Tag Archives: bed-time

Big Bed

Big boy bed: Part 2

aka Sunday Night Hell

aka I saved the drama for my Mama

Saturday night was rough, but Sunday was rougher. M and I awoke at 8 am after various bed switching, with the tiredest eyes you have ever seen in your life. And the most cheerful boy in the world. Half the family slept well (that would be Chewie and V).

I felt exactly like the day after I climbed Mt Fuji. Worn to the bone. But strangely energetic. I didn’t even take a shower, there just wasn’t enough time!!

We had things to do! And one of them involved visiting a puppy. Total top priority. Really important. And then visit Gramma Sassy and Pop-Pop.And then buy new door knobs for most of our interior doors (none of them have round knobs, but rather more of a handle thing which is really easy to open). And then try to wear our child out.

Because Sunday was a no-nap day. Which I thought was funny, as I really really really wanted a nap. But V wouldn’t not co-operate. So we settled for a pool-date out back in the courtyard. The plan? Sunshine and water can make the hardiest of people pass out from exhaustion.

This did not work. He played forever out there and I had pry him away from the little pool. He ate a HUGE dinner and continued to run a muck everywhere.

Finally, faces grey with exhaustion, M and I made a fabulous parental decision. Bed-time. It was time.

We made it extra alluring by adding a Skype call with Nanna and Grampa in Canada. And we talked up the bed. Talked it the motherf’ing up!!

Well, lets just cut to the chase. He cried. But he was really tired, so I think that encouraged him to get cosy in those blankets. And also, we switched his door knob out, so he can’t open his door anymore.

Go ahead. Judge away. I don’t care.

But that small little change is really helping us train him to stay in his bed and room at night. And once he is used to it? Then that door will open back up. My little monkey is just too wiggly to stay in bed. And my little monkey likes to climb baby-gates. Oh, and my little monkey tried to climb his dresser to get at his new night-light (that I ended up turning off and hiding). and I had a mini-heart attack while trying to stop him.

And after all of this? I headed downstairs, microwaved a veggie patty and slapped it between 2 slices of bread.

Nice. Must work on that.

xoxo a.m.

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Night-night!

Dude. Have I ever had a crazy weekend.

It started innocently enough, the regular Friday night things. I always order pizza on Friday nights and the delivery driver always can’t find my house. Always. V went night-nights like a charm, I munched out and planned my Saturday (which was going to involve Ikea and possibly breakie with Darling Cousin)

Mission

accomplished and we headed home for a nap (and a run for me). I thought V would take a nice long nap and so you can imagine my surprise when Little Man was up with Daddy in the kitchen.

Sweating  and panting, I entered the kitchen to be welcomed by my Mother-In-Law on speakerphone. “Hi Jaime”. “Hi Fran”.

M announced, “So, during my shower, I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I thought it was you, Jame. Turns out it was V”.

Me: “What the hell?!?!”

M: “Mom, I’ve got to go. Jame doesn’t want you to hear the words she is about to use”.

I used some big, shocking words. Quietly, of course and also covering my son’s ears. I then followed M upstairs, while carrying V, and received a demonstration of V’s latest skill.

Holy shit was it ever the freakiest thing. Legs swinging like monkeys, twisting and manipulating that little body he squirmed his way up so his body was lying horizontal on the edge of the crib. Then, balancing on his ribcage, he slowly lowered himself. Jeeez-Us.

And so that was it. The death of the crib. Several calls to my handy Father-In-Law later plus one expensive trip to Target, we were set. Eclipse curtains, curtain rods, bed set. Check!

And then? Then Hell arrived at my house and settled down for the night.

That big bed was scary. And V didn’t want to try it out, not matter how fun and cosy it was. No matter that it still had all of his little night-time friends. And blankets. No matter, V was not interested in any of it.

He cried. Cried and cried and cried and cried. And cried. He cried so much that his hair was soaked. My shirt was soaked. Everything was soaked. And as the minutes passed, the sobs got more and more heartbreaking. By this time, we had moved on from the chair to the bed, where he sobbed and tossed back and forth on me. Because despite all of this crying, he was exhausted. And during all of this crying? His eyes were shut.

The sobs wound down and the gasping, sobbing breaths began. Gasping and sobbing right into Mumma’s chest. Finally, he settled down. I sneaked-crawled off the bed and called my Mum. And during the call, he started crying again. I snuck back in, comforted him and then snuck out when he settled in…

And then I called my Mum again.

Around 3:30 I was woken up by someone poking me in the face, saying “Naaaasss!!! (nose) Maaaasssssue! (mouth) Naaaaaase! Mumma! Mumma? Mumma!! Mumma naass! ” Lots of little fingers poked me all over the face and guess what? Suddenly I was awake. As I opened my eyes, my vision was obscured by a huge grin.

Little Man slept 8 hours in his bed like a big boy!!

And didn’t go back to bed for 2 1/2 more hours. And then only went back to sleep because I slept with him (around 5:30), and then woke up around 8 am. Thank you blackout curtains!!

So we managed. And even though I felt like I ripped my sons childhood out from under him and even though I made him cry until I thought my heart would wrench right out of my chest. And even though yesterday evening, I cried too because I felt like I hurt my boy. And I cried because childhood is a fast and fleeting thing, or so it seems last night to Mummy.

And then this morning? While V pointed out the parts of our face, name Daddy, Mummy, Chewie and then shyly added his name to the list of “Who’s that?”, childhood reappeared.

Oh my son, my little little man. Not my baby boo anymore, but my shy and charming toddler, I love you. And I am sorry.

But honey? Your big bed and you snuggled up in it’s messy blankets is the sweetest thing ever.

Love you, Mummy…

(and love you too a.m.)

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Snack

The Plague or, if you are on a first name basis like we are, the Black Lung, remains a constant presence in our lives. Despite my best intentions.

So annoying.

But since I constantly seem to be talking about awful things, sickness and all of the things that my husband does wrong, I thought I would try something (slightly) different.

We had a busy day today.

It started out with a lovely Canadian Tradition of ‘Waffles and Puppies’, which is where we make waffles on Sunday morning and eat puppies. Puppies are whatever your imagination would like them to be.

Actually, no. This is what my Mother-In-Law thought we were doing this morning. Fran, Canadians do not eat Puppies. Please disregard whatever rumours you have heard regarding your Northern neighbours.

We actually went to eat waffles and meet a puppy. My cousin-sister got a puppy yesterday and likes to feed people. And it was Easter.

Yay puppies and yay waffles!!

And then we went home, V took a nap, I cooked, M got V ready and we headed over to his parents house for Easter dinner.

V has been out of sorts. I am trying so hard not to write about the Black Lung, but I can’t help it. I’ll just write a little, ok?

Ok, so super sinus infection, antibiotics and diarrhea. Thanks antibiotics for bringing that to the party!! And so diarrhea makes diaper rash (blistering). Which makes small children say this when brought into the vicinity of a changing table.

“Nooooooooo!! Nononononononononooooooooo No! No! No! Nooo!!!!!” etc etc

Oh, and it makes them cranky.

*whew* Sorry. Anyways.

So on the way home, V is happily chatting to himself in the back. M and I are exhausted. The dog is sleeping in M’s dirty clothes in the back seat. And suddenly?Well, suddenly we hear crunching noises coming from the back seat. And this was funny because V only had a bottle back there. No snackies. But he was clearly eating something.

Where was he getting it? Good question. I thought it might be ‘car seat food’, which might actually be the grossest of the food categories.

After a minute or more of crunching, M finally noticed he was getting it from the door handle. I guess he had put some there during a previous snack perhaps for just such an occasion? Total illicit snack. Thankfully it was cereal and not something like a piece of banana or cheese.

M laughed when we figured it out. “That’s like something you’d do, Jame”. And I am not sure if he meant eat the car seat snacks or store them for later. Either of which is ridiculous. Clearly I would store snacks in a baggie. Or a labeled snack container. Yes. I am anal.

He happily munched away for another few minutes. We did nothing to stop him. There really was nothing to stop! It made us both laugh though.

And now? V is sleeping, M is ps3-ing, I am blogging and trying to hold off the sleepy-time dust that is being shaken on my head. Sick people equals exhaustion. Sick people plus holiday dinner? Totally screwed.

Night all!

xoxo a.m.

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Grin

Having now weathered the worst of Daylight Savings in our house, M and I are taking a brain downtime break. It involves not talking and eating pie. Currently, this is working well for both of us.

Yay pie!!

In the days since the time change, every day seems to get a little better. Although bedtime is now combined with copious screaming. That’s when I curse the lighter evening sky and seriously consider blackout shades.

Boo venetian blinds!

Anyways, V lately is a little monster. He teeters between sweet and mischievous.

Teacher: “Vince learned to say ‘I love you’ today!! Vince….. ‘Love you!!”

Vince: “Wuv ooo”

Me: “Aw!!! Vince!!  I love you!!

Vince: “No.”

Can you say broken heart? I tried so hard to not let that show, but it actually hurt. Isn’t it funny how those little things sting?

And then last night, after wailing away upstairs for a while,  I gave in and climbed to the second floor and cracked the door. There he was, jumping in his crib, crying and sounding so forlorn.

Ok, I am a sucker. And V has some mad manipulative skills.

In I went and scooped that Little Man up, thinking that a snugs in the big bed would calm him down.

I carried him into our room and up we climbed and pulled the duvet over us. There we lay, face to face, and Vince had the hugest toothy grin. He was so pleased that he won, you could just tell.

Face to face, we grinned at each other.

Then I laughed.

Then he laughed.

And the more I laughed, the more he laughed. There we were, just grinning and gazing at each other, laughing away. It was just the most gorgeous 10 minutes of my life.

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Two

Did you know that M and I will have been married for 5 years next month? And also that V will be 2 years old in June.

To me, both of these things are rather exciting but, mostly, I am in shock.

Not so much about number 1 (that man is locked in forever)but definitely number 2. Number 2 is going to be 2! Although really he’s number 1. So number one is going to be 2… (my mind is giggling right now, it’s usually in the gutter anyways…).

Anyways, things have been changing over here in the last week or so. A sign of things to come? Of schedules to be disrupted?

It started off Sunday. My fault. Back from Spin class and feeling full of energy, I showered, shaved and felt alive. It was 3 pm and he was still sleeping. As far as I was concerned, that was too late to be sleeping and if he slept longer we would totally be f’d in the A.

So I woke him up. Sweetly, of course, and with many a gentle whisper and caress. Would you like to guess how all of my sweet efforts were greeted? With huge gulping, sobbing, wet, gasping cries. With big head-shakes at the mention of ‘Daddy’. And ever further head-shakes and wailing ‘Noooooo’ ‘s at the mention of Chewie the dog.

And the crying didn’t stop there. It continued for a good 15 minutes. And the day didn’t get any better from there. M just looked at me, gave me a total side-eye.

The rest of the day was just a huge, whiny, temper-tantrumy mess. So was the evening. So was dinner. And so was bath-time.

Bath-time was actually so bad it was kind of funny. Lowered into the lovely tub, all he did was wail from the time his feet touched the water. And then he tried to climb out. And then, when he couldn’t, he proceeded to wail and wail and wail like he was being scalded (which he wasn’t, for the record).

And bedtime that followed wasn’t much better. In fact, bedtime took place at 6:45, 8 pm, 10 pm, 11 pm and 1 am.

And Monday night wasn’t much better.

Tuesday was a slight improvement.

Happily Wednesday night was fine and so was Thursday.

So what the hell was all of that? In 3 months, he’ll be 2. Is it that? He’s getting quite opinionated. He will no longer ‘Moo’ on command. This disappoints me.

On the other had, he is developing a delicious sense of humour that is so infectious I just want to nibble on him. The giggles, the cheeky smiles, the mischievous looks and the endless “tic-el-tic-el-tic-el-tic-el” noises that he makes…

So if this is the terrible twos, I’ll take it.  Those grins make those weary nights worthwhile…

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Twin Bed

A short guide to not only buying a mattress, but also to surviving the post-sale salesman small talk.

After much back and forth it was decided that the addition of a twin bed would be a good idea to the household.  We currently have a full size (or standard or what every you call it) futon convertible. But the addition of another sleeping surface is necessary. Especially considering our upcoming company. We also were considering it V’s future ‘Big Boy’ bed.

We did some price checking.  The whole usual sort of thing.

Blah blah blah… let me just skip to us pulling up to the store and add that we were actually the only car in the lot. Where the salesman parked, no idea. There was only one of him and literally no other cars in a quarter mile radius.

It took a while for us to decide.

We had to decide between the cheapest mattress they had and then the one slightly more expensive.

Let me illustrate how hard this decision was:

“Could you show me your least expensive mattress?”

“Yes… it’s right over here “, he said, slightly out of breath from the thought of a potential sale and also from running from his desk to a dark corner where he frantically tossed garbage off of a thin crappy looking mattress stuffed behind some sales props.

“Go ahead, lie down and see how it feels…. it’s, ummm, not the best”, he added, “It’s not what I’d like to sleep on. But go ahead. Lie down.”

I didn’t need to do that to know that it felt like a prison cot.

We opted for something else. I know my Mum appreciates the thought that went into making that tricky decision.

So M and V went outside to make a call and I went to pay.

With my Visa card and id on the far side of his desk and the sales screen open, Kevin proceeded to make the most painful small talk I have ever been a party to.

Here are a few topics he covered:

Farmers Markets and how they just ‘need a chance’, Puerto Ricans, his nagging dry cough, the drive he took with his wife last weekend, how he works Saturdays, why he likes fresh vegetables…

This whole conversation was actually directed at the front of the store and not at me. He just stared blankly ahead while he rambled and made no eye contact at all.

Tips:

Wait until the sales forms are completed before handing over id/credit card.

Do not let your husband abandon you while you pay.

Make sure you bring your child who will serve as a handy distraction and allow you a quick and easy exit. And also prevent ‘chatting’.

xoxo a.m.

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Toilet

About 4 or 5 months ago, V discovered the joys of unraveling toilet paper. As a total neat freak, I was not happy about his discovery, although I did enjoy the silly noises he made while he trashed my bathroom. Can’t get mad at that!

All of the toilet paper immediately moved to the bathroom counter, behind the sink and completely out of reach of small, determined fingers.

Bathrooms are just not a great place for children. Ours all have doorknobs that he can open. They aren’t ‘knobs’ per se, but more like handles. So he is in and out of the bathrooms all the time and is carefully monitored when he is near a drawer.

He mostly pulls things out and throws them either into the basket by the toilet or the bath tub. Or he just places them carefully on top of the toilet. Toe nail clippers, contact lenses, hair accessories. The other day I caught him with a tampon in his mouth. And it was one of those o.b. ones too, which I haven’t bought in years so lord only knows where he got it from.

This afternoon, while I wallowed in sickness upstairs, he emerged from the bathroom with a handful of condoms. He then proceeded to giggle hysterically and run all over the bedroom with them. And then cried when I took them away… (mental note to self, find new place for condoms and tampons).

Back to the TP… I guess he forgot about it, or we did or we all did because gradually it was re-hung and no-one paid it any mind. Until last night.

M was brushing his teeth in front of the TV in the bedroom and I was on the other side of the house putting some laundry away. V was running back and forth between us. At some point we lost track of him, maybe for about 5 seconds.

We both heard some very giggly giggling. It was extra giggly. It was coming from the bathroom.

I peeked around the corner to see it awash in a sea of white. Paper everywhere. V kicking his feet. Toilet paper everywhere. As those little fat fingers reached for what was left on the roll I did a run and dive with a slo-mo “Noooooooooo…”.

I handed Mr Giggle to Daddy.

As he was carried, giggling, out of the bathroom, I surveyed the room.

M’s voice drifted in from across the way “Don’t worry Hun! I’ll reroll it!”

Ha! Really? It seriously would have taken all night. I scooped it all up and dumped it in the sink. Strict instructions were issued to actually use it.

Oh how I love parenthood and my sink toilet-paper!

xoxo a.m.

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17

17-blog

17 months, that is…

And it is a most interesting number. And a most interesting, um, adventure for Mummies and Daddies. You know who you are (or were).

It recently started with the word ‘No”. And then was followed by “Mummy, no. I don’t want to hold your hand”. This was communicated by, well, mostly grunts and, um, annoyed looks.

Someone is in the middle of asserting his independence and is not enjoying the doubts that Mumma is having regarding his decisions. Such as decisions regarding crossing a street without holding onto Mumma’s hand. I am pretty sure that all of you reading (ie my Mum and possibly my mother-in-law) realize that I am right.

Could you please tell V? Since he is currently a non-verbal Italian, he just stops in his tracks and squats down, trying to pull his hand out of mine. Since I am an emotional Canadian, I can read his body language.

I think all he wants to do is careen madly down the sidewalk, looking slightly tipsy as he bounced back and forth on our various neighbour’s lawns. I think he hears the name ‘V……’ and the word ‘No’ and reacts accordingly.

A few major temper tantrums have been introduced. Mostly involving him having a ‘fit’ (and very loose terminology is used here),  throwing himself on the floor and mostly smacking his head while doing so. Which induces crying. And so then I pick him up. And then he struggles with me holding him. And then I put him down. Repeat. Repeat etc etc.

And so life is interesting.

And my Mum is laughing. I know she is, as she was laughing earlier while I was complaining about this. I figure its divine retribution. I know I was  a pain in the ass. And I know M is a pain in the ass. And so the equation.

M+J=V(pain)2

Our respective mothers are peeing their pants laughing right now. Busting a gut (in a refined manners… as I know they are lovely ladies and all). Still. So tired.

xoxo a.m.

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Well, shit.

Just a few things that I have noticed that V brings home from daycare.

Bruises

This is a major one. Now probably this is because he has been walking for about 1 month (1 MONTH!) and falls down all of the time. Tonight during bath-time I noticed that his calves were literally littered with little bruises. It looks like someone whacked those little legs with a stick. And there were even a couple on the side of his little tush. My eyebrows raised a little when I saw those little bruises. What on earth is going on at DayCare that results in bum bruises?

Unexplained marks

Yesterday I picked him up from school and he was crying. He wasn’t crying when I was peeking at him from outside, but between me peeking and entering the building, something had happened. Something, and nobody seemed to clear on what had made him cry.

Well, regardless, off we went. We stopped for some french-fries on the way home. Just a little treat for my wee man. About 2 hours later I happened to notice a mark on his arm. With a closer look, I realized that it looked a lot like someone’s small mouth. As in someone bit him. Nice. And so there you go. Someone bit my child. And I learned about it by accident.

I mentioned it this morning when I dropped him off and apparently the class has a biter. During bath-time tonight, while I was noticing his cane-marks on those calves, I saw a faded mark on his other arm. The more I looked at it, the more I became convinced that it was another bite-mark. It was suspiciously rounded and mouth-like.

Shit.

Well, shit.

Shit.

Art Projects

Now these are delightful.

Yesterday I received 3 little things that he had done, little things he had painted and glued things on to. I just love this.

Tonight when I came home, V had ‘homework’. Oh, I even loved this! We had to send 5 different leaves to school tomorrow for a ‘project’. Off we went as a family to get some leaves. How lovely to have a little family project.

So biting, bruising and art work. That is what school has brought us so far. Oh, and the flu. And also a constant cold for 3 weeks. And some added emotional stress for all of us. And the word ‘No’.

So far school is kicking our ass. Damn it!! I was trying for a win!

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Nebulizers suck

neb-blog

Oh please... who's child sits like this for treatment! Come on!

Can I just say I am frustrated?

Damn. It.

Several months ago when V was sick, it turned out that he was mildly asthmatic. So darling Dr E recommended a nebulizer and to start ‘treatments’ when he had attacks.

Attacks? Almost never, unless he has a cold, which is where he is right now.

So last night he woke up crying and coughing and I rushed upstairs to comfort him. He was coughing and then crying. Nose running all over the place, cough and crying in spurts. And just with the most miserable look on his face while this was all going on.

So out came the nebulizer as he sounded pretty wheezy. And that’s where my evening got awful.

Wail, scream, wail, scream, shriek shriek shriek. I think that is baby talk for “Mummy, I hate this thing, the way it sounds, looks and smells…. basically everything about it. I hate it.”

Yup. He hates it. I think it made him cry more.

Eventually I got him calmed down and off to bed.

He slept all night. Woke up early despite the late night, coughed on and off all day. Ate BBQ with Mummy, Pop-Pop and Gramma.

Went to bed like an angel and woke up about and hour later with exactly the same symptoms as last night.

And so 30 minutes ago we went through the same routine. Except I thought I was being clever by being prepared.

I got a juice bottle. I prepared a dish of snackies. I brought the nebulizer downstairs. I put on Sesame Street.

I. Was. Ready. And I felt awesome about it…

V did not. Total repeat from last night. Except worse and with a snottier nose. And more crying. And just worse all around.

The neb and him are not a fantastic team.

8 months ago there was no problem with it. He would happily eat snackies while the nebulizer was pumping away in front of his face.

Now, not so much.

Any tips on making it tolerable?

(besides lollipops and doing the treatment while he sleeps– who are we kidding, neither of those work)

But any tips are greatly appreciated…

xoxo a.m.

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