Wait in Line!

Today, we hogged the swingset - my boys took up all the swings at the playground! Luckily the line of kids waiting to use it wasn't too long.

This will be a lot easier when a few of them learn to propel themselves!

Inevitable

It was bound to happen, and today was the day.

Capping off a return home from the grandparents for Thanksgiving, a work day full of time-consuming projects that would not be finished and required multiple trips to Home Depot, mommy with the flu and a sore throat not allowing her much voice, daddy with an aching back, high out-of-daddy's-reach (ack! dangerous!) tree climbing by Tadpole, excessive whining from a cold-stricken Tigger with red chapped cheeks, 2-year old Cubby's post birthday party letdown, and itchy day 11 of baby Quatro's who-knows-what-caused-it rash, was this:

Tadpole decided to experiment with how much toilet paper he could stuff into the potty. And the floods came. And the mommy screamed for help. And the rugs got soaked. And the realization that we have no plunger hit. And the daddy had to reach in and fish out all the jammed toilet paper. And the bathroom had to be cleaned. And the floors had to be mopped. And the washing machine had to be utilized.

Thank goodness Baba was here to rescue us and show us how to shut the water off quickly before the water reached the hallway carpet. (In the moment, grabbing the camera was far from my mind. Bummer.)

To his credit, we probably have never point blank explained to Tadpole that the toilet cannot handle more than a few wipes worth of paper. He did look wide-eyed and innocent enough when we called him down from his tall tree to investigate the damage and threaten him that it had better not EVER happen again.

But with three more younger, curious boys? Ah, should I be so lucky...

Speaking of Surprises...

And now for the shocking surprise: the night I described just yesterday in my post? The night in which I had an early waking baby, unexpected cuddler, and the need for a wee hours shower with my poo-covered one year old? Yeah, well that EXACT same scenario happened again last night. Yes, including the blow-out and shower!!!

Here's to an ueventful night tonight (translate: quiet, calm, and with more than four hours of sleep).

Oh What a Night

Was thinking tonight about how amusing (I’m trying to see the humor in this) are the ‘surprises’ that await me in the night these days versus 10 years ago.

Ten years ago it looked like this: a phone call from a friend at 2am upset about her horrible late-night chat with an ex-boyfriend, a spontaneous decision at 10pm to go meet some friends out for a drink, a movie marathon with my roommates at midnight on Friday because we’re awake and bored and hey, we can sleep in the next day… you get the idea, and I’m trying to keep it tame here.

Nowadays it looks like this: unexpected inconsolable cries from the baby who doesn’t usually wake up as early as 9pm, whining at 5am from my four year old whose covers are messed up, little boys crawling into my bed at midnight wanting a cuddle because they just had a bad dream… or, like last night (wait, all of these things happened last night) a full blown shower and a stinky load of laundry at 2am because my one year old just had a massive diaper blowout requiring immediate attention.

Yeah, my nights are certainly a bit different these days.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

Here's one that I can't figure out. Tigger, newly three, is going through a phase where he changes his clothes numerous times in any given day.

I would not at all think of him as clothing obsessed, fashion forward, or a budding designer. He doesn't change clothes to play dress up, and he's not girly in an "oooh-let's-try-THIS-cute-number-on" way.

It is, in fact, so subtle that I barely noticed it coming on until I started wondering what's with the 20% increase in laundry and why doesn't Tigger ever have any "short pants" in his drawer.

My powers of observation were clearly focused on my own personal workload, not my son's appearance.

One day I clued in, though, because I had specifically noted (and wondered if I should meddle with the fact) that he had oddly selected orange shorts and a red t-shirt to wear to school in the morning. I do typically make it a rule to let my kids choose what they wish to wear, only directing them if it is not appropriate for the occasion or the weather.

Not fifteen minutes after he was ready, he disappeared into the bedroom and came out wearing a different shirt. I asked him why he changed, hoping in that short span of time he had been gifted with newfound fashion sense, but figuring that perhaps he had just spilled pancake syrup all over the tee.

He replied by just shrugging his shoulders and making an adorable “who knows!” kind of face, and went about his business. At which I made it MY business to investigate. The t-shirt was perfectly clean, thrown into the dirty clothes hamper. Hmmm.

Must’ve been a random fluke, and I’ve got better things to focus on, I thought to myself. Plus, in the spirit of my new fave book The Power of Positive Parenting, I decided not to draw attention to it, since behavior that is given attention is typically repeated.

But the next day I noticed this clothes change again. So I started watching more closely. Tigger would disappear for quiet time or to go potty or in search of a toy, and emerge from the bedroom with something new on. Socks, underwear, shorts, shirts… but something. I have counted up to 9 changes in one day. All for no apparent reason.

I have confronted him a few times, always with the same nonchalance and simply replies.

Honestly, it’s like he just gets completely BORED with the item and is ready to move on. It’s seriously the only explanation I can come up with.

Needless to say, I have started requesting his help with the laundry. Luckily he thinks hurling clothes into various baskets and then into a huge whirling drum is kinda fun.

The Munchies

Looks like my Cubby had the mid-morning munchies.


It was quiet for just a weeeee bit too long (which, with him, means 90 seconds), so I wandered into the kitchen to see this on the floor. Nevermind the question of how he got into the cabinets with the “childproof” safety latches.

At least it’s better than some of his more recent eats…


I know that babies put everything in their mouths, but to my recollection that ended with both my previous kids at around the age of 15-16 months.

Not Cubby.

Crayons? Yum. Playdough? Tasty. Dirt? Couldn’t be happier. What gives? What sort of food is he missing from his diet that he STILL feels the need, just shy of his second birthday, to eat everything imaginable, edible or not? And when will this obsession end?!

Perfect

At lunch today the kids and I were discussing crafts and creating. As conversations tend to do, it twisted and turned into another discussion, this one about God being the ultimate creator.

Tadpole, my ever-curious, big-thinking four-year-old child, posed a deep question: how many attempts did it take for God to “get it right” when making humans? (The question alone was enough to blow my mind.)

I paused before taking a stab at an understandable answer, and simply stated that perhaps it only took once, that He got it perfect on the first attempt!

Which in turn prompted Tadpole to ask me, “What does PERFECT mean?”

Ah, I told him, it means when something is absolutely correct, without blemish, ideal, sinless. Perfect. Like God himself. “After all,” I stated, “God is the ONLY ONE who is truly perfect.”

Tadpole stared blankly at me for an instant before replying, “But Mommy, you always tell ME that I am perfect.”

Perceptive catch, Tadpole. Because he’s right, I do often tell him that he is perfect – exactly the way he is.

Underwear

Tigger turned three this week. What a cute age on that kid, I cannot believe it. I am sure I say that about each of my kids at each age, but good grief. His words, his funny faces, his humor?ok not his ear piercing screams. But the rest: adorable adorable adorable. I am so in love.

But I digress. So my mom asked him last week what he wanted for his birthday. Thinking carefully and after a suspenseful pause, he confidently replied "Mickey Mouse underwear!"

This is what I love: in a world of bigger and better and lights and sounds and action and flashiness... the little guy wanted underwear.

The other gifts have been played with, fought over, and taken to show and tell already, but it's Mickey who has caused him giddiness every morning.

And THAT is adorable.