Looking forward

It's our first week of summer officially. Our schedule is different. I now have three full days (10-3) for work instead of five mornings. My daughter is with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays which is a welcome change. I hardly spend any time at all with either kid by his or herself which, it turns out, is very different than spending time with both. They act differently. And I do too. We move more slowly. We can have conversations. I'm not always running interference. I'll let you in on a secret. I kind of enjoy it.  I tried to patch together a summer with plenty of camps and activities but also at least one week each with only one child. And a week with both together. And a week in southern California and a week in New York and a week in Santa Fe. I'm already exhausted. Cleansing breath...

But this is what I signed up for. And how could I not? I mean look at the little saggy tights on that tush! With all her tippy toeness and fashion forwardness. This was six months ago. Who knows who she'll be six months from now. I'll keep you posted.

Success?

Behold, the poo poo

Well she's done it. Her Majesty has pooped in the potty. Here's how it all went down (or came out rather). After the final swim lesson and the congratulatory pizza party, we drove home. My daughter had been dry all day. She's been a champ actually. Never had any accidents at school. Only a few at home. And then the daily poop in the underwear thing. The other day she apparently was in the pool with my husband and I had forgotten to give him a swim diaper so he was on high alert asking her every three minutes if she had to go. She finally said poo poo and he hoisted her out. She asked to be in her towel, sat down on a chez lounge and did her business in her suit. So we figure she knows all about the sensation. She's just afraid of the end result.

We get home and she's playing in this little indoor tent and next thing I know she's yelling pee pee woo woo and it turns out she peed on Julio the rat and baby Julio, the smaller rat. So I get her out of what we now call the urinal and bring her into the bathroom. I strip her down and she and my son jump in the tub. Then he suddenly has to poop so he gets out and makes a dash for the toilet. Meanwhile I go outside to hose down the tent and I hear some noises and finally some crying. I rush back into the bathroom. The boy is still on the pot and my daughter is standing over her potty terrified because she has just pooped in it! Straight shot! So we're all clapping for her, including my son and she's shrieking. But we quickly wipe her and give her two chocolate raisins and soon she is equally joyous and everyone returns to the bath with an empty bowel and enjoys their own washcloths and no one has any tantrums and the world is peaceful.

Fine by her

I may have mentioned that my daughter had a very condensed terrible twos. It was really only a few months where she was an absolute shrew which, when you compare it to the two years we suffered with my son, well it's hardly even a stage. More like a blip. I don't doubt it will roar its ugly head again at any unforeseen point in the near or distant future (likely when we're in a crowded supermarket or airport terminal) but for now I'm really loving the break. It's so nice because everything appears to be OK with her. Do you want to have breakfast? OK. Do you want to go pee pee on the potty? OK. Sushi for dinner? OK. Can you let mommy sleep another hour? OK. It's insane. Does she even know what she's saying? I think so. I mean she has literally potty trained herself. Not entirely but she's quite happy to go pull her little potty off the shelf, plunk down and take a whiz. Then she gets herself some toilet paper, does a quick wipe and goes to wash her hands. It's alarming. And she's perfectly happy to go in her diaper too which is good because I was caught unprepared for this latest shift and I'm just not ready yet myself for her to be potty trained. Diapers are so easy...but I digress. The girl is really a champ. Even when I ask her to give a toy to her brother who is meanwhile in a sobbing heap on the floor because she has the princess make-up bag (which is hers).

Now I don't know if it's because she's the second child or she's a girl or it's just in her nature. Frankly I don't care. I never look a gift horse in the mouth. I will chalk it up to excellent parenting and reward myself with a Nutella pita sandwich.

Respiracy Theory

I have a theory.
Follow me for a minute.
I was listening to NPR, which is where most of my theories begin including the one about how Rene Montagne, Michele Norris and Carol Wertheimer are all the same person. But I digress...

They were talking about sleep apnea in kids and how one persnickety kid didn't know he had it until he was twelve and then they took out his enlarged adenoids and his personality changed entirely. Maybe because it was the first time he'd slept a full eight hours ever. They said his only symptom was snoring and waking up tired.

Well my daughter doesn't wake up grouchy, not in the morning anyway, but she does wake up often at night. Not fully, but enough to either mumble or get out of bed or catch her breath and make a snarfle. Last night she came into our bed (big shock) and proceeded to swing at me half the night. And she snores. Loudly. She's basically had a cold since she was born, but even on the rare occasion when she doesn't have a runny nose, she still snores. She's like an 82 year old man. AND she doesn't talk. I know she can hear but I don't know how well she can hear. She says words but her pronunciation is crazy. I'd say she has about 25 words which is probably normal, but my theory is that she has enlarged adenoids and tonsils and all of it has to go. Then she'll be able to sleep and hear and she'll stop snoring and start talking and then we'll really be in trouble.

I should have been a doctor. Except that when I had a mole removed on my belly recently and had to change the band-aid, I almost passed out.

I'll stick to writing.

Darling daughter

My son came over to me the other day and gave me the low down, very proud of his baby sister's developmental progress.

Aviv doesn't scratch me any more mommy. Now she only bites and hits.

This is my daughter. This is the girl who for nearly two years could do no wrong. Even when she pooped in the tub, we thought it was funny. She'd have a tantrum, we'd have a giggle. But increasingly she is becoming my nemesis. Last night she only wanted to put her pajamas on by herself. More specifically she wanted to put her feet through the neck hole of her shirt and wear it as a dress with the sleeves whapping below by her feet. She was adamant. And when she's in one of her violent moods, she just goes right up to her brother or anyone and starts swinging. And of course we've given up on the sleep training. We missed the window and now we have to live with our mistakes. But at least we're taking advantage of daylight savings to get the kids to go to sleep together at a mutually beneficial bedtime.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is that this blog may have a new antagonista. And she packs a punch.

The IKEA Incident - Part II

We set up the mattress in our room because there's no space for it in his room yet with his toddler bed still set up. At least he seems to be excited about the bed if jumping is any indication. But as we're getting him into his pajamas I realize that I don't have a mattress cover or any kind of plastic thingy to put under the sheets in case he has an accident. So I rationalize to myself that he hasn't had an accident at night for several months and I'll just put a little quilted blanket underneath him and it will be fine.

But of course, this whole experience has been everything but fine and the poor kid probably still has some left over resentment for having been made to leave his shopping cart upstairs so at 5 am I wake up to his crying. He's peed all over his new bed.

I know that it is my fault for not protecting the bed and that he is only three and three year olds have accidents but why now? Why tonight? Why on the new bed? Pissed off about tiny tim and the shopping cart? Don't take it out on the bed! I let him know I wasn't pleased. Not my finest moment.

So he's back to sleeping on the floor with his old green bambi blanket and his mattress is stripped and leaned up against the wall, a pile of laundry for me to do sitting in the hallway. I deserve it. I am a crap mom sometimes. I was such a good mom before I had kids.

Scarred

We spent the night on Saturday at my husband's aunt's house in Santa Cruz. It was great actually because my son LOVES Aunt Jenny so we dropped him off with his sister and then went to my sister-in-law's 40th birthday party. They also live in Santa Cruz. Can't beat free babysitting from a favorite auntie.

And if Aunt Jenny were a blogger she would write her own account of the evening but from this end of the wine bottle, it was a really fun evening.

The next morning was less fun namely because while I was in the other room putting on my clothes (I swear, the minute I turn my back...) my son tripped over himself and whacked his face on the brick fireplace. OUCH! So I heard the ominous thud, then the eerie silence, then the wailing. And there was lots of blood but I couldn't really tell where it was coming from because for the ten minutes before the accident he was putting Aunt Jenny's rouge all over his nose and forehead.

Did he break his nose? Crack open his forehead? In fact I think he bit through his lip. Hard to say. But it was bloody and scrapey. So I held him and pressed a washcloth against his mouth and rocked him and sang songs until he caught his breath. And once the bleeding stopped I washed off all the make-up to get a sense for the real damage which thankfully was limited to the right side of his mouth. He looked like he'd been in a playground brawl.

This morning he commented that his boo boo is brown now and not red.

Me: That means it's getting better honey and it's going away.
Him: Ya, it's going away by himself. To Aunt Jenny's.
Me: Your boo boo's going back to Aunt Jenny's?
Him: Ya, to the fire where I got it. It's going back there.

So THAT'S where the boo boo's go when they're all gone. I learn new things from this kid every day.

Keeping up with Dr. Jones

Today I brought my son for the first time to see the dentist. He turned 3 on Saturday and I figured it was time. We brush his teeth twice a day but who knows if we're actually making a difference with those little toddler toothbrushes that completely splay at even the slightest bit of pressure. That, combined with the fact that our son basically chews on the thing and sucks off all of the toothpaste when it's his turn to brush, makes me question if we're making a lick of difference in his overall dental hygiene.

But it turns out that the brushing (and the related tantrums) were not for naught. No cavaties and kudos from Dr. Jones for a fine set of choppers. Thank god. The last thing I needed was the guilt of having not adequately brushed. Just getting him to brush in the first place was a struggle. I consulted the Berkeley Parents Network (they usually show up when I do a search, though the advice tends to be a little too earth mother for me) and everyone talked about making it a good experience and using dolls and singing songs yadda yadda yadda. An excerpt:

"Try the Raffi song, Brush Your Teeth, and have her brush as you sing along with Raffi. My 14-month old daughter loves it. We start singing, ''When you wake up in the morning, it's quarter to 1, you want to have a little fun, you brush your teeth,ch-ch-ch- chchchcchc...'' and my little daughter grins and looks for her toothbrush. She'll even ask to brush her teeth at random times of the day by putting her finger to her mouth and going ''ch-ch- ch-ch...''. Not sure if this will work with your baby if they already hate toothbrushing but it's worth a try. G'luck. Mom of 14-month old who loves to brush"

Spare me, "Mom of 14-month old who loves to brush". My kid sees right through your little schtick. They were all like that. Use puppets. Sing a song about teeth. Let him do it himself until he's comfortable. Read books about brushing teeth. We tried everything and it always ended in a lot of screaming and very little brushing. Then I saw this one. This guy had a kid like mine. His post was anonymous, fearing the wrath of social services and the crazed Berkeley parents still nursing their four year olds.

"This is how you can brush the teeth of a non-cooperating toddler: Wet the brush and stick it and the tube of paste into your shirt pocket. (You're going to need both hands for a few seconds.) Lay the toddler on the floor (preferably carpeted). Sit on the floor above their head, placing your knees over the toddlers shoulders/ upper arms. Your feet should be along side the child's body. This effectively pins their arms and prevents them from undesired interference. Now imobilize their head between your thighs by gently squeezing. Now you have both hands free to load the paste onto the brush, and one hand available to open lips (which will be sqeezed tightly closed by the child). I found it effective to slide my finger into the corner of the mouth and follow that with the brush. Brush as gently as possible considering the lip resistance. Let them up to rinse.

During all of this maintain a calm manner and in a gentle voice let them know over and over that brushing is not optional- tomorrow we can do it the easy way, or the hard way - the choice is theirs.
-from a dad wishing to remain relatively annonymous"

Now THAT'S the way to do it. It's the pin and pry method. It worked for us. None of this good ship lollipop crap. Now my son's a great brusher. And we really only had to pin once or twice.

But back to the dentist. I was feeling all proud of my son for opening his mouth and saying ah and ee and having his teeth polished and proud of me for brushing at least enough to keep his teeth healthy. Then Dr. Jones asks if we floss. Are you KIDDING me? I barely remember to floss my own teeth and now you want me to floss my three-year-olds teeth? I mean there is a limit to the extra layers of complexity that I'm willing to build into my morning and evening rituals. Soon my daughter will have teeth. Will I have to floss hers too? Sure, when she only has two teeth it will just be the one swipe between, but before long she'll have all twenty teeth and then we'll all have to wake up at 6am in order to floss everybody in time to leave the house by 8:30. Just once I wish someone would give me some advice that might save me some time. Oh you shouldn't read to your kid at night. It's bad for them. Think of all the extra time you could put toward flossing if you didn't have to read "Goodnight Moon" 400 times every night.

Mother of Invention

Sorry to all (both) of you dedicated readers. My family went camping last week so I was incommunicado. It was a superb trip replete with volcanic fields, cascading waterfalls, canned food from Trader Joe's, s'mores, hide and seek in the forest, emerald (freaking cold) lakes, and a lot of dirt. Our baby girl had a touch of the croup when we left (she'd caught it from big brother) which made her a snotty, barking, and wretched mound of fevery baby flesh for the first half of the trip. But then it subsided and she was a happy camper too. Or at least she humored us. But it was our capricious son who took camper of the year award. He was a joy. Played hard all day, did his share of trail walking, ate like a champ and slept 11 hour nights inside his big boy sleeping bag in a tent for four days without a peep. Well, one yelp when he fell into the crevasse between the blow up mattress and the tent at 5am and couldn't get out, but that's happened to me and it's indeed frightful. Especially when you're dreaming about being sucked through the drain at the bottom of a pool by a great white shark...but I digress.

And thanks to a moment of maternal genius, he even found the courage to poop in the woods.

I was worried that we would have another lavatory incident that would set us back months when he saw those outhouses. Truthfully they were pretty nice outhouses with real toilet seats, just no flush. But he walked in there and was appalled. He doesn't understand how to only breathe through his mouth. So he refused. He even told me he didn't have to go anymore. But I knew he had to go because when he has to go he gets nervous and starts to pace and dart his eyes around. But there was nothing I could do to get him in the outhouse short of brute force, which I knew would end with me covered in pee pee and a son with an anal complex. So I relented, we packed into the car, and left for our hike.

Quarter mile into it my son starts to get twitchy and kvetchy again. I knew it was time. I told him we would go poo poo in the woods like bears. He just had to squat down and I would hold him. We could growl like bears too if he wanted. He wouldn't do it. By now he was starting to cry and pace. I said he could sit on my lap (what the hell was I thinking?). He said no. But then a few seconds later he asked to sit on my lap. Now there was no turning back. So I found a big fallen log (so metaphoric), sat down with my legs wide apart and scooped him up with my hands clasped under his knees so he was sitting like a swing between my legs. Lo and behold, the kid actually pooped. And none of it on me. It was my greatest hour. And his.

King of the Potty

Well our son is potty trained. And it only took two weeks really. Two weeks and nine months. I made the mistake of listening to a colleague of mine at work who potty trained her three boys using an intensive behavioral modification method. She said it would take a day. Read the book, she said. Buy the pee pee dolly. You'll be diaper free in no time. Not the case.

I made my first attempt last November when my son had just turned two. I was about six months pregnant and thinking it would be really super to only have to diaper one child. So I designated a weekend for potty intervention. I bought "Potty Training in less than a Day" or something like that, and I bought an anatomically correct doll named Paul who came with underwear, a diaper and a mini-potty. I bought all kinds of treats to reinforce positive behavior - brownie bites, popcorn, chocolate raisins. I bought a ton of chocolate milk. I made notes from the book to keep us on track. And my son was a pretty good sport for a while. But the constant asking, "do you have to go to the potty?" "Are your pants dry?" - I started getting a headache. And it was a beautiful day and he was desperate to go to the park. So we did and he peed on the slide. I gave up after he soaked the bed during his nap. I figured I'd try again after the baby was born. Which I did.

By then he was about two and a half and could follow directions better. Plus some of his friends from school had started using the potty. I bought him a new potty, which we called Baby Paul's potty. Whatever. He started peeing in it which was very exciting, but he was terririfed to poop in that thing. I didn't push the issue but I must admit I was getting pretty tired of pulling big poops out of his underwear. His teachers weren't thrilled about it either so I started sending him in pull-ups, those evil diaper substitutes that are twice as expensive and half as absorbent. Then, since he was basically wearing a diaper, he started wetting his pants again.

Anyway, we decided two weeks ago that we would just forget about the diapers and forge ahead with underwear. And it worked. We had a handful of accidents but for the most part the kid is now doing his business in a designated receptacle. Even in public places. I bought a little fold-able plastic potty top that sits on a regular toilet to make the hole smaller (so tiny tushies don't fall in) with elmo and friends on there. He's willing to poop on elmo. Now he's even going by himself and taking down and pulling up his pants. So overall we're thrilled. Except for a few things...

I can't say I'm super happy about having to dump his poop in the toilet after he goes in the potty. First of all, it splashes and then I have to wipe down the toilet. It also stinks like all get out. It's amazing how much the water in a toilet really masks a lot of the smell. And the wiping isn't going that well. I can't get him clean enough. I ask him to bend over so I can be thorough but that feels like a little invasive. And then I have to clean the poop streaks off the potty. Nasty. And not to mention the pee which he insists dumping by himself. This morning he completely missed and poured a quart of piss on the far side of the toilet and all over the seat which I then had to mop up. And that's if it even goes in the potty. If I don't hold his penis down with my finger, he literally sprays straight ahead.

But he's trained. Gone are the days of diapers and Desitin - the last remaining vestiges of his short time as a baby. Another milestone achieved. Another notch on the belt of parenthood. Another reason to adopt a five year old next time around.

It's 103

I have a feeling that all toddlers suffer from a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder. I think it's how they learn. My son asks me at least a hundred times a day if I have my cell phone. And my keys. And my wallet. And is my wallet in my bag. And did I call grandma. And is my phone charging. Over and over and over in a relentless pursuit of affirmation. On the one hand I know he's learning about the art of conversation. He hears us say this kind of stuff all the time. He's mimicking. But on the other hand sometimes I feel like I'm raising Rainman.

And it's not just the repetitive questions. He becomes inexplicably attached to the strangest objects. It's usually the stuff that I use all the time - like my phone, my wallet etc. The other night though he woke up nearly in tears because he wanted to sleep with my Crocs. (?!) This was at 4am. He was calling "I want to wear your Crocs" and wandering around his room half asleep. I brought him back to his bed and he promptly returned to sleep. An hour later he wanted the crocs again so I brought them and he slept with my shoes. I mean, that's weird right?

The crocs was just a one night thing thankfully. The item that seems to have captured his imagination for the longest duration is his ear thermometer. I started using it on him when he was about a year and a half because, frankly, no one is a fan of the rectal thermometer. The ear one is so easy. And he loved it. He liked to check his own temperature, check mine, check his stuffed cat, check Micky Mouse. Then he wanted to carry it around the house and put it in and take it out of its case a trillion times. He wanted to sleep with it. And bring it in the car and to the supermarket. I indulged this behavior for the short while that he was sick but then when he went back to daycare I told him that I had to bring the thermometer back to his doctor since we didn't need it any more. He was not happy about that but little boys should be playing with cars and dolls and play dough, not ear thermometers. He asked about it for the next week and cried a little at the thought of his beloved thermometer. More recently I had to pull it out again to check his temp. It was 103. He spent the next two hours checking his own temperature and reminding me that it was 103. Which it no longer was, but try telling him that. "It's 103" again and again and again.

Now when he sees the thermometer he reminds me that we have to give it back to the doctor. I don't have to hide it anymore which is nice. He's growing up. His magic number remains 103. He got a little soo close to the oven the other day and then quickly backed away.

Him: It's hot.
Me: Yes, you have to be careful sweety.
Him: Is it hot mommy?
Me: Yes, it's very hot in the oven.
Him: Is it 103?

Yes it is.

He's not Levy, he's my brother

They say that having kids close together in age is painful for the parents but great for the kids. The jury is still out on that one but I can say for sure that it is exhausting to constantly be engaging one and holding the other. And I am the queen of multi-tasking. I can turn on the DVD, tie a shoe and hold a reasonably coherent phone conversation all at once. But nursing my baby while supervising my toddler on the potty is frankly unpleasant. For everyone.

Now that baby is five months old and toddler is approaching three years, I've noticed a change in their relationship. They actually play together. I had to send a quick email the other day so I put the baby down on her play gym and asked my son to "watch" her while I did some work on the computer. Within a minute, he's laughing because she's rolled under the crib and she's giggling because he's laughing. And then I'm laughing. And suddenly it's such a pleasure to be with them together.

I remember that while I was in the hospital after my daughter was born and my son had been to visit once and left sobbing because he saw a nurse take my blood pressure, I wondered how he would ever adapt to this new member of our family. And my midwife said, "in two months he won't remember there was life before his sister." And it's true. It's as if she's always been here. Plying him with candy also helped the transition.

But besides being a big help to me to have my son occupy my daughter for ten minute spurts here and there, he is better than any teething toy or pacifier for calming my daughter. She's really an easy baby but she hates to be in the car. So my son has taken to singing to her to calm her. If I sing she continues to cry. If he sings she stares at him and grins. When he comes in the room, she stops nursing (by far her most favorite activity) to watch him.

And I wish I could take credit for their delightful rapport, but it was none of my doing. They have a natural affinity for which I am grateful.

Now, if only my son could nurse by daughter while sitting on the potty - take me out of the equation altogether - now THAT would be something.

Toddler Remorse

I have a bachelor's degree in Psychology which I feel entitles me to coin psychological phenomena as I see fit. My toddler suffers from what I like to call "Toddler Remorse", a quizzical little syndrome whereby the afflicted chooses option A and the very next second regrets this choice with every fiber in his/her being wishing only for option B. Until option B is granted and then suddenly A becomes the favored option. This scenario has played out several thousand times in our household.

For a while, between age 24 months and 30 months, this back and forth was a regular part of every single day. Every action or choice was wrought with indecision, regret, remorse, and frustration. Something as simple as taking off pajamas turned into a heated exchange and finally an FBT (full blown tantrum).

Me: okay sweetie, please take off your pajamas
Him: No, mommy do it.
(I go to unzip)
Him: (hysterically) No, I do it!
Him: No, mommy do it!
Him: No, I do it!
Me: (leaving the room)
Him: (hysterically crying) MOMMY!!!!

Nighttime is the worst. He wanted a bath, he didn't want the bath. He wanted mommy to sing him songs, he wanted aba. He didn't want to go pee pee on the potty, he wanted to go pee pee but only with aba, ONLY WITH MOMMY, ONLY IN MY PULL-UP, WAAHHHHHHH!! You get the idea. The condition is worsened by sleepiness.

Even this evening, he asked me to take him to the bathroom to go pee pee but then he didn't want to go back to his room. I said he had to back so he insisted I carry him. I said he could hold my hand and walk with me. He insisted on being carried so I gave in. I carried him back to bed and then he said, "No I want to hold your hand!" So I had to then carry him back to the bathroom, specifically to the bath mat (you stand there mommy) so we could reenact the transaction that had occurred only one minute before. It's unnerving!

This pattern had gone on for many months (decision, remorse, reenactment) until I finally decided that the "do over" was fueling his remorse. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And I was his enabler. I actually made it possible for him to have it both ways. So I stopped giving into the "do over". And over the past few weeks I've seen a significant improvement in his "condition". Of course, today I acquiesced his need to reenact, because I was tired and it was late so naturally tomorrow he'll be filled with Toddler Remorse and I'll have only myself to blame. I tell you though it is a powerful tool, to be able to go back and set the record straight. Unfortunately it's not something that gets to happen a lot in the adult world. Better to learn that lesson early. Sometimes I could use a parenting "do over". I would have nipped this little behavior in the bud months ago - save my son and myself a lot of future therapy.

The Boom

My son slept through the night when he was two months old but it was relatively short lived. So at four months we sleep trained him using a combo Ferber/Weissbluth method since he'd already proven he could physically do it and, frankly, I was really freaking tired of feeding him at night. It was only mildly traumatic and mostly for me. He cried his head off for ten minutes, went to sleep, woke up at 2 am, cried his head off for twenty minutes, went to sleep and that was about it. He is a champion sleeper. Or was, I should say.

About six months ago, after he had just turned two but before the baby was born, he started waking up at night. It was right about when we transitioned him to his toddler bed, perhaps too soon. We'd put him to bed and ten minutes later he'd come running out crying that he heard a boom.

Him: The boom!!
Me: There's no boom, honey. You need to go to sleep.
Him: I heard the boom.
(boom)
Me: Sweetie it's the water pipes expanding when the water runs through them in the ceiling.
Him: -
Me: It's the water.
Him: It's the water.

Then he started waking up in the middle of the night, something he hadn't done since he was an infant. The first time he padded into our room and refused to go back to his room so we let him sleep with us. Kiss of death. You give a toddler an inch...

Next night, he wanted to sleep with us again. I told him he had to sleep on the floor.

Next night I played hardball. I walked him back to his bed. He wasn't thrilled about that.
He came back an hour later. I walked him back. We did this about five times. My husband continued snoring.

As an aside: What is it about being a man that makes you biologically deaf when sleeping? From discussing this with girlfriends it seems universal.

The fourth night was better but he was still having trouble falling asleep. He'd come out three or four times after the evening ritual complaining of the boom at which point I'd ask if he wanted to sleep in his crib and he'd say yes. Love the crib.

So we've gone back and forth between the bed and the crib over the last six months. Now he's mostly in his bed. He still talks about the boom but he says, "the boom from the water."

One day, curious to know if nightmares were causing this night waking, I asked him if he sees pictures in his head while he's sleeping and he said yes.

Him: Of aba.
Me: You see aba when you're asleep.
Him: Ya, in the window.
Me: What's he doing?
Him: He has the knife...

Cue: scary music. Now, my son calls several things knives. A pair of scissors. The weed-whacker. Garden clippers... But it was definitely a Stephan King moment. Is my husband a knife-wielding psychopath? Probably not since he's sleeping and deaf in the next room.

Super Nanny and Elmo Undies RULE!

I'm not too self righteous or embarrassed for that matter to admit that on occasion my husband and I watch Super Nanny. Watching television is about the only thing I want to do at 9:00 pm after my kids are finally in bed. Plus watching Super Nanny in particular makes me feel like it could all be worse (I could have two sets of twin boys under the age of five with a husband in Iraq, for example). My husband is a big fan, mostly for the reassurance that his son isn't the only impossible kid out there.

Yesterday's episode featured a lovely couple - both professors in Hawaii - and their two boys age three and one. And the areas for improvement were in potty training and time-outs.

She made it look so easy. Just tell him he's a big boy, put him in underwear and miraculously he'll be able to stay dry. We'd once been that naive and our boy defiled every corner of the house. So we bribed him with chocolate raisins which worked for a time until the lavatory incident on a recent trip to New York. Over the last six months he'd been in underwear, pull-ups, back to diapers, back to pull-ups. He didn't know if he was coming or going (and when he was going, it wasn't in the potty).

And of course the Super Nanny is famous for the "naughty spot" - the place to go for time outs. We're not the best at time-out. If he won't stay in his room, I usually put my son in his crib (he doesn't climb out) but then he shrieks like a mermaid and slobbers all over himself and puts his whole fist in his mouth until he gags. Once he even threw up. It's not pleasant.

My husband and I decided to heed Super Nanny's advice and this morning I told my son that he would be wearing underwear from now on. After breakfast he peed on the potty, said bye bye to his diaper, picked out the Elmo undies for this auspicious occasion (the ones with the giant Elmo face on the tush) and got dressed without a fuss. I told his teachers at school that we were done with diapers and I apologized in advance if he peed all over the school. They were supportive having witnessed his previous potty prowess. And I'm proud to tell you right now that he was dry all day. Well, almost all day.

This evening he decided he wanted to color in my checkbook. When I told him to put the check book away he refused. I counted to three and he stood his ground. So I put him in the corner in the hallway and told him it was the naughty spot. He screamed and flailed himself at me and tried to escape for about twenty minutes. He also peed in his pants which made him even more upset (I made a pee pee on Elmo!). But this time I stood my ground. Eventually he was able to stand in the corner for a full two minutes without saying a word. Then he said he was sorry and I gave him a hug. We picked out Thomas the Tank Engine undies, got changed and moved on with our lives.

Oedipus stress

I've been wondering for a while now when I should stop letting my toddler son see me naked. And before I googled "when is it inappropriate to be nude in front of your kid" I thought I would put it out there for the fans to write in about. But since really only my mom and my mother in law read this thing (shout out to Rosalee and Shirley!) I may not get much discussion. Until recently I hadn't even really thought about it. We're still training for Potty Bowl 2007 so half the time I'm on the toilet, my son is in there doing the play by play:

Him: You're making a pee pee?
Me: Yes, sweetie.
Him: You use the paper?
Me: Yep
Him: You make the flush?
Me: You betcha
Him: You're washing your hands mommy?
Me: I am!

You get the idea. He's in there when I take a shower, get out of the shower, get dressed, undressed, re-dressed (after baby sister has barfed on me...). I mean, we're not constantly naked in my house but there's a fair amount of the usual disrobing and he's always around and in our business so he sees it all.

Ever since the baby was born and I've been nursing (around the clock) he's taken a keen interest in my boobs. The other day he asked, "Is that your bra?" I started to wonder if maybe he was being over "exposed". Then he asked, "Did you do the clicks?" by which he meant had I fastened the strap since it's a nursing bra. And I thought, this kid pays A LOT of attention to detail. I guess at some point we need to teach him about privacy and private parts and all that so he doesn't start wagging his pee pee up and down the street. But for now it still seems pretty normal. Right?

I guess if he starts asking when I'm due for my next bikini wax it might be time to cover up.

Tag Team

I swear I don't know how single parents do it. Well I sort of know how because I once had to watch my son for a week while my husband went biking for with his friends in Greece (I know - wife of the year medal, right?) and while it was totally exhausting (I was also five months pregnant), at least I knew that everything was my responsibility. I didn't have the additional exhaustion of resenting my partner for not sharing the load. Nothing against my husband, but the man can fall asleep on the floor DURING the bedtime stories that HE'S reading.

But I digress...
My husband and I have become very alert to when parent number two needs to step in. This evening, for example, we got home from our friends and I needed to put our baby to sleep. She'd been whimpering and/or bellowing for the last three hours, unable to settle down enough to sleep - which was the thing she needed most. Our son knows the evening routine: Aba bathes him, puts him in his pajamas, brushes his teeth and reads him stories before mommy comes in for the ni-ni songs. This gives me time to nurse and put down the baby before second shift.

But we walked in the door and he only wanted mommy. So after what was essentially a tantrum-free day, we were suddenly up against the most annoying tantrum of all - the mommy sob fest.

I just didn't have the strength. I snapped. I got down and in his face and started lecturing him. I NEED TO PUT DOWN YOUR SISTER AND IF YOU'RE SCREAMING SHE CAN'T FALL ASLEEP SO BY SCREAMING YOU'RE ACTUALLY RUINING ANY CHANCE YOU HAD AT SPENDING ANY TIME WITH MOMMY TONIGHT!!!

Enter: Super Husband, stage left.

Super Husband put on his happy toddler voice (animated and high pitched) and managed to suppress our sons cries from an FBT (Full-Blown Tantrum) to something of a kvetch and harrumph. And when I emerged from putting our daughter to sleep, I heard my husband in our son's room singing ni-ni songs without protest. And as I write this they are both asleep - my son in his bed, my husband on the floor near his bed. (Did I mention his propensity for sleeping?)

We try so hard to stay rational and calm when our son is having, as my friend Ali would say, a "major come-apart", but when one of us gets sucked into toddler drama, it's nice to know the other is usually available to quickly divert and diffuse.

Independence Day

It's independence day and I'm thinking about independence. The other day my son was angry with me for whatever reason and went into his room and told me to go away. He actually told me to leave his room and don't talk to him. At first I was distraught. What do you mean? I do everything for you, you little rat. I wipe your ass for god's sake. I painted this room and bought all the furniture and hung the art so you can kiss my tushy, I'm stayin'. I tell YOU what to do and not the other way around.

But I respected his wishes and left him alone with his thoughts and his kitty cat. And after a moment I was actually delighted. You want to be alone? You got it pally. I'm going to Tahiti actually. I'm stopping for coffee at Starbucks, then I'm getting a pedicure, then I'm going shopping without you annoying the crap out of me, then I'm going to watch four movies back to back in the cinema and then I'm going out to dinner where they don't allow kids and then I'm going to Tahiti.

Independence is tricky. A blessing and a curse. I so desperately want him to be able to put on his clothes, and use the bathroom, and play in his room without me, and walk across the street to the park, and drive himself to preschool (okay that one's a little far fetched), but the minute he wants his space, I sort of want to be the center of his universe again. That's my own inner toddler at work. I look like a 33 year old woman but really I'm only two and a half and I want it both ways.

I need my phone for work

We thought it was cute when my son was eleven months old and started to hold things up to his ears and say "hello?". First it was the remote control and we laughed. Then a banana. My wallet. His shoe. Then he went for the real deal. And we made the biggest mistake of our lives - we laughed. And so began an 18 month spiral into behavior verging on obsession with cell phones and all things electronic. We joked that he would be an engineer like his dad and his granddad, but we feared he was turning into a sociopath. That kid who never makes eye contact, only plays video games and is secretly hacking into the CIA's information system.

I admit there are some areas of parenting where I am totally consistent and we get great results. My kid sleeps like a polar bear. Heavy and easily. I made sure of that. But unfortunately I was never really consistent with the cell phone thing and so for more than a year our son had tantrum after tantrum wanting to use our phones. It then grew to encompass my mom's cell phone, my wallet, my mom's wallet, my husband's laptop, my mom's handbag, my keys and my iPod. He was relentless. We forbade him to use the cell phone so he would get around that by just "bringing" me the phone. He would actually derive joy from holding the phone - as if the phone was actually a part of me and this was how he could be closer to me. Or from spying it in my pocket. Or seeing it on the charger. We would tell him that the phone was only for work. But then he would ask to call grandma, which I could never resist, so he would get to use it. And then he'd get all quiet, pre-tantrum mopey when he'd have to give it back to me.

We tried giving him toy phones, some of which are super cool and look like phones and have all kinds of buttons and noises. No thank you, says he. We tried giving him my mom's old phone which actually still worked but just didn't have service. At first he was thrilled but then when we wouldn't let him take it to the park, he started foregoing jaunts to the park. And his general mood was worsening as he spent more and more time obsessing about his phone. So we took that one away too. And the tantrums continued. Until yesterday.

Now he's a little older - 2 and 9 months - and he's able to spend more time in pretend play. Yesterday was a major turning point. He spent about two hours after preschool playing with the handbag I gave him (not the one I actually use), an old wallet (not my current wallet), an old cell phone, plastic teething keys, a broken camera and his sunglasses. He put all of these things in his bag, "called" grandma, told her he's on his way to work, opened the front door and then "locked" it, walked down the walkway, turned around, opened the front door, announced he just went to the store and that he bought chocolate raisins, cheerios and broccoli. Then he called grandma to tell her. Then he "charged" his phone. Then called grandma to tell her that he's charging his phone. "Hi Grandma. I'm charging my phone. Yes...no....no...okay. No, Aba can't touch my phone. Yes. I'm going to the store. I need my phone for work....okay. Bye Grandma". He did ten or eleven variations on this drama for literally the entire evening. It was awesome. He was actually playing. And likely breaking my phone charger, but he was playing.