Mama Bear Growling...

A few weeks ago, Brinley and I ventured a trip to the grocery store while Emmy was at preschool. I thought that this would be an opportune time to go since I only had one child to herd rather than two. I had my list in hand, and it was short, just in case the trip went south. I knew I was in trouble the moment we walked in and there weren't any car carts available. Uh-oh. No mini carts either. Double uh-oh.

(I have yet to decide if these devices at Dillons are wonderful or horrible. They are wonderful when they're available, but torture devices when we don't get one, and the girls see other kids with them around the store.)

The melt down began immediately. I didn't even get a chance to put her in the regular-o-mommy cart before she went no-bones and started screaming. I tried the usual tricks. I handed her the groceries and let her put them in the basket. Handed her the toddler drinks to hold that she loves so much. Got her out and let her push the cart with me. Went by the bakery and snagged a free cookie. She quickly saw through all my ruses.

At this point, half the items on my list weren't going to make it home and my cart had double what I came for. Screaming children will do that to a grocery trip. I found what I hoped to be the shortest and fastest line so I could spare the shoppers anymore unfortunate tantrums.

That's when it happened. Some man that I guessed to be in his late forties, approached my child. Brin was sitting in the child seat in my cart and was bawling. He stood right next to me when he said to her "sweetheart, is your mama ignoring you?" To which I replied "EXCUSE ME" and in the back of my head I added "oh no he didn't! snap snap". He continued on talking to her and ignoring me. The next thing he said was "why don't we get you a candy bar and make you feel better." That's when Mama Bear started bristling... You know the feeling. Hair standing up on the back of your neck, heart rate increasing, blood rushing to your face...

I pushed my cart forward enough that I could step between him and my child and said to him "First of all, I REFUSE to reward my child's temper tantrum by giving her prizes. Second of all, I will NEVER teach my child it is ok to accept ANYTHING from a strange man that approaches her at any time! Now if you don't mind!" I quickly turned on my heel, showed him the coldest side of my shoulder, and he walked away. I was impressed I didn't start yelling out curse words a sailor would jeer at. Absolutely no one insults this mama! Brin must've sensed the drama because she briefly quieted down.

A moment later, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the tiniest old lady watching me. She gave me a knowing nod, and a fist pump the Jersey Shore kids would be proud of, then walked away.

happy back at home

off to pick up Sis

we give her PLENTY of chocolate

Potty All The Time

not from this particular story, but the face looked about the same

"Mommy! I went to the bathroom and didn't potty on you today! Are you so happy?!"

These were the words I heard flying out of Emmy's mouth about 12 hours after she had, indeed, pottied on her mommy. We started our daily bedtime routine with the usual chase down the hallway. Brin made it to the bathroom first and as I got her undressed she hollered "potty, potty, potty" until I finally set her on the toilet. We all know that she is increasingly curious about what goes on up there, so we sat her on the pot and waited. She started pulling a ridiculous amount of toilet paper and shoving it between her legs. That's when it happened. She peed on her own hand. As grossed out as I was when she pulled her hand up, checked it out, then played with her hair, I was pretty pleased that she pottied in the toilet. Yay! I guess....

Emmy was up next. Dancing her little potty dance as soon as she got the clothes off. Once that cold air hits, she's gotta go NOW! She jumps up on the toilet, then realizes there's a book she'd like to read on the counter. As she leans back to get it, she forgets that she's in the middle of something. I'm squatted down in front of her picking up dirty clothes when it hits. "What in the world is that" goes through my head about 1/2 a second before I look up and see a golden stream usually reserved for the fellas. Of course I'm wearing a tank top. Why wouldn't I be? I'm also wearing socks. GREAT. Pee on the arm, the hand and the socks. Also, it's all over the floor and rug.

Brin is trying to play in it while I quickly start the water. I forbid Emmy from moving, because I know the second she gets down, she'll slip, fall and be covered in it as well. Mike is no where to be found. Shocker. After a solid juggling act of cleaners, towels, rugs and children, I get the floor cleaned up and the girls bathed and dressed for bed. Mike magically appears to help finish the process as I tell him I'm off to shower myself. He looks confused. I let him know I've been covered in urine for about 10 minutes and I'd like to rinse off. I left the conversation at that point. The story won't be funny until the girls are asleep.

So the next morning after Emmy goes to the bathroom...

"Mommy! I went to the bathroom and didn't potty on you today! Are you so happy?!"

Is exactly what I needed to hear.

this is just cute

future jewel thief in training

I was cleaning up the kitchen after lunch one day and paused to enjoy the silence. That's when I suddenly realized that the house was quiet. WHY IS THE HOUSE QUIET? I spotted the girls playing quietly on the floor. WHY ARE THE GIRLS PLAYING QUIETLY? Any mother knows that this means there's trouble on the horizon.

Emmy had been playing with her princess cd player most of the morning. She took great care in keeping it from her sister. She moved from room to room and placed it high out of Brinley's reach while she danced. Brin was not allowed to get close or even touch the cd player. Sometimes though, she'd allow Brin to dance with her. Brin then resigned herself to playing with blocks. So when the moment arose that Emmy got careless and set the player down on the rug, I knew that Brin was going in. 

I scanned over to Brin, who skillfully placed her blocks on the floor and rose to her feet, the forbidden toy in her sights. Without making a sound, she glided over to her older sister. Cautiously, she lifted the toy up and held it close to her chest, still eyeing Emmy. She turned to go, but she was spotted! Emmy then screamed in anger and jumped to her feet! 

oh the drama

Brin scampered off as quickly as possible, arms flailing in the air, as she hastily made her retreat. Emmy was spitting and snarling while Brin was screaming in sheer delight. Uh-oh! She dropped the toy but was still fleeing from her sister. She took a sideways look back but realized, it was too late to save it! She continued her retreat, arms still waved wildly about as she ran, and squealed all the way out of sight.

running for cover

Annoyed, I sauntered over to Emmy, who retrieved her beloved music player. I quickly checked to make sure all is well, and gave her a kiss on the side of the head. I tracked down Brin to restrain her from further mayhem. I picked up my clever child, who immediately went no-bones, and carried her back to the hearth room. Brin bellowed for a while in protest, but soon was subdued by an offer of a new toy. Which, incidentally, was quickly snatched by Emmy in an effort to show her who's boss.

Everybody Poops

I didn't realize that potty training my toddler instantly signed me up to be potty trained BY my daughter. I came to the conclusion fairly quickly that every single tactic, bribe and stall method I used to help my child along in the potty training process would be used every time I needed some private time of my own. I decided to stop telling Emmy where I was disappearing off to, knowing full well she would come find me the very second she realized I was not catering to her every need. I just hope that I can get done before she comes knocking at my door.

I don't think men realize how good they've got it. Sitting quietly with their magazine, book, nintendo ds, or whatever. The girls NEVER go looking for Mike. He could be gone 30 minutes or longer and they don't realize he's gone. I leave the room for 30 seconds and I hear a chorus of "Mommy? Mom? Mama? Where are you?"

Emmy: "Oh Mommy! There you are! You go potty?"
Me: "No honey. Mommy go poopy. Go watch your show."
Emmy: "I'll get a book. You need a book."

You must understand that poor Emmy has almost always had problems with the ol' number 2. Poor girl gets constipated like you wouldn't believe. After being pregnant with Brinley, who decided to lay on my colon instead of my bladder, I feel her pain. Literally. So we engage all means necessary to coax it out of her. I usually end up sitting on one of her mini princess chairs with a pile of books trying to distract her long enough to get the softball sized poop out. (It's quite impressive really. I know my Papa would be proud of it if he were still alive.) The process usually ends with quite a bit of fanfare on our part. Clapping and cheering and so forth. So when I heard, "I'll go get a book" I knew what I was in for.

Emmy: "OK Mommy, which one are we going to read first?"
Me: "Oh honey, I don't need a book, please go watch your show."
Emmy (not listening at all): "Read this one first Mama."

"This is a good one, Mama. You read it to me."

Next thing I know, Brinley has entered the equation. As a 19 month old, she is curious about what goes on with that thing we sit on. She's fascinated with the toilet paper. She keeps pulling it off the roll and trying to wipe me before jamming it between my legs into the bowl. We've gone through almost a quarter of a roll. I'm thinking "Where in the world is Mike!?!" Because I would never attempt to actually have some time to myself in the bathroom without someone to run interference! Oh, there he is, standing in the doorway supervising. PERFECT place to be. I think he enjoys the show. I can see amusement in his face.

"Here's the TP, Mama. What's it for anyway?"

Yes, yes, yes, these moments are to be treasured. Blah Blah Blah. I JUST WANT 5 MINUTES ALONE TO POOP! But, instead, I'm reading Dinosaurumpus to two little girls and very glad I'm not anywhere in public. Picture Emmy and I in a stall at Jose Peppers during the dinner rush. Oh, and keep in mind, Emmy has a set of pipes like her mother and has NO IDEA how to turn the volume down...

Emmy: "You go poopy Mama?"
Me: "No honey, just potty"
Emmy: "Make sure you wipe good Mama"
Me: "Thanks baby"
Emmy: "You're welcome"
Emmy: "All done?"
Me: "Yes dear"
Emmy: "GREAT JOB MAMA! Make sure you flush."

A Trip to the Pool: Part 2: the competition

The girls and I finally arrive at the pool. We walk onto the pool deck and find a place to put down our bag-o-crap. After stripping off our cover-ups, we're left with 30 minutes to actually "swim". We leave the safety of the shade and venture out into the pool. One squeals in delight while running to the baby slide and the other is heading in the opposite direction. I scan the pool for the friends we're meeting.

That's when it begins, the mommy competition. We all do it. Take sideways glances at the other mothers in the pool, judging each other. Who is the hottest mommy? Whose kid is the cutest? Which kid swims the best? Whose kid behaves the best? We gotta be tan, but not too tan. Kids gotta be pale, but not too pale. You want to have cute hair and the right amount of make up on, without looking like you fixed your hair and put make up on. Who puts make up on to go to the pool anyway!?!

Emmy finds her buddy to play with. I'm relieved I have someone over the age of 4 to talk to. Gotta love playdates at the pool! They take turns being brave and jumping off the wall while we gossip. Brin actually manages to climb up and, with help, step back into the pool. She giggles with pride at herself achieving this new trick. Emmy on the other hand decides that since Brin holds hands to jump off the wall, she doesn't need to anymore. She's a "big girl, Mama".

My friend and I fondly remember a time without kids as we look at the high school and college girls laying out in the zero-entry area, secretly hoping our 3 year olds will run past and splash the crap out of them. Their hair needs to get wet. They're so cute, they're making the rest of us feel bad! Oh, and that mom over there... What, the one with 10% body fat and can't hold up a size 00 pant? The one that just walked off the Miss Fitness American stage? Those aren't her kids. They CAN'T be. Obviously she's babysitting for her neighbor!

In the meantime, that cute little bikini Emmy loves so much slides up into her armpits. While reminding her to "cover your boo-boos", she starts doing the potty-dance. Uh-oh, better make a break for it. We take off for the restrooms! Brin is deeply upset that I've snatched her out of the water and put her on my hip. We take off running through the zero-entry to get there, accidentally splashing those poor girls laying out. We make it just in time but it smells like the group before us didn't. We head back out to meet our friends. 

The kids play, and we talk just long enough for the chlorine to kill whatever bacteria we picked up on our feet while in the bathroom. Then we attempt to leave with very cranky and tired girls. Of course, we decide we're the best mommies here. We've won every competition mentioned earlier. Oh, those dents on the back of my thighs? That's not cellulite, those are marks from the patio chair I sat on a week ago... I sure wish they'd go away!

A Trip to the Pool: Part 1: preparations

The ladies and I decide a trip to the pool was in order. By "ladies", I mean that Emmy TELLS me we are going to the pool. The usual excuses slip my mind! It's closed. Boys only today. It's broken! Not one of them pops in my head. As I stand there with my mouth open, she runs off to get her suit. I sigh... Since I didn't have an argument why we shouldn't fast enough, I guess we're going. I roll my eyes as I search for the beach bag. Any mom of toddlers knows that preparing for a trip to the pool takes a heck of a lot longer than the actual trip itself.

First, once they realize we're headed to the pool, the screaming and running excited laps around the house must happen. They almost forget why they're so excited. Then, the dancing in place while I try to put their swimsuits and sunscreen on them. (Oh my, the dancing!) Emmy always busts out quit a little jig. It's amazing I can get the suit on her at all. Brin very carefully tries to put the suit on herself and usually ends up with her bikini bottoms on her head, and a very proud smile on her face.

Sunscreen application is a whole different process all together. After the wiggling, the yelling, the scolding, I manage to slather them up. They look like I've partially covered them with vanilla frosting. I finally decide as long as they don't end up looking like a lobster at the end of the day, I'm still in the running for Mother-Of-The-Year.

Wait, I just realized I have to get myself ready. Oy! Gotta dig out a swimsuit that appropriately covers the right amount of skin, but still wanting to be the "cool" mommy. I make sure all the ties are securely fastened. I can see it now. My mind drifts off... I'm imagining that I'm holding Brinley and she pulls the halter tie at the exact same time I bend over to grab Emmy. Thus leaving, as Emmy would say, my "boo-boos" on full display. Suddenly, back to reality. No, no, no, that double knot won't be enough, better triple knot it.

Then packing the bag-o-gear. Oh my. With all sippy cups, snacks, clothes, hats, diapers, toys, extra sunscreen, I barely have room for the towels. It takes 10 minutes just to load all the crap and kids in the car. Of course, Emmy is telling me all about the pool, asking if we're going to the pool, and pondering out loud which toys she will play with at the pool. The. Entire. Way. She says the words "pool" and "mommy" at least 1000 times. I pray that Taylor Swift will come on the radio and she'll sing instead of talk for 3 minutes.

We're here. Finally. Forty-five minutes after we decided to come. We walk onto the pool deck and it begins. Check back later for "The Competition...."

Brinley: The Wise

Let's introduce Brinley. Affectionately known around the house as Brinley Bear, Sugar Bear, or the Fat One. She was born on New Year's Eve of 2008, 5 days past her due date at 8 pounds, 7 ounces. We hoped that this one would be a chill kid unlike her sister. (Emmy was born 2 weeks early, and has been balls-to-the-wall ever since.) We realized at about a year, that this one just liked to bide her time. She carefully watches and waits, smiling, until the perfect moment to strike. If she doesn't happen to get her way, she pushes out the perfect, pout of a bottom lip and executes an ideal boo-boo face that any baby, toddler, teenager, professional athlete, celebrity or politician could be proud of. The kid is conniving. Right now, it's cute. Later, probably annoying. As she grows and perfects her skills, a career in the CIA or as an international jewel thief might be in the cards.

Brinley is clearly the smartest 19 month old on the planet. We've taught her a few sign language skills to help us communicate with her until she can spit out all the words that spin wildly in her head. She cups her hand and spins it back and forth for "drink". She reaches out and yells at us when she's ready for "more". She also takes herself to the pantry and throws Cheerios all over the floor for "eat". Exceeding our expectations, she has come up with a few all by herself. While waiting for Emmy to go down the slide, Brin grew impatient and bit her in the back. First, we scolded her. After it happened a second time, we recognized that this is her sign for "hurry up and get your butt down that slide". We encouraged her to find a less painful way to get her point across. Another favorite of mine, Mike named "no bones". In an effort to let us know that she would rather not be carried, she hurls her arms over her head, throws her head back, arches her back, and goes completely limp. To be sure, it's an awkward way to carry a child.

Brinley is a beautiful little girl with perfect features on her petite face. A sweet, tiny voice that's a joy to wake up to in the morning as long as it's after 7:00 am. Any time before that, Mike and I both lie awake, pretending to sleep wondering if the other will suck it up and go take care of whatever it is she needs. This little game of pacing our breathing and being very still usually lasts about 10 minutes before one of us breaks down and pitches a little fit. Sometimes we get lucky and she puts herself back to sleep. Then we're both off the hook. She's learned that by wrapping her arms around her father, patting his back with her tiny hand and nuzzling in on his neck, he will rock her for several minutes. I'll admit it. It works on me as well. An excellent stalling tactic. Her sister perfected the puppy dog eyes, and she has this. We just hope she uses her powers for good and not evil.

Emerson: The Princess

I realize that to fully, or even partially, understand all future posts, I must first give you all the essence of who my children are. After all, I couldn't have my "adventures" without them.

We'll start with the oldest. Emerson, or as she tells me with a hand on her hip "I NOT Emerson, Mama. I EMMY." Emmy was born in September of 2006 and promptly let us know that she was in charge. At 7 lbs, 8 oz, she screamed her little head off for the first solid 3 months of her life. Days, nights, weekends, holidays, it didn't matter. Sometimes, if we were lucky, she'd quiet down if Daddy would play some My Chemical Romance as loud as he could get it, but then no one in the house, or neighborhood, could sleep. We knew we were in trouble then.

By the time she could talk, she was already bossing us around. I caught her in the pantry when she was about 20 months pulling things off the shelf. When I scolded her, she yelled back at me "I LIKE CRACKERS!" Which, incidentally, was her first sentence. From that point on, Mike and I realized she would constantly straddle the line of praise and punishment. Excited that she had reached a milestone of stringing words together, but wanting very much to scold her even more.

Before she was 2 years old, she could manipulate most situations and come out the victor. I can't remember now what she was getting in trouble for, but she flashed those beautiful blue eyes up at her daddy, batted those long eyelashes and the next thing I heard out of his mouth was "what would you like, baby? A pony? I'll go get it right now..." A few months later, she was being awfully sweet, I hugged and said to her "Baby girl, I love you". She smiled, leaned into me and replied "I love crapolat milk". She still struggles saying "chocolate".

Now, at almost 4 years old, that kid NEVER. SHUTS. UP. EVER. Yes, yes, she's just like her Mama and boy, am I getting what I deserve, because she's usually attached to me while she's doing all this talking. I didn't think it was possible for someone to hurl a fury of words out of her mouth at such a dizzying pace. The only time that kid isn't talking or singing, she's asleep or doing something she knows she shouldn't (but we'll come back to that in the near future). Amidst all the talking, she is quite the negotiator. Somehow one minute turns into five, two animals in her bed turns into seven, and she always finds a way to pick out her own outfits. After all, who am I to tell her that pink, light up cowboy boots don't go with yellow polka-dot shorts, a purple Princess Tiana t-shirt and a baseball cap. Hey, we were just headed to the store...

Next time, we'll discuss Brinley Bear