Monday, February 24, 2014
Strangers and Bathrooms and Nursing
Saturday, Max and Zannah were playing out front. When we couldn't see them anymore, Marcus went in search of them. They were down at the end of our street. As Marcus approached a man was asking them where their parents were.
Later that night, I was alone with Max, so I talked to him again about why we don't go past our next door neighbor's house without letting mom or dad know, etc. We also talked about strangers.
"Max, remember when you and Zannah went to the corner? Were you talking to a man?"
"Yes! He was wearing a superman shirt!"
"Well, we don't know him, so he is a stranger. Remember we can't talk to strangers without Mom or Dad there."
"Oh, he wasn't a stranger."
"Yes he was buddy, we don't know him, that makes him a stranger."
"No he wasn't, he doesn't have a tail."
"What??"
"He doesn't have a tail, he isn't a fox. Remember the stranger book you read to us? Foxes are strangers and they have tails."
OY. A reminder to self: next time buy a stranger book that depicts humans, not animals.
A couple weeks ago, Marcus was out of town. He left early Monday morning, and before 10 am, one of us had accidentally locked the bathroom door and shut it. It is the only bathroom with a bathtub, plus the kids' toothbrushes. But, I was confident that I or Zannah (the master-lock technician) could unlock it, though it had proved tricky in the past. By Wednesday, we had had no such luck and we still had two more days until Marcus came home. Zannah suggested breaking in the window, which turned out to be a fabulous idea as the window was unlocked, no breaking required. So, I did what any great parent would do and boosted my three year old through the window. Max did his duty and unlocked the door. I popped the screen back in and was carrying the chair back in the house when I hear Max say, "MOOOOOOOOMMMM, don't yeave me!" I turn around and he is standing on the toilet with his face pressed against the screen. "Help me get out!" I said, "Buddy, you just unlocked the bathroom door, just walk out of it." He replied, "OH yeah..........I just tidding you."
Metta needed to stay home from church as she has a cough and a runny nose. I was playing the organ, so I had to be there. Which means Marcus pretends to be a martyr and offers to stay home, in reality he feels like he just won the lottery. Now, we just had to decide which of the other two were staying home because a 5 and 3 year old sitting by themselves on a pew could prove disastrous. With a little bit of bribing on both ends (they both want what the other one is doing), we convinced Z to go and Max to stay home.
Before leaving, I was instructing Marcus on which baby food to feed Metta if she got hungry before I returned. I hear Marcus laughing and turn around to see Max with his shirt up. He was telling Marcus, "And if she doesn't yiiiiiike that food, just feed her with this. (pointing to his nipple) Do you have one too Dad?"
He is an observant bounder.
Later that night, I was alone with Max, so I talked to him again about why we don't go past our next door neighbor's house without letting mom or dad know, etc. We also talked about strangers.
"Max, remember when you and Zannah went to the corner? Were you talking to a man?"
"Yes! He was wearing a superman shirt!"
"Well, we don't know him, so he is a stranger. Remember we can't talk to strangers without Mom or Dad there."
"Oh, he wasn't a stranger."
"Yes he was buddy, we don't know him, that makes him a stranger."
"No he wasn't, he doesn't have a tail."
"What??"
"He doesn't have a tail, he isn't a fox. Remember the stranger book you read to us? Foxes are strangers and they have tails."
OY. A reminder to self: next time buy a stranger book that depicts humans, not animals.
A couple weeks ago, Marcus was out of town. He left early Monday morning, and before 10 am, one of us had accidentally locked the bathroom door and shut it. It is the only bathroom with a bathtub, plus the kids' toothbrushes. But, I was confident that I or Zannah (the master-lock technician) could unlock it, though it had proved tricky in the past. By Wednesday, we had had no such luck and we still had two more days until Marcus came home. Zannah suggested breaking in the window, which turned out to be a fabulous idea as the window was unlocked, no breaking required. So, I did what any great parent would do and boosted my three year old through the window. Max did his duty and unlocked the door. I popped the screen back in and was carrying the chair back in the house when I hear Max say, "MOOOOOOOOMMMM, don't yeave me!" I turn around and he is standing on the toilet with his face pressed against the screen. "Help me get out!" I said, "Buddy, you just unlocked the bathroom door, just walk out of it." He replied, "OH yeah..........I just tidding you."
Metta needed to stay home from church as she has a cough and a runny nose. I was playing the organ, so I had to be there. Which means Marcus pretends to be a martyr and offers to stay home, in reality he feels like he just won the lottery. Now, we just had to decide which of the other two were staying home because a 5 and 3 year old sitting by themselves on a pew could prove disastrous. With a little bit of bribing on both ends (they both want what the other one is doing), we convinced Z to go and Max to stay home.
Before leaving, I was instructing Marcus on which baby food to feed Metta if she got hungry before I returned. I hear Marcus laughing and turn around to see Max with his shirt up. He was telling Marcus, "And if she doesn't yiiiiiike that food, just feed her with this. (pointing to his nipple) Do you have one too Dad?"
He is an observant bounder.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Sibling Relations
This picture and separate stories sum up Max and Zannah's relationship.
We all know he didn't tape himself up.
At basketball this morning a lady asked Max how old he was, he replied "I'll go home and ask Zannah."
Last night Zannah had earned ice cream because of good dinner time behavior and Max did not due to the amount of somersaults he was performing off the chair, which equals the amount of times we cleaned up kicked over milk cups and dinner plates. He was very upset about not getting ice cream. Suddenly all was quiet. I walked into the dining room to find Zannah feeding Max her ice cream.
Siblings are a little bit mean, sometimes bossy, sympathetic and pretty great.
Siblings are a little bit mean, sometimes bossy, sympathetic and pretty great.
The Constant Debate
When all is quiet, you can bet your bottom the kids are up to no good. When you know things are awry, you would assume that you would look into it and stop the escapades. Every single time I have an internal debate. Do I dare see what is up? Nahhh, the quiet is too nice. I'm sure they are making a heck of a mess. Let's see, is the permanent marker, lotion, window cleaner, make-up bag, dish detergent, and chocolate syrup accounted for? Yup. The mess can't be too bad, deal with it later. I'm sure they are ruining/wasting something that will make the tightwad in me rage. But, my sanity is worth 10 bucks right, RIGHT?!?
You can't tell by the picture but Z had decided to decorate the house by painting all the light bulbs.
She Will Survive
I hope.
As soon as I turn around, Metta is being packed into a backpack to sneak to school or pushed around in the doll stroller or wagon. Us third children have it rough, Charlotte and Phillip sat me in an ant pile and you can imagine the thrills of hundreds of biting ants. I survived and look how tough it made me and I'm sure it will do the same for Met. (Let's not put it to vote if I'm considered tough or not)
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Metta update
At her 4 month checkup, she was still long and skinny. 99% heighth, 15% weight. She is just sweet and cuddly and abhors tummy time.
Postpartum Reality
If you talk to me regularly you are quite sick of hearing about my postpartum woes. Was I really that naive? Did I tune out all the postpartum conversations I endured at playgroups? (Yes, yes I did, it wasn't happening to me, so I didn't care) In my defense, I really truly did not believe I would ever see the day of my own expanding belly, let alone push a human out! But, I did it and it was wonderful until my milk came in and I cried. Engorgement is real and cruel. My cousin Jenny Jo described latching on as a toe-curling experience and she was spot on. For 3 straight months 12 times a day, toe-curling, bite my tongue, please don't cry pain. Clogged milk ducts, mastitis, for crying out loud, have women really been doing this since the beginning of time?? And for weeks, I was still sitting on a donut wondering if I would ever just casually plop down on the couch again. I was desperately listing every female I knew that had done this multiple times, "they did it, so can I" that is what I chanted over and over in my head. I survived, I sit my tush wherever I want and feel gratitude that it is pain-free. Nursing has become enjoyable and something I look forward to. I slow down, I get to just hold sweet, sweet Metta. My mom said time would heal and it did. She is always right.
But, what I find to be the most devastating, the most thought-consuming, can't believe it, horrible surprise is the hair loss. We all know I am a tad OCD about my hair. It is what I have going on, thick healthy hair. It distracts from my always make-up free face, nicely plays down my long nose, and covers my pokey out ears. Not now my friends. My hair now covers my pillow, finds its way into my cheerios, winds around Metta's fingers, attaches to clothing, clogs the vacuum, the drain. (If hair must be lost, couldn't it fall out from my arm pits?) I have asked countless fellow moms, googled remedies, had my blood tested to rule out thyroid problems, all to no avail. My scalp is visible along my hairline and my hair is only half as thick as it once was. I will humbly bide my time, it's all I can do.
In summary, postpartum is a real witch.
But, what I find to be the most devastating, the most thought-consuming, can't believe it, horrible surprise is the hair loss. We all know I am a tad OCD about my hair. It is what I have going on, thick healthy hair. It distracts from my always make-up free face, nicely plays down my long nose, and covers my pokey out ears. Not now my friends. My hair now covers my pillow, finds its way into my cheerios, winds around Metta's fingers, attaches to clothing, clogs the vacuum, the drain. (If hair must be lost, couldn't it fall out from my arm pits?) I have asked countless fellow moms, googled remedies, had my blood tested to rule out thyroid problems, all to no avail. My scalp is visible along my hairline and my hair is only half as thick as it once was. I will humbly bide my time, it's all I can do.
In summary, postpartum is a real witch.
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