Faking it

V wasn't paying attention

And just like that, we are back to food and bedtime issues. It appears to be a never-ending, cyclical thing.

What a huge turd.

Anyways, I’m not going to go through the whole huge complaint again. You’ve all heard it a million times. Won’t eat anything I make blah blah blah… a billion dinners blah blah, hates everything blah blah, won’t go to bed blah blah, lots of crying blah, hates school blah blah blah..

And of course the bipolar switch of ‘loves school, loves everything I make, gobbles down dinner and sleeps just like a little angel’.

It’s exhausting to keep up with.

Last night, during the Battle of the Bed, I though I would try a new tactic. It was called ‘faking it’.

This entails lying still on the narrow twin bed that V sleeps on, pretending to be ‘sooooooooo tired’ that I fall asleep, hopefully encouraging him to feel sleepy too and fall asleep next to me.

And I was so tired that I almost fell asleep too. So I am lying there, faking it, trying not to succumb to the pillow and the blanket. Tough. Very tough.

Things started to get calmer in the room. I stayed awake. Just.

And then a little hand started patting my face. Patting my cheeks and nose. Then my mouth. Then 2 little fingers poked their way into my mouth. I did not move. Mustn’t encourage child. Fake it good.

So I lay there with fingers in my mouth, little nails running over my front teeth. I did a fake ‘yawn and stretch’ type move and dislodged the fingers. 30 seconds later, the fingers were back in my mouth and the second hand started patting my nose and I felt fingers near my nostrils.

And that’s when I ended my attempt at faking it. Fingers up the nose? No thank you!

Faking it does not appear to work. At least not over here. All I get was 2 fingers in my mouth and one almost up my nose. And I got giggled on. (As in he giggled right in my face, all heavy hot breath and all. Few drops of saliva mixed in).

So Edward is dealing with the bedtime battles now. I am on poop-patrol. I have yet to decide if this is a far trade-off. Hmm.

xoxo a.m.

 

 

Still here

Update: There is still no bum on the potty seat. In fact, his teachers told me that he has absolutely no interest in it. Despite many of his little friends being rather interested in it. And so we are shelving that for the moment and focusing on perfecting our “drink from a cup’ skillz. Which, apart from the occasional ‘shake shake shake’ incident, is proceeding nicely…

Life just seems to have gotten really busy over here. V has been having a bit of a rough adjustment to school. Well, mostly to me leaving his room. Ideally, I think he thinks I should stay there all day, crouched on the floor next to where he is sitting, or next to his classroom window, hunting for squirrels on the playground. And then probably curled up next to him on his wee cot.

There are rather a lot of tears when I leave the room. And some mornings we don’t even make it into his classroom… we detour to his old classroom to see his favorite ‘Ms Susan’ in K1 and get hugs.

Lots of morning battles over going to school, wearing our school shirt, turning into his school’s driveway etc etc. And then battles about taking bathes and going to bed in the evening. Edward and I are now fully committed to staying on his bed until he has drifted off. This is the only thing that works. Sometimes we drift off too. I have rescued E from the room many occasion. He has caught me dozing off too.

All of this fun stuff, all these little battles and late night cuddles results in us being worn out! And V’s latest? A 3:30 wake-up call with very loud crying and demands for the ‘big big bed’. We both slowly wake-up and then, after 20 minutes of very sad noises, we give in and he practically leaps into our bed.

So I guess the point of this post this evening is to let you know that WE ARE STILL HERE! AND STILL ALIVE!

And further thrilling posts about urine, feces and general chaos will be coming soon. I am sure you are all looking forward to it…

xoxo a.m.

Other things that happened this week…

I slept poorly.

Edward slept poorly. But he is a vampire, so no-one should be surprised by that at all.

V also slept poorly. And we slept with V periodically and poorly as well.

Chewie slept well. Bastard.

I bought pants on sale at Target. Not for me, for V. The wee man isn’t a ‘wee’ man anymore.

3T is what we are hitting up over here. Isn’t that scary? It is for me. Since I still think he is 9 months old and teeny tiny. Isn’t that scary? It scared me. Just picking up the pants… geez. But I refuse to spend money on things that won’t fit him in a few months. It’s against my nature as a Canadian.

I fed my child broccoli and he liked it.

We bought a painting for our living-room. After visiting a friend’s house (Roys, you know who you are) Edward and I realized that hanging things on the wall was not a bad thing. And possibly since we have been living here for almost a year, finding things to put on the wall would be a good idea.

All we have to do now is hang it.

My Granny in Canada entered a nursing home. *sigh*

It’s genetic (dementia) and all of us family ladies joke about how it’s going to be us one day. And it’s true. But it still makes me sad. Happily she is in an amazing new home and really settling in well. Nothing like those scary ‘facilities’ down South. And after talking with one on the phone today, I couldn’t wait to call my Mum after work and relate some of the frustrating details of their extremely poor nursing staff.

Yikes! Every-time I have to communicate with one, I shudder to think of other families ‘special people’ in places like that.

Granny is adjusting well. Please send blessings and gentle thoughts in the general West Coast direction.

In other news, V has learned how to lie. Poorly.

Clearly he gets this from me as I can only lie to people over the phone. At work. Edward, on the other hand, can lie through his teeth.

The most recent lie is also the funniest.

V trots up to Daddy and proclaims: “No Poopoos!” and then trots away, while stink-lines emanate from the general area of his pants slash buttocks area.

Worst. Lie. Ever.

Followed by the other worst lie ever.

That involves V breaking something at Pop-Pop’s house, turning and pointing at one of the dogs and shouting either “Bai-ya” (Bailey) or “Soccer!” (Scarlet) and literally finger-pointing the blame in their direction.

Ha! It is rather funny. Such a naughty boy. Oh, I have so many stories to share regarding smacked bottoms and attempted time-outs, but I shall save those for a later date.

Tomorrow is ‘National Night-Out’ and The whole family is attending our local YMCA’s celebration.

I am so excited. I literally haven’t been able to wait ’til we could attend things like this and have V participate. With us.

We will be taking the camera, and since august is my “I will blog more often’ month, you shall all share in the pleasure of V running like a crazy animal. Maybe we’ll catch a few streaky shots of him?

Anyways, please forgive my poor posting this last month.

xoxo to my peeps a.m.

‘Edward’

Isn’t it interesting how things suddenly seem to change in a period of, say, 24 hours? And of course I am talking about children. As that is all I talk about because, well, that’s pretty much all there is going on.

There was forewarning, but we didn’t recognize the signs…

Thursday night, V called Daddy by his first name.

“Dad. Daddy. Daaaddddddyyy. DAD! Edward!”

*He wishes his real name to not be used, so I am using his middle. And that choice has absolutely nothing to do with having just watched Eclipse this afternoon.

Well, whatever we are calling him, it certainly got our attention. And then I laughed my face off. Last night at our family chili dinner, V did it again much to the delight of his Grandparents and Auntie.

And this morning, just after I left to hit up the movies with my girlfriend, M (or Edward) called and told me that V was running around the house looking for me, shouting “Mummy! Mum!!! MUMMY! Jaime!!!!!”.

Still, I find it quite funny. And probably will until he  starts using it as his primary name for me. My game plan is to (try to) not react to it at all. Wish me luck with that.

And moving on?

Moving on to V learning how to climb up his changing table.

‘Edward’ told me all about it Friday morning when he woke up on V’s floor (you know, since we are having night-time issues). He was still 3/4 asleep and V cleverly chose that moment to climb up his changing table. It looks like a 2 level book shelf and I guess that is helpful. Make it kind of like ‘steps’.

I laughed it off a bit when ‘Edward’ told me about the incident. Until this evening when he did it about twelve times. Right in the middle of bedtime.

Now this may sound like there is no control in our house. Really there is. This just happened to be a bad 2 minutes.

So while I moved the changed table out into the hall, rearranged the whole room and contemplated Ikea tomorrow morning, Vince read some books. Edward came upstairs and finished off the evening routine.

I lugged the table downstairs to the garage. And as I dragged it out through the courtyard I really had a good look at it. A proper good look. I think the last time I really noticed it as a piece of furniture was when I bought it. And I was hugely pregnant then. And then after? I ignored it. It is, after all, a receptacle for poo, diapers, powder and bums.

But as I was pushing it in to place in the garage, I looked at it properly.

Was the high rail supposed to be facing outward into the room? Or was the low rail. Because there is one of each. And we have always had the lower rail facing the room, with the high rail against the wall. But as I looked at it again and squinted and thought…

Shoot. Have I been changing my son incorrectly for 2 years? Has he been in non-stop danger of falling off the table? And then I laughed.

Not like it matters now, since we will be changing him on the floor, while we push the ‘big boy pants’ and the ‘stinky icky poo’ and then push the potty like an m-f’er.

There is now no place at all to keep V’s many many books. They are piled up all over his bedroom floor. Hence Ikea tomorrow.

But on an up note, his room seems bigger. And the cosy chair we have in his room is now positioned nearer a window which equals better light for Jaime and Edward to read by as V falls asleep.

Doesn’t that kind of sound like I am married to a vampire?

xoxo a.m.

Trouble

Update: Currently the only potty training going on over here is the fact that V and his ‘big boy pants’ are bff’s. Hallelujah! Minor win for Mummy!

As I listen to V cry off and on this evening, I realize we are in a huge pickle.

And well, since I am a huge sucker and he is now snoozing next to me on the sofa downstairs, I would say we have some issues. And they are all sleep related. And I have no idea what to do about it.

We have had so many amazing plans. They have all failed. And in fact? Things have gotten worse.

And worse at a steady rate. And I am sharing my parenting fail with you why? Because I love sharing.

Somehow the ‘I sleep in my own bed by myself’ apparently got old and tired for someone. He has retaliated by waking up in the middle, crying and working himself up into such a state that he has actually thrown up a little. And we have responded by giving in and letting him sleep with us.

And literally the minute we offer this as an option, all fussing stops. Instantly. And during the middle of the night, when one is half asleep, this does seem like a good idea.

And I guess this has developed into an unfortunate pattern and it took us a while to really realize that it was a pattern. And trying to correct the issue is a bitch.

We’ve been trying for about a week now and not much has changed. The only positive step is that I am now ‘allowed’ to sit in the chair in his room, instead of lying next to him in his bed.

And this is a huge step. And I bring my book and read until he is asleep. But this too is slowly failing as V stays awake later and later, and the light in his room grows dimmer and dimmer and I grow sleepier and sleepier. And I struggle to read in the dim light, gradually give up and then sit half asleep in the chair in the corner of the room. And then as I grow sleepier, I crawl into bed with him to the sounds of “Mummy too, Mummy too…”.

Dude.

2 weeks ago, we had a particularly bad weekend. It literally was a no-sleep night every single night. By the end of the 4th of July long weekend, I was happy to go back to work as that would bring some sort of routine back to V’s life. Plus I got to sleep until 6 am and that was a total luxurious snooze compared to the 3 days previous.

Last weekend, we were at a Disney Resort. V and I slept together for 2 nights and it was the best sleep I have ever had in my whole life. V and I woke up those 2 mornings all snuggled up, our hair all entangled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept that well. It made me sad when we checked out and headed home. I knew that my Sunday night sleep was not going to be as great as that Saturday night.

This last week, we have tried to keep him in his bed. So when he woke up every night this week screaming for us to the point of almost puking? M went and got him and slept on his bedroom floor. This worked really well for several night except M now has a sore back, V is still crying every night and then there was that one night when we didn’t hear him we were so tired. I woke up at 6 am with a Little man next to me.

It was the best night of sleep I have had all week.

So we are now thinking about things like:

A) Is it so bad that he sleeps with us from time to time?

B) If we keep letting it happen, will we be totally screwed?

C) Will this mean we will never sleep alone until V is 10?

D) Can we somehow make it work for only the weekends?

I feel like I am slowly reaching the realm of ‘I don’t care’. And the other realm of ‘Why am I fighting this?’.

Is it ok to give in? Will you judge me if V sleeps with us as he so clearly wants to? Is he having night-terrors? Is he scared of the dark? If I put another night-light in his room, will he climb up his dresser and play with it? Like he did this morning when M found him standing on his changing table?

Will I find him crushed by furniture in the morning? Do I even dare take that route?

There are a lot of ‘ifs’ and ‘will I’ and ‘Is he’ thoughts circling my head.

The path we are contemplating is tricky. The road uneven. The distance? Unknown.

M and I are about to take a journey. Maybe.

Fourth and dreaming

Long weekend, I had delicious expectations for you. Everyone always does. I dreamt of dreaming. I dreamt of sleeping and the dreams that come with.

Alas, you disappoint me.

What is up with the 4:15 wake-up call from the Wee Man on Saturday morning? And then this morning’s 3:15 am cry-a-thon and subsequent removal to the ‘Big Bed’ for cuddles. Sleeping with a 2-year-old is a mess. Thrashing, light sleeping and dragon breath. Not from me, from the Wee Man.

Last night was a rough bedtime for him. He just couldn’t let me go. We have been having a hard time with bedtimes lately, me especially. M, apparently is a night-time God, who can make children fall asleep with the snap of his fingers.

This is intensely annoying to me as, after all, I was the one who was able to make V sleep with just the simple stroke of my hand on his back. My powers must be waning.

Ack.

Anyways, Dragon breath apparently derives from when a child cries and coughs so much because they are so upset you are not lying next to them in their teeny tiny wee bed, spending the night with you that they work themselves up to a state where, perhaps, they cough and cry and maybe throw-up a little?

This is a total hypothesis.

His breath smelled like vomit, but there was no puke evidence. Anywhere. So this is where my mind went.

Anyways, it is disgusting, as I am sure that you can imagine. I not only didn’t sleep well after V and I were cuddling,  but after several hours of sleeping face to face and having him blow that directly into my mouth I gave up and got out of bed.

So tonight, the Fourth, is my last chance for a good nights sleep. I am just a huge selfish bitch, I know.

But it is. And right now all of my neighbours are celebrating the 4th by having a huge fireworks display that actually is almost directly below V’s bedroom. I went out to the porch and watched some of it and had a feeling that V would have been rather scared of it. He didn’t enjoy the sparkler that we waved around earlier. His eyes got really big and he made no move towards them at all.

How he hasn’t woken up by now, I have no idea.

I have high hopes for tonight. High hopes for a restful sleep, a delicious 6:30 or 7 am wake-up (how lame am I!) and another delicious 2 miler before it gets super hot.

Monday has all the ear-markings of awesomeness. *If* we can first get through this night.

See? Just like most of my posts are. Starts off on a poo note (or a vomit one in this case) and ends on a lovely one.

Gosh I’m clever.

xoxo a.m.

Boys are gross

They really are. Really.

This last week, while we have rumbled with bedtime routines and rituals, V has totally discovered that awesome orifice that is the nasal cavity. And I say cavity, because he has somehow managed to get the majority of his hand right up his nose.

Bed-time and boogers apparently go hand in hand.

It was kind of funny actually. This past week, when V has said “Mamma too.”, I have crawled into bed with him and rubbed his back and soothed him until he has fallen asleep. This worked magnificently for about 3 days and then changed dramatically. And I guess what really changed is that he discovered that he could remove things from his nose. And put them in his mouth.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww….

So Thursday night, M was home late and I was in charge of V-man. We read some books about Puppies (capitalized as apparently they are that important) and cows (also quite important, but not capitalized and so) and then settled down with our sweet classical music.

He was a little restless, unusually  so for him. I cuddled next to his tossing and turning body and I was trying to stay super still and make a lot of deep-breathing noises. I had hoped that this would encourage him to be less restless.

He wiggled. He squirmed. Arms moved all over the place. My eyes were closed for about 4 minutes or so. Things seemed to calm down. I opened my eyes.

Finger right in cavity.

And then right in mouth. And then he said “Nummy yummy!!” And then I said “Ewwww” again. And then he laughed at me. And then those fingers reached over to my mouth and  patted my lips gently.  And  I tried not to be totally grossed out by that.

And then it happened again the night following. And the night after. So I feel like I have fallen into a trap. Like he has trapped me, deliberately.

Dude. Those fingers are so up the nose way too much. And in the mouth. And then back in the nose. And then back in the mouth. Dude.

Any attempt from me to stop the fingering is met with awful and super volume resistance. And with a mild amount of physical violence. (He smacked my hand. It made me mad.)

He is not even a little grossed out. It’s just like  a natural progression of boy-hood. And that makes me scared for what is to come.

Hands down pants? Poop on walls? Boogers on faces?

Geez. Us.  Che. Rist.

So gross. Please pray for me and hope that our next child will be a female child. Pray hard. There needs to be a literal injection of femininity in this house, and I don’t mean getting another dog. I need a larger dose of it and  human dose at that.

I am heading to bed. To the land of dreams and pretty lacy things, pink unicorns and sugary goodness. And no boogers.

The Game Plan

After about a month of the big boy bed, a month of crying and a month of feeling very emotional, we are revising the bedtime plan.

Not that we planned this or anything, it was just something that I did last night that worked so well I couldn’t even believe it. So I did it again this evening and it worked even better.

Essentially I have given in to the extremely sad cries that were leaking through his bedroom door and into the hallway over to where I stand every night. I have also given in to the clicking of the door knob as he tries to open his bedroom door and find Mummy. Always Mummy, only Mummy all the time.

There I am, every night, in the corner biting my lip. Listening to those noises and saying to myself (in my head) that this will all pass, it will all get better, V will stop fighting and eventually just go to bed. But unfortunately, things have remained the same. I mean, they certainly haven’t gotten worse, but it is not like they have been improving either.

It’s giving in, but in such a nice way.

“Mummy too?”, he says, patting his little pillow.

“Yes, Mummy too”, I respond, climbing onto his little twin bed and sharing that football and soccer ball covered pillow. He hands me his favorite blanket, which I tuck around him and then I lie down with him.

We listen to lullabys.

I watch his face, those eyes flickering here and there around the room. Sometimes they land on me and he smiles…

Eventually they close and I stay there for a little while longer.

I haven’t watched him fall asleep since he was a little, itty bitty baby. So while I watch him do that, it makes me think about him 2 years ago, so little and so hungry. And now, a monsterously huge little boy who eats like a beast, plays so hard you’d think it was an Olympic sport and sleeps like a brick. When you can convince him to fall asleep, I mean.

So I convince him by saying “Mummy too”, lying down next to him, stroking his back… and at the same time, I am having the time of my freakin’ life!! An actual cuddle with my boo, one he isn’t even fighting!! Bliss!! Utter bliss!

And really, when you really think about it? Why would I ever be in any hurry to leave? What do I have to do that is so darn important that I can’t sit with my child and comfort him while he tries to fall asleep?

Not a damn thing. Best idea I have ever had in years. YEARS!

So for the last two nights, I have not bitten my lip or hovered in any hallways. OR tried to hold back tears OR felt at all guilty at all.

So far, it sounds like this is a total win.

Sweet

Reading over my last few posts, I feel like I have fallen into a rut of sharing only the ‘poo, crying and general unpleasantness’ stories that is my life. I hope you don’t think that is the only things that happen over here. Nice things happen too. And sweet things.

V’s vocab is expanding by leaps and bounds right now. Current phrases:

“Awesome dude!”

“No Monkey”

No car shoes” (Pushing aside his ‘Lightening McQueen’ shoes and dragging  out his Spiderman shoes instead)

Random pig and cow noises and, sometimes if we are really lucky, the sweetest kitty and baby bird noises too.

“Bubbles?!?!” (to his bubble bucket on the bac k porch)

“Mummy, park? No park.” (as it started raining on the way home yesterday)

‘Mumma, push?” (to me in the garage. He likes to watch the door go up and down)

M just taught him how to tickle and so there is extra cute laughter in our house lately. V’s tickle technique is so funny.

He approaches you with one finger extended and pokes you once, and then leaves that finger there. “Tickle.” he says solemnly. And you are expected to giggle like a crazy person. Lord help you if you do not.

He has recently become totally obsessed with Chewie the Chihuahua. Poor Chewie… it’s almost too much attention for him (and since all he wants is constant attention, that is saying a lot). V wants Chewie to say ‘good night’ to him every night. He wants to see Chewie every morning when he wakes up. He wants to play tug-of-war with him all day long and wants to pat him all day too. This tends to make bedtime rather difficult.

It also makes bedtime rather cute. So do V’s requests for me to stay in the chair next to his bed. “Mumma, chair? Mumma. CHAIR.”

So even though there are the most ridiculous poop-filled events going on over here. Even though I feel like we are on the verge of maxing out our medical benefits for the year on the little man. Even though there are a large amount of molars on the horizon. And even though it sometimes feels like I am drowning in vomit, poo, tears and emotional exhaustion…there are too many overriding sweet things happening at the same time that sometimes might get ignored or pushed to the wayside a little.

I promise to make a better effort to balance out these posts so you are all not making frowny faces while you read. I really want you to make some happy faces! Or at least some kind of happy faces.

Off to watch Cap’t Kirk rescue some whales in the 80’s…

xoxo a.m.

Fine

As the week progresses, the saga of the Big Boy Bed continues…

And, as always with a 2 year old, it is a learning experience. Not just about them, but about oneself as well.

Tuesday night, after I got home I headed right to spin class. M stayed home with Little Man, made him dinner and did the whole bedtime routine. I got home at 7:22. I remember the exact time because I was shocked that the house was so quiet.

“How did it go?” I asked curiously.

“Piece of cake,” he said.

“Really? No drama?”

“Nope. Not really,” he said abstractedly as he googled or binged or whatever it was he was doing on the laptop.

Huh.

Well. Um. I didn’t really know what to say to that. Maybe he just had a lucky night.

And tonight? Dinner went fine, bath-time went fine, story-time went fine. Everything went fine fine fine fine fine. It was all fine. Really just plain fine. And then we closed the door. M headed downstairs while I hovered nervously outside V’s bedroom door, listening to him cry. I bit my lip repeatedly. I nibbled on my thumbnail.

And while I did this, I listened to the saddest sounds you have ever heard in your whole life. “Mummy! Mummy mummy mummy mummy mummy mummy. MUMMY. Mummy~~~~~~!” I was so sad I started to cry. And then I heard him get off his bed and head for the door and try to open it. That little knob twitched back and forth but he couldn’t quite turn it enough. That was followed by some extremely sad little noises.

I gave in. I opened the door.

“Mummy!”, he cried happily. “Mummy. Yes. Mummy. Yes. Mummy? Yes.” he said as he ran over and sat on his bed. This I took (correctly) to mean that I was supposed to lie down on his bed with him.

I am a sucker. My child is manipulative.

And my son knows this. And after he was settled, I went down and told my husband this. Before I even got halfway through what I was trying to say, he was nodding in agreement. “You are a total sucker,” he agreed. Geee. Thanks Hun!

Mummy is a not as strict as she thought she was. Mummy is, in fact, rather easy to manipulate (kid-wise). Daddy can get V to hold his hand while out for a walk. Mummy?? Less successful.

And tonight? Mummy cooked dinner for V, with V on her hip. If Mummy attempted to put V down, he did a total leg-clench, shrieked “No down. NO DOWN!” at the top of his lungs. If I succeeded in putting him down, he cried, clung to my leg and kept trying to climb up it by using the same technique he employed when escaping from his crib last weekend. And so I cooked dinner with one hand and burned my finger with boiling macaroni water.

High-five Mummy!

It’s kind of embarrassing to realize that your child has, in fact, completely wrapped you around their very small finger. I am, in fact, in full-on worship mode right now. I haven’t quite hit punishment mode, or time-out mode. I find them rather intimidating. I wonder if I am using 2 as an excuse. Is 2 too much for me? Why is M better at handling these things than I am? When did I wimp out and melt all over the place over sloppy kisses? And when did those sloppy kisses turn into some sort of hypnotic control that makes me do his bidding.

Is there too much love? Is that possible? Should I really actually read that book I bought a month ago about punishment for toddlers?

Mummy needs to toughen up. Just a little though. I don’t want to be a total pushover, just an easy cave-in.

xoxo a.m.