Cold Spaghetti

Lately, things have been hard for Will. He has a sister who is a “crazy monkey” (his words) and adores him to the annoying level of copying EveryThingHeDoes. He just started at a new school where his teacher and a ton of the students speak French most of the time. He misses his friends at his old school. And his parents NEVER feed him hamburgers. Or let him stay up all night.So it’s understandable that tonight, during the bedtime lament that has become the standard in the past week, Will became upset. SO UPSET that I was not only declaring it bedtime, but also time for teeth brushing, that he would say terrible things. To me. His Mother. Really terrible things.

And this is where I had my Big Moment. All those words and threats rolled off me as cool and clean as water and I got down to meet him eye to eye and said in a most natural and pleasant voice:

“It’s okay, Will. I know that you love me and you don’t mean those things. And it’s okay, because no matter what you say or what you do, I will always love you more than anything in the world. In fact, I love you SO MUCH that I am making you go to bed, even if it means you will be mad at me, because I know that you need rest to have a good day tomorrow and I want you to have a good day. And I love you SO MUCH that I want your teeth to be healthy, so I make you brush them, even when it makes you so angry that you don’t want to cooperate with me. So it’s okay to be mad at me. Because I love you.”

Then, just in an instant, everything changed. All that stuff about love being the salve for anger? Apparently it’s on the mark. Will’s angry tears dried up and, much to my surprise, his mouth opened for the toothbrush. He even went to bed without too much more fuss. (Okay, he whistled and woke Kate up, which lost him TV privileges tomorrow, but compared to what was in the works 15 minutes earlier, this was nothing.)

Mommy got the GOAL! tonight, but will have to ice her knees and rest for tomorrow; because we will not be having hamburgers for dinner.

The last three weeks.

We had a week-long visit from:
Nana. Who brought presents, time, patience, and recipes. The day she left, Kate wandered around calling “Naaaaa-Naaaah, Where ARE youuuuuuu?” (Subtext: “Save me from these crazy people!”)
Having a third adult in the house was a huge relief. It was also well-timed, because the day she left and returned us to a house of two adults, we downloaded a child.

He was thrilled to be spending almost a week away from home, his parents, and his particularly his sister. In Will’s words: “Mommy, I needed a break from that crazy girl. She’s too much for me.” I dropped Will off with my Mom in Gulfport (our half-way meeting place) and he joined Granna and PapPap on a trip to visit my brother and sister-in-law. (My incredible sister-in-law, who by all accounts spent 5 hours a day on the floor re-reading the same books and cards so patiently to the-ever-curious-Will, has posted adorable photos from the trip.)

While Will was away from home for the longest time ever, Paul turned 38 on May 5th. This is remarkable only because I told at least 3 people that he was turning 36. I also wrote that I was 30 on a doctor’s form a few months ago and only realized the mistake because “date of birth” and “today’s date” were close enough together to make me do the math. I’m not forgetting little things, I’m actually forgetting years. It must mean that it’s time for us to have some sort of life crisis.

Also on Cinco de Mayo, our friends Alex and Dawit were married. (The wedding date was chosen because it’s Alex’s birthday, too.) In between a day of picking up tiles, switching cars, dropping off kids, and buying paint, I took photos of the event and you can see them here.

Meanwhile, back at the station, the house continues.

Drywall took a long time. There were delivery problems. Supply problems. And daily layers of drywall dust… dirty, gritty, drywall dust… ALL OVER the bedrooms and hallway each evening to mop, dust, polish, and wash off. And, we’re back to no washer and dryer. Still, the crew (comprised of a husband and wife) did a very good job.

Here’s the site of the future cat-door to Scout’s litter-box “room” under the washer and dryer.
Outside, Paul spent a good 20 hours on the roof over 2 days. It’s done, although these pictures show it as still-in-progress.

Now that it’s done, I’m thinking we may finally be able to remove the ever-present can of Goo Gone from our shower?
We discovered that Kate can work the garden hose. WATCH OUT.
Note that Will’s head is soaking wet. Coincidence with that last picture? I think not.
Kate also discovered an obsessive love of ice. Workers (read: Daddy) must carefully guard their precious cups ice water, lest it be plundered by the Sweet Pea with the dirty hands.
Also: Kate loves Crabby Jack. Oysters. Shrimp. And duck. (Domilise’s for Roast Beef, though, of course.)
Kate turned 2 and got presents. Including ELMO UNDERWEAR from Gwen & Co. Here she is, putting on Every Single Pair.
And dancing.
My Fellowship Year officially began with our Orientation Retreat. At first it was going to be an overnight event, but it was shortened to a Really Long Day in Baton Rouge. Who knew the LSU campus was so darn pretty??? The group is inspiring and interesting; I left the day feeling an unexpected excitement for the coming year. We did a variety of team-building exercises, including ropes. I surprised myself by having fun, and realizing that my recently-developed fear of heights is more extreme than I thought. I was Very Impressed with the folks that climbed the 60 foot pole, stood up, and jumped for the trapeze. Here’s Jonathan, the only one to touch the bar, in one of my favorite pictures from the day:
This one of Kemi is probably my favorite:
Meanwhile, back at the station, drywall finished. Tile started.
Tomorrow, the base of the washer/dryer platform will be grouted and trimmed… so we’re hoping to have these back by Wednesday?Paul ALMOST finished the plumbing today while I wrangled kids and house. The tub plumbing is hooked up and tested perfectly. The ONE LEAK in his intricate shower plumbing? It wasn’t from a failed joint… it was a failed PIPE.
The darn elbow had a crack and hole. When Paul went to Lowe’s to get another elbow, he came home with the wrong kind. When he went back to trade, they were closed. As was Home Depot. Plumbing to Paul is like Cryptonite to Superman. Utterly defeated and forced to wait until the morning… because, after all, tomorrow is another day.

Paul and I have been married for almost 8 years and in that time, we have developed an excellent relationship based on great communication. For example, this afternoon, I heard Paul say to me: WE HAVE A WORKING LAUNDRY. TOMORROW, I WILL MAKE DINNER FOR NEXT WEEK AND PUT THE KIDS TO BED.

And it’s part true. He said those words. I just didn’t hear what was in between them: WE don’t HAVE hot water in the back, but we are close to having A WORKING LAUNDRY. I need to be under the house working on it all day TOMORROW, so I can’t handle WILL with me in the back. Also, I’ll need you to MAKE ahead some DINNER FOR NEXT WEEK when you have your board meetings. Remember that I’m working tonight AND you’ll be alone with the kids. I’m sorry that I can’t help you PUT THE KIDS TO BED.

This may explain why he reminded me repeatedly that he needed to go to work when I insisted he put Kate to bed. He’s a very good sport.

Similarly, when I told Paul about us having a naked salad with no dressing and chicken breasts for dinner, I’m pretty sure he only heard the words “NAKED” and “BREASTS,” which is maybe why he looked disappointed when he came in for dinner.

So maybe it stands to reason that our children do not hear anything that we say to them. Perhaps hearing the words people say takes the same kind of time and practice required for something like learning to read or riding a bike. Until they develop those skills, maybe it’s unfair to hold them accountable for their actions. Maybe it’s not that they are choosing not to hear, but just absolutely cannot hear due to a completely underdeveloped skill not yet at maturity.

So when we tell Will, “Wash your hands and sit down for dinner,” maybe then it’s not that unreasonable that he would hear “DUMP OUT THREE MORE PUZZLES AND TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS.” Or when we ask him to “Help Kate put on her shoes,” he hears “GRAB KATE’S SHOES AND RUN AWAY AS FAST AS YOU CAN. THEN TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS.”

It could be a completely developmental issue. So we can stop beating our exasperated heads against the wall.

The threat of not having indoor plumbing during Paul’s renovation work this weekend drove me to Mobile to stay with the parents Saturday night. It was a desperate situation; my Dad was on death’s door (literally, he didn’t go to work Thursday or Friday — we called in a priest to perform last rites) but I felt that we had no choice. Plus, I had to retrieve the kids’ old summer clothes from the attic if I were going to sell them back to the CCEX this week.

Right before we left, Will complained of being cold. Then sneezed. Uh-ho.

Then we got to Mobile, where my Mom was getting sick, too. I spent the weekend caring for my parents and Will… with a perfectly healthy Kate driving us all crazy. Sunday night, we sped home… I was terrified that the kids would bring the end to my dear parents, who were both sick and exhausted or that both Kate and I would succumb.

Monday morning, Will seemed better. We had assumed he would be home from school, but Will insisted he was okay and was running around with enough energy that we decided to try it out.

It was a mistake. He did fine all day, but when we had him home that night, my Mommy instinct kicked in. No real reason in particular, but Ana’s strep, combined with the fact that he seemed to have stalled in the getting better department made me think he needed to be seen. He stayed home today (despite being incredibly annoying before school this morning — he clogged the front toilet, which started overflowing and didn’t tell anyone until Paul noticed two inches of pee water pouring out of the bathroom door — annoying and bad behavior was another clue that he was probably less healthy than he was appearing). We traded childcare all day between meetings until his doctor’s appointment late this afternoon.

He’s got strep. Now Paul is saying his throat hurts. Kate came home with goopy eyes and has sneezed a few times. The jury is out on those two, but Will is definitely home one more day.

It took a ginger ale tonic and 30 minute of intense work, but we managed to get Will to get the classic pink stuff down. 19 more doses over the next 10 days to go. I’m dreading each and every one.

My Dad’s company does a lot of business in New Orleans and rents an apartment here for business use — thankfully, it’s not being used for the next few days, so the kids and I are using it. It’s letting us do laundry (still no washer and dryer) which is a great thing considering we had three huge bags of wet stinky towels from the morning’s exploding toilet. Tonight and tomorrow night are going to be in the 30s, so the kids and I staying here will hopefully help keep them warm and healthy — when the wind blows, the back rooms are freezing. Paul is home, using every minute of in-house-with-no-kids to put in extra hours at work and on the house. He’s closed off the back rooms and is sleeping in a sleeping bag in the front of the house.

Paul is hoping to work nonstop on the house this weekend, so we need a healthy house. Germs, be gone!

When walking with Kate, one must be very careful. This is because she will move, as fast as possible, toward any animal she sees… especially if it’s a dog. This includes, but is not limited to, dogs walking down the street, dogs walking across the street, dogs in a house down the block, dogs whizzing by in a car, and dogs that Kate makes up in her imagination.

To interrupt Kate’s love-fest with a dog, you will need to physically remove her from the animal. This will result in THE POUT.THE POUT may last an especially long time, at least until she is re-united again with her animal love, or is found a suitable replacement. Her brother qualifies as a suitable replacement. As does her family “gato,” Scout. Her Daddy and Mommy do not.

When faced with THE POUT, one needs constant vigilance. THE POUT gives her certain super-powers aimed at circumventing all attempts of control. This includes, but is not limited to, kicking, running, fussing, wiggling, and going boneless. Note picture below: she is Assuming The Position. Prepare for defensive maneuvers.

The Preface: We have no child safety equipment in our home. None. However, we do not have stairs in our home. My parents have even less safety measures in their home. And they DO have stairs. Big, tall, hardwood ones. With spindles to get caught in, slippery floors to lose traction on, and hard surfaces to pack the punch.

So how do we keep an eye on ever-so-active Kate? And how did we keep an eye on Will before he was old enough to tackle them on his own? This is how: we communicate constantly, keeping tabs on who is watching which child where and providing updates when the situation starts to change. All the time clarifying and updating the who, what, and where.

Somehow, this didn’t happen so well this weekend.

See these stairs? Straight, long, tall, hard, and unyielding?Yup. What you’re now thinking is exactly what happened.

Kate fell down these stairs. From the top, or at least very very very close to it. It is a fall that could have killed her, should have seriously injured her, and in the very least must have decently hurt her. The thudding sound of her body going down these stairs is, without question, the worst sound I have ever heard.
I found her at the bottom, lying on her back, having just hit the bottom floor. Still in her hand were pieces of clothes (freshly washed and folded and placed among our suitcase upstairs) with others lying up and down the stairs around her. It was obvious that she had climbed the stairs alone, rummaged through the clothes, and chosen some to carry back down. Somewhere near the top, it all went very wrong.

I reached her so quickly that she hadn’t yet started to cry. She was in that moment of shock and surprise, the split second before you register pain. She let out the first cry after her eyes met mine. But, surprisingly, her cries did not last long — they were very short-lived, actually. She did have (has) a bruise on her forehead and red marks along the right side of her cheek, but nothing that looked truly serious. No blackout. No vomiting. No strange eye movement. No odd limb positions, pain while moving, or stiffness in walking. Nothing. After a minute of crying, pushing away bags of ice, and fussing over us looking at her head and eyes, she calmed down, pointed outside, and asked for “bubbles.”

It seemed like I was in worse shape… shaking, swallowing back bile, trying not to think about the sounds etched in my head and the pictures they painted. I have never been so afraid.

Some lessons:
— No matter who is watching, supposed to be watching, or assumed to be watching … everything is always on my watch. I am having a much harder time being around while others keep an eye on her and am definitely more nervous over her.
— Kate’s head is a diamond. Nothing is harder.
— Kate will make an excellent addition to the NFL or NHL.
— Kate does not learn well from accidents. The very next day, I stopped packing in a moment of dread and rushed to the stairs on instinct… and found her halfway up the stairs.

To my children: please, let this be the last of your near-death experiences. It’s too much for your poor Mother to bear.

Will was a week or so shy of 16 months when we started to train him to self-soothe to sleep. I felt guilty about it then but was getting desperate for a good night’s sleep… one free of kicks, punches, and pokes. I’m fine with the family bed and have no problem with a 1-year old sharing it… but either because we’re smooshed in the Queen (note to future parents: forgo the crib, invest in a King mattress) or because my children are maniacs out to destroy me, both children go into attack mode during sleep.

Kate gets herself to sleep at school each day, so I know she is capable of drifting off without me. However, when I am around, she seems to forget this. In fact, when I am around, she makes a point to wake up every 30 minutes or so just to remind me that she needs me to fall back asleep. Even this would be okay, if the 30 minutes in between those awake moments were not filled with Bruce Lee moves directed at my tender parts.

I say all of this to relieve myself of the guilt I feel for starting Kate on sleep training. It actually went well, the getting her to sleep part. With Will, the first night involved him throwing a huge temper-tantrum, rocketing his toys out of the crib one by one and finally, when there was nothing else to throw, taking off his pants and tossing them. I remember that when he was too exhausted to fuss, he started to clap to get my attention. (We did the Supernanny “stay in the room without eye contact” method.) He still joined us in the wee hours of the night until he was almost 2 and when he did make this transition to sleeping in his bed through the night, it was on his own schedule. I figured this will be the same for Kate. We have been talking about needing to do something for awhile and decided to go for it. Paul has little patience for being disrupted in his sleep and I can’t handle it alone every night. I just really need her to sleep a few hours on her own. Maybe just for half the night? Four hours? Is that too much to expect from a 1-year old? She is a few months younger than Will was when we started him down this path, but I know this is something she can do because she does it everyday! Please Kate… just go to sleep for us, on your own! I am so sorry, but I can’t fight with you every night.

So, tonight, I nursed her, cuddled her, sang to her… and put her in her crib. She started out happy, bounced up and pointed towards our bedroom, signaling that she expected to go back. After a few minutes of quiet fussing, she let us know she wasn’t happy. But it didn’t last particularly long (20 minutes?) and finally, Kate went to sleep. It was hard for me to do — mostly because I feel it was completely wrong. Rational parenting makes sense to me. What other species allow their off-spring to cry themselves to sleep? What would it mean for children to decide when they are ready to leave their parents bed? If we stripped away the need to fit our children into convenient places in our lives and removed all the cultural lessons that tell us to use cribs… if we did all of that, would we ever even consider the thought of not sleeping with our babies? I feel sorry, sad, and frustrated to be giving in to these conveniences.

As I write this, Kate is crying. She was asleep for a little over an hour before waking. Paul is trying to help her but she is pretty miserable. If I get her, she’ll be up again in an hour and then again in another half hour to hour for the rest of the night. She’ll kick herself awake, be cranky, pull on me to nurse, nurse, then squirm and kick and be miserable until I fight her to be still enough to sleep… then wake up again in 30 minutes. This has been my life for over a month and I need help changing it. I’m sorry Kate. I have to believe that, in this moment, I am not teaching things that will cause you to loose trust in the world, in me, or in yourself.

Shower time, two nights ago. I’m in the shower. I’ve turned over Babycakes, who is being dressed by her father in the back bedroom. Will is on the toliet, doing whatever he can to delay getting into the shower. Not for any real reason, Just Because.

Finally, it’s been too long. My requests for him to get in have been blown off or given lame excuses; no more will be tolerated. I open the shower door. “Will, it’s time. Get into the shower now.” He looks up at me with a slack, relaxed face. It is obvious he sees no need to hurry.

“no.”

And there it was. No drama with it, no capital, no bolding, no italics. Just “no.”

I’ve heard tell of when parents break. They get pushed too far and the demands on them culminate into one moment where they launch into an uncontrollable rage. For me, this usually materializes in a voice that I didn’t know I had — one that sounds a bit like the monster “Zhoul” in Ghostbusters (you remember the one: “There is no Diana, only ZHOUL.”) This voice rumbles up my ribcage and pounds through my throat, emphasizing in hard consonants the terrible things that will occur if my words are not obeyed RIGHT NOW. The voice is so effective, I don’t need to say much. Things HAPPEN with the voice.

But today, the voice didn’t come. I held it in, trying to maintain the composure that I’m told it is Most Important to have in These Situations. Instead, to my surprise, something else happened.

Right after that calm little “no” ventured out of Will’s lips, so gently, as if putting a toe into a pool of water of unknown temperature, just after that little rebuttal, in that first moment of pause — my head began to shake on my shoulders. And then, suddenly, my head began to spin. (I know what you are thinking, but I promise: I Am Not Making This Up.) Around and around it swirled in circles, my eyes going large, blinking to accommodate the 360 degrees of bathroom I was taking in with each rotation. I was completely out of my body; it was an unworldly experience. So much so, that I was convinced I was under the control of Another Being — I began to worry if I’d suddenly be vomiting pea soup ala The Exorcist. But just as I had that thought, I heard at loud “POP!” And just like that, my head stopped spinning and slowly rested back on my shoulders, shaking as it regained balance.

I blinked. Then I reached over, plucked Will up by the tops of his arms and plopped him in the shower.

Will (walking into the front room, after his bedtime): “Mommy, I had an accident.”

“You had an accident in your pull-up?” (He sleeps in pull-ups. We are so not ready to tackle night potty training for Will, who sleeps with an intensity most NOLA folk save for Ash Wednesday.)

Will: “Umm… I’m wet. My bed is all wet.”

“What do you mean your BED is WET? Do you mean your pull-up?” (You can start to hear the fear in my voice.)

Will: “MY PANTS are wet. I had an accident.” (I look closely. The sides of his pajama shorts are a bit wet. I’ve put it together and am not ready to accept it.)

“Will, you wear your pull-up to bed so that you don’t have any accidents. What happened to your pull-up?”

silence.

“Will?”

Speaking softly with his chin pressed tightly to his chest, shamefully looking to the floor in growing remorse, “itookitoffandtinkledonmybed.”

Now that Will is out of diapers, a whole new world has been introduced to us: KIDS IN UNDERPANTS.

Even with the choices of disposables, cloth, characters, and brand, diapers are collectively ambiguous, nameless, and generic. At least they seem that way compared to the fast-paced world of Underwear. Underwear is a serious business. Kids talk about their underwear with the same intensity that they discuss treats, toy, and trips to the zoo. They announce that they’re wearing it to strangers. Give the slightest hint of interest (or maybe even not) and chances are, that little guy or gal will flash some Dora, Spiderman, or Bob the Builder.

Last week, Will spent a Saturday back in Pull-Ups because they were BOB Pull-ups. The generic pirate undies, although good for “pirate days,” weren’t cutting it 24/7. In the pushover mindset of parents who are willing to do whatever it takes to solidify successful potty training, we found Bob Underwear. Will found the box of undies the moment he came home and he acted as if he’d just stumbled upon the world’s largest vat of ice cream, bouncing around the room with infectious joy. We couldn’t help but get excited, too, “Hooray, Bob Underwear for our Big Boy Will! We’re so proud of you!!” How silly was I to think that he would be able to resist the temptation of wearing them long enough for me to wash them? Unthinkable. But I held firm and insisted that they needed to be washed first.

As a side note, parents of preschoolers need to think — and think hard — on the things they insist to their children. Intense feeling about something may raise a level of interest in said child that is not anticipated. By insisting on clothes being washed before wearing, I impressed upon Will the importance of LAUNDRY. Which is why I keep opening the washer to find random dirty clothes (read: Will’s underpants) and a huge scoop of Tide tossed in with the freshly washed clothes. While having a front loader does give him better access, visiting my parents this weekend proved that top loading machines are no matter to our laundry-helping kid. Will is so enthusiastic about his Underwear that he even will help load the dryer to move things along.
Another Underwear issue:

Me: “Will, your Underwear is on backwards.”
Will: “No it’s not.”
Me: “The picture of Spiderman goes on your butt.”
Will: “No, IT DOESN’T. It goes in front so I can see it!”

Good darn point. Who are the pictures there for, anyway? Who and what are those Underpants manufacturers thinking about when they put the pictures on the backside?? Attention: manufacturers of children’s underpants! Pictures go on the front! Children’s underpants are made for the children who wear them, not those who might be looking at their underpant-clad behinds, as noted my brilliant, Underpant-wearing child.