the car.  Ten hours later we arrived at our destination to find ourselves locked out of the place we were staying at on the side of a mountain.  Literally the yard was angled down, so needless to say not a lot of outdoor play in the yard while waiting.  We spread blankets and toys on the porch and my husband and I drank wine out of the kids sippy cups until we could get the access code to get in (had I known at that time we were in a dry county I would not have shared my wine).  After six days of touring around the area, we packed everyone back into the car and headed home.  After another 10 hours, many bathroom stops, and a couple of crying fits, we made it. 

Thinking back to the specific events of each time we travel, they are pretty horrific, which is why I probably always dread going away.  Somehow each time we return home I convince myself that it wasn't so bad and it could have been worse.  Logically thinking of course it could be worse, it can always be worse.  Yet here I am in the beginning phases of planning our next family trip.

Disney here we come!

The Hard Way

Today I was reminded of the questionable choices my oldest decides to make.  We work hard in our house to always offer choices.  Whether it be between shirts, scheduling options,  yogurt flavours or my husband's favourite " the easy way or the hard way".

Usually this method works fairly well in our house and I like to think prevents a tantrum or two.  I figure that if they buy into the options they are less likely to just say no and by us offering the choices we approve of  in theory, should prove for less arguments.

Apparently these options get a little old for their liking and the threat of the hard way is not great enough...

One day our two were playing outside.  In our yard we have a play set with swings and a slide.  At the time the set was new and it was hard to pry them away from the set when it was time to go inside. 

Our oldest was up on the top of the set pretending to be a pirate and hunt for treasure.  My husband gave her our usual ten minute warning (thankfully, the concept of time is lost on her so ten minutes could be two or twenty).  She accepted the warning and continued to play.

A little while after he informed her that it was time to go inside.  She pushed herself into the farthest corner of her play set and looked down at my husband with a defiant look on her face.  Before he could offer her any choices she looked at him and said "I choose the hard way".

He climbed up the play set grabbed her kicking and screaming and carried her inside under his arm. Today a year later we had a similar episode in which she again chose the hard way.  I am reminded once again how much they have grown and yet that they are still learning.

Hopefully she starts to chose the easy way soon because she is getting heavy.

If Jaws was a Toddler

What do mosquito's, sharks and my children have in common?  They all bite.  Both of my girls were biters.  Thankfully another child at daycare chomped on my oldest nipping that in the bud fairly early on.  We were not so fortunate with the second one.

Her prey has always been her big sister as at a young age she determined that biting was a successful method in retrieving her desired item from her older sister.  The biting issue had started to fade and dissipate the older she has gotten.  They are fairly close in age and size so currently they are fairly evenly matched.  For these reasons I believed our biting issue had ceased until earlier this week.  

My mom was watching our girls and having fun playing with them both.  She had our smaller one perched on her hip while the bigger one was tickling her sister's legs and feet.  Apparently things got a little carried away and the small one sunk her teeth in deep.  My mom instantly dropped her to the ground and yelped out of pain.  She informed the little one that she had hurt her and that biting is not allowed.  

My mom's interior of her arm was black with tiny teeth indentations.  She seemed to understand the message that she had really hurt my mom; perhaps all to well.  

The next day we were still visiting my parents.  Once more my mom was playing with the girls.  My youngest decided that she should have a treat of candy at approximately 8 in the morning.  My mom decided that this probably wasn't the best time for treats and told her "No, not right now".  To this my youngest uttered her first threat,

"I bite you".

Hopefully this is our last incident...

King Can Catastrophe

As I have posted before (Care Bear are the New Black) my youngest is rather hard to dress.  So it was no surprise when we left the house with her wearing a Care Bears shirt for the third day in a row, black capris, and old cracked rubber boots with a questionable fit.

My husband and I had decided to use the divide and conquer method that day.  I took the second one to town to run errands and the oldest one stayed with my husband.  We have a very limited selection of stores in the town closest to us, so I knew at best I would need to make at least three stops.

We started first with a stop at Wal-mart in hopes that I could get as much as possible at this stop; thankfully since it was Wal-mart her fashion choices didn't stand out as really odd.  While travelling through the aisles she decided she needed a snack.  As usual I was unprepared and grabbed a box of peanut butter crackers off of the shelf and busted into them.

Now along with her poor fashion choices she sat in the front of the cart munching on the unpaid for crackers with peanut butter everywhere.  I noticed now for the first time that the black capris she was wearing had two rather large holes in one leg.  She then decided she was all done with sitting in the cart and wanted to move around.  This was definitely the cue to exit the store with whatever items we had obtained thus far.  Like most shopping trips with children along I ended up leaving the store without getting all the required items; we will live without them a few more days.

It was a long weekend and we had plans with friends and a babysitter coming so of course we required adult beverages.  I had my priorities in order and thought we should skip stop two and head straight to stop three, the liquor store.

Upon entry to the liquor store she was already showing signs of being tired but I figured I would be quick as I only needed a case of beer.  We headed back to the area where the beer is kept and then it started.  "Me tired" she stated, then proceeded to lie in the middle of the isle and roll around.  "Feet hurt" she whined and kicked her old cracked rubber boots off revealing broken oozing blisters on her heals.

So there we were, me with 11 king cans in a box on one hip (they were out of cases) and my daughter rolling on the floor in her dirty Care Bear shirt, pants with holes, and bare oozing feet.  I scooped her up onto the other hip, threw her boots in with the king cans and headed to the till to pay.  I tried and walk with confidence but I could feel the other people's eyes in the busy store burning into the back of my head.

I paid and asked the attendant to help carry my purchases to the car.  I figured hey why not by this point.  I got into my car, laughed, and vowed to never enter that store again.

Care Bears are the New Black

Getting my 2 year old dressed each morning is a struggle.  She is already very opinionated about her clothing and shoe choices.  I know this sounds ludicrous.  I mean she is two give her two options and let her pick or better yet just put whatever on her.  However, I have tried both of these methods many times with terrible results.  Typically, this ends with me restraining her to dress her and then she gets mad, cries and gets naked again anyhow.

Recently I have been trying to encourage her independence by allowing her to pick her own clothing and dress herself.  Usually if we are leaving our house I do try hard to have more influence; but, many times I fail even at this.  Countless times she leaves are home looking as though she has been in the wilderness camping for weeks on end.  She loves one particular dress that on many occasions I wash each night to avoid a fight in the morning.  I am sure that her daycare workers probably think she only has three old dirty things as this is all I can seem to get her to put on right now.  I am okay with this. 

She wore her winter boots well into May.  She is very difficult to catch and try and get pants on.  If they are pink then she may stay still long enough to get them on depending on the day.  Sometimes after she is asleep and I go to check on her I find her naked or wearing a princess dress, neither are what she was initially put to sleep in.  Only a select few can comb her hair and I am not one of the select few.

I can't blame her as I too am rather particular.  I have had my fair share of fashion mishaps including ill-filling military pants with baby tees (i.e. trying to emulate Gwen Stefanie in the 90's) and am told when I was about her age I wore my lifejacket for the entire summer, including to town and while trike riding.  No one in my personal life dare buy me an article of clothing unless a gift receipt is included or it has been preapproved by me.  This being said, I believe that may be why I give her a little more room to express herself in this area. 

So although I was thrilled the other day to receive a bag of handed down items all in her size I knew I had to plan my next move cautiously.  I knew I couldn't just place the items into her closet (I have tried this in the past and she does not believe the clothes are hers and thus will not wear them) or god forbid attempt to just put something on her, so I set them aside and  waited until I could come up with a good strategy.

The best idea I could come up with was to turn our spare room into a "shopping center/dress up area" where she could pick out things and pretend she was shopping for all of her new clothes.  That was a week ago and so far we have added two new things to her wardrobe, a Care Bears t-shirt, and a green dress that reminds her of Tinkerbelle.  My spare room now looks like we were ransacked and robbed with things thrown everywhere.

Hopefully by fall she has finished her shopping and thank goodness we don't have a lot of overnight visitors.