Where I use big words about food allergies.

I mustache you a question. About accoutremontes

I had a conversation with my son today about his peanut allergy and his answer surprised me. Actually, it shocked me just a little as I was not expecting answers I received.

Most of us are adjusted. Mostly. Honest.

Edward and I comprised the adjustment team in our household. Most of the time we function properly...

Ok, so I know that I said that having a second child was a piece of cake. And it is. Honestly.

Honest honest.

For the adults anyways. Should I have clarified that?

For Edward and I, adjusting to Eleanor (who is delightful, smells delicious and is, in general, gorgeous) is like nothing. We already had 9 months of me sleeping like crap, so getting 3 to 4 hours a night in a row is a total bonus. Plus, and maybe I shouldn’t say this but…, she’s perfect and so much easier than Vince ever was as a newborn.

Get this: She cries when she’s hungry. The end.

Well shit. I think I can manage that…

Edward and I have this theory that she is going to be the ‘easy baby’. Vince was a nightmare as a newborn. I have recurrent bad dreams of singing ‘He’s got the whole world in his hands’ repeatedly and watching endless infomercials on the couch. Edward and I would compare notes every morning on what we’d seen (we took turns every evening). Vince would not got back to sleep after being fed, he was always awake and miserable.

Now Eleanor? Angel! Sleeps like that’s her goal in life. I haven’t watched an infomercial in the last 3 weeks. Hopefully I can keep this up. Or she can keep this up.

So as for the adjusting… well, like I said, Edward and I are adjusting just fine. Now Vincent? Not so sure…

There is no doubt about how much he loves his sister. Every day he makes some sort of comment about how she is ‘people’ and in his family. As opposed to the dog, who is not ‘people’ but is still included in the family member count.

He wants to rock her, feed her bottles, give her a pacifier (or binkie as it’s randomly been named here). He kisses her all the time, sometimes at rather precarious angles. He pats her on the back and head and says ‘excuse me’ when she burps. He is just great with her.

And with us, he is a complete and total basketcase. So awful. Horrible. Ick. Yuck. And ‘nasty’.

He’s started spitting in the house and has spat on the dog (for no real reason we can see, poor dog) and us randomly over the last few weeks. He has completely stopped listening to us and as a result we’ve had to implement rather strict punishment. Which means that pretty much E and I are laying down the law all day, every day and it is exhausting. I hate to list his misdeeds, so just imagine everything awful that an almost 4 year old could do and that’s whats going on. Frankly, it’s a relief when the weekend is over and he goes back to school. I think he might be a tad easier to handle there, where there are more children and very strict rules that are rigorously enforced (unlike some places…).

Like my house. In case you hadn’t picked up on that.

Listening right now is a huge issue for us. As in he doesn’t. At all. Or pretends to, but does something else entirely. So you ask him to do something and his response is to ignore you. You repeat yourself several times. No response. Or my favorite response: spitting. Or something else that’s just poor manners.

A confrontation regarding bad behavior yields not that much. The only thing that’s gets his attention is to remove privileges. And that’s where you get a response. A huge ‘I’m a liar’ response:

“I’m going to be good”.

“I’m going to be nice”.

“I’m going to listen”.

It’s usually one of these followed by “Mummy, are you happy of me???”

And this one is a hard one to answer. I hope he is addressing his behavior, but since he is in preschool, I am pretty sure that I would be reading too much into the issue if I did. I certainly don’t want to tell him he isn’t making me happy, implications and all… So E and I have compromised with ‘I am not happy with you when you spit on me, but I am happy when you have nice manners’ or something to that effect. At least we can let him know his manners are bad, but we still love him.

Such a precarious balance.

And really this balancing act is what is making things a little bumpy. I like saying ‘bumpy’, makes it sound like a plane ride that is a little out of hand and will be over soon. Optimistic overtones, ya?

I’m going to keep these tones in mind over the next few weeks and try to double my smooth breathing technique and monitor my blood pressure. And drink my tea every morning and make sure my pants are pulled up properly. All of these morning techniques should make for me having a calm and even temper and, of course, make sure that I KEEP MY TEMPER IN CHECK.

Because I certainly would never let me any 4 year old get to me.

Ever.

And I still have most of my own hair.

Partial wig only, swear… xoxo a.m.

Broken

The end of another busy weekend, which was at the tail end of a very busy week which was at the end of another busy weekend. Busy. Things are buys. This time of year is busy. V is busy. Edward is finally not busy (Winter holiday). Everything else seems to be getting increasingly busy.

Last weekend my most lovely in-laws took my exhausting son to SeaWorld and I went finished my Christmas shopping. How delightful.

Last week was the beginning of that wonderful time of year where absolutely everyone attempts to take a holiday at the same time at the office, which results in never enough people to cover everywhere, which makes things feel a little frantic.

Makes some people a little cranky. I, however, have been annoyingly chipper which probably means some coworkers are cursing me. I am on a vitamin/exercise high, man! I am running like a freak, doing daily vitamin D and flax seed oil and am getting B12 injections. I feel freaking amazing. And have a retardo amount of energy. And have no patience for people being shitty or cranky (unless I like you).Then you can be shitty or cranky all you like, I’ll just laugh at you a lot more. But still love you.

Anyways. Busy. Things are busy.

My son is quite busy. Here are some things that are increasing his busyness:

“Mummy!! No kisses! No like it!!”

“Mummy!! No hold a hand! No like it!”

“Mummy, am I good boy!!!”

“Uh-oh. I broked it.”

“Mummy? It’s broken”

“Mummy? Chewie broke it”

Our poor Christmas tree. It is slowly getting denuded.Well, the top is decorated with everything really fragile and the bottom holds the majority of the non-breakables. Or so I thought.  I had to trash 3 ornaments this week because they were broken beyond fixing. One Chihuahua with absolutely no legs (and I don’t know where the legs are). One snowflake. One train with numerous missing pieces.

And, brave soul that I am, I put presents from his Auntie Tamsin under the tree. So far they have survived 2 days of not being opened (apart for that one I opened as it clearly was Cheezies and I needed to eat them).

Edward gave me the raised eyebrow when he saw that. And also an almost undertone “Are you a crazy person?” chuckle. Well I’m not! NOT!! So there! They are still there. Even the one that makes noise, that got accidentally kicked this evening. And then kicked again so it made more noise. And then kicked one more time, at which point it was removed from the general vicinity to curious eyes and will not be seen again until this coming Saturday.

Anyways. I am about to embark on a super busy 2 weeks. Will post more.

love you! 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.

No

Last week I watched V stand in the living room, shake his hand at the dog and shout (actually shout!) “Da! Daaaaaa! DAAAAA!!!” at him. The first time it was funny, as was the second time actually. Quite funny too. The third time he did it, I realized it was a little familiar.

Familiar as in it was something I did all the time.

“Chewie. No. CHEWIE!. NO!” I shout. All the time. And then, when that doesn’t work, I say in my most calm of voices “Chewie. No, buddy. GET. DOWN” (Please visualize  him frantically barking and jumping back and forth on top of my arm-chair near the window, freaking out at everyone and their dog (literally) who walks by. Or walks near. Or near-ish.

Pain. In. My. Ass.

Apparently I shout at him a lot. AND shake my finger, just like V was showing me. I do it often enough that V is now an expert at it as well. And I am not sure that I like the image that is being displayed.

So that made me think about things. About how much we pick up from our parents, what kind of lessons we learn as children that shape our world today. It really made me examine my own actions… and then look at my personality and see if I could see my parents actions reflected in that.

It was very insightful. I saw interesting reflections of both parents in my temperament and actions. I’ll just keep those thoughts to myself for now.

How much of this is genetic and how much of it is learned actions? I swear I feel some of my beloved Gran in me, especially these last few weeks when I am rather a lot ‘flighty’. More so than usual. Yikes! There might be more Gran in me than I thought! Not that that is a bad thing. I just wish it was accompanied with a bigger chest and more glamour. Like Gran.

I digress…

Oh, how I am like my mother. Might as well just have cloned her. And then made me. But added more sarcasm, made her slightly more high-maintenance (here, M would chime in with ‘a lot’) and added about 40% of Father Gilbert. And then you have me.

Higher on the maintenance level than I would like to think I am (I think I am pretty low… M disagrees A LOT), cleanliness obsessed, no patience for crap, bullsh*t or any of that crap, hard to know. Mostly because am not interested in knowing you that much. Unless you show interest in knowing me. Then I am interested. And that is because of the shyness and poor self-confidence issues.

Oh internet, how you bear and handle my confidences…. You are like the ultimate secret diary.

V is on the path to becoming an interesting combination of M and I.

Climb

Today M, V and I went to the park across the street. A park that is conveniently across from the best Puerto Rican bakery ever. We called up the In-Laws and hit up the park together. Nothing like a little family time on a Sunday morning…

We watched V crawl all over the place…ate pastries…watched V crawl…Drank some espressos…pastries. Fresh OJ. Good times.

V (with the help of Daddy) has learned how to climb. Pretty much everyday that the two of them hit up the park, Daddy is teaching Little Man how to climb things.

Really, I think it all started during our Canadian Adventure when V encountered the lure of Nanna’s stairs and the excitement of Grampa Larry’s dining-room 2-step. This was followed by Gramma and Pop-Pop’s patio step. And further cemented by climbing in and out of the pool.

And finally, daily adventure on the climbing rock at our neighbourhood park.

So it was with limited surprise that I watched him climb up into the Papa-san, tip it backwards and fall out of it right onto his face.

And with even less surprise when I saw him climb up onto our coffee table, sit in the middle, giggle and then tip over backwards and hit his head.

And, again, with even even less surprise I watched him (with a grin on my face the whole time) climb through the first level on his changing table and land face-first into the corner of the wall, then grab a basket on the second shelf and pull it back with him.

THEN, stand on top of that basket, climb up onto the second shelf and do a header off of it onto the carpet. And then giggle.

Clearly I have some sort of super womb, as my child is indestructible.

For things to climb…. click here