I’ve started this little ritual of cuddling with the older two boys in their beds at bedtime, and it has ROCKED MY MOMMY WORLD.
Perhaps I am the last mommy on earth to do this, and it is normal routine for moms to curl up in bed and bond with the kiddos at night. So I’ll start by telling you why, up until now, I haven’t.
My weight would sadly collapse a pack-n-play, so I don’t do it with baby Quatro. I’m not about to high jump over the crib walls to squeeze into the fetal position with my wiggly 22-month old, so no in-bed cuddles with Cubby. Until we moved into the new house, Tigger was in a toddler bed – and though I’m short, I still hung off the end. And crawling into the bottom bunk with Tadpole was possible, but not likely given that the boys were all in the same room and I never really thought about just snuggling with one.
Now that we’ve moved, the older two boys bunk, unbunked, together in one room (the littler two share another). With the twin beds parallel to each other, it is now physically possible and actually comfortable to lay down with them.
I still hadn’t really considered doing it regularly, until one night a few weeks ago when they were still wound up from the activities and guests of the day, asking me a thousand “why” questions, and generally delaying their bedtime with a variety of amusing childlike ‘needs’. I think there were some tears going on, too, but honestly I can’t remember why because the next ten minutes melted away any negative memories of that night.
I slunk in next to Tadpole, for starters – I do remember he was the one that was upset. As we whispered little words and hugged, he relaxed and I softened. We shared the joys of the day and I asked him if there was anything upsetting him that he wanted to talk about. He did. That doesn’t happen very often.
Don’t get the false idea that it was this intense, dramatic conversation with revelations left and right and bright new insight into my eldest child’s mind. It wasn’t. But it was real, and innocent, and sweet, and necessary, and memorable – at least to me.
And here’s what floored me. With all the testosterone, aggression, energy, and general “boyness” that goes on daily, the nighttime cuddles with both boys have been calming, joyful, lovey-dovey, and… coveted. Just one night of a five-minute cuddle and chat with each of them, and we have all been left hungry for more. A night isn’t complete now without that treasured time.
I’m a sentimental mess, and this kind of stuff adds kindling to my emotional fire. I can have the best or worst day, I can be physically and mentally drained, I can even be questioning what on earth I have done popping out four boys in such rapid succession – but 10 minutes at the end of my day for nose kisses, secrets, happy and sad recaps of the day, and closeness makes every. single. moment. worth it.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Impromptu Science Lesson
One thing I like about my boys is their curiosity, especially when it comes to science. There are numerous science projects you can do with kids, from creating volcanoes to constructing cacti.
Today we were talking about taste buds and ended up doing an impromptu science lesson. Hurray for the Internet (to find ideas quickly) and food (always a lure with the boys)!
Prepping for the taste testing of BITTER, SOUR, SALTY, and SWEET things:
Let the tasting of wacky items commence:
This sort of constructive project typically brings out the camaraderie in my boys:
By the end, Tadpole was going experimental crazy, mixing brown sugar (sweet) with cocoa (bitter) and pickle juice (sour):
Today we were talking about taste buds and ended up doing an impromptu science lesson. Hurray for the Internet (to find ideas quickly) and food (always a lure with the boys)!
Prepping for the taste testing of BITTER, SOUR, SALTY, and SWEET things:
Let the tasting of wacky items commence:
This sort of constructive project typically brings out the camaraderie in my boys:
By the end, Tadpole was going experimental crazy, mixing brown sugar (sweet) with cocoa (bitter) and pickle juice (sour):
Sunday, September 6, 2009
First
On the first day of school this year, I was first in car line for pickup. If I don’t blog about how this miracle came to be, you will not believe it. That would be because I was a complete. and. utter. wreck. Oh no, not emotionally. Just physically. Getting the boys rounded up and out the door was a feat in itself. But the rest of the morning? A mess. Here’s what went down.
Tadpole had class from 9-12, and Tigger a shortened day from 9.30-11. Just by stating that you know there was trouble brewing.
Fortunately, we made it to Tadpole’s class on time. We barely got in before the door swung shut behind us, but we made it. Then I had 30 minutes to kill with an eager “why-hasn’t-my-class-started-yet” first-time preschooler, an exploration-happy 22 month old, and a baby who typically feeds at 9.30am.
I decided to sit outside Tigger’s classroom where there just so happens to be a contained area of outdoor toys just large enough to entertain but not so big as to lose kids. (Or so I thought). Tigger and Cubby went at it full force, while I decided to sit on one of those utterly uncomfortable toddler-sized chairs to feed Quatro. Let’s just say that 15 minutes passed with various comedic but not wholly unfortunate events which included a super fussy feeder who was sweating so much in the early morning FL heat that he couldn’t stay put long enough to log two minutes of consecutive nursing time, and a restless eager one year old who managed to sneak out the gate of the play area.
Anyway, at 9.22 I couldn’t take it anymore, and decided to request that Tigger be allowed to enter his new classroom. Luckily the teacher was Tadpole’s from last year. She was familiar with me and my frequently frantic family, and she let us in. Ah, I thought, I will get Tigger settled and take the younger two out to the car as soon as possible.
It was then that I noticed that Quatro had a poo. Not just a nice, teeny, sweet-scented baby poo, but a fully blown out one that had progressed down the sides of his legs.
As luck would have it, the classroom contained a small bathroom with a baby changing station, so I excused myself into it, leaving Tigger and his brother Cubby in the classroom to explore. Error number one. Or one hundred. But who’s counting?
It wasn’t until I started changing Quatro that I discovered he actually had poo everywhere – all over his new onesie (mind you, as a fourth boy he only has about 2 outfits that are all his, not hand-me-downs, and this was one of them) and all over his back even up to his shoulders.
No worries, I am quick at changing a nappy and besides, every good mom knows to carry around extra outfits for her newborn, and I had repacked the nappy bag that morning and confidently remember putting a spare green “up all night” outfit and a turtle/seashell onesie in the bag.
Apparently the changes didn’t make it into the nappy bag though. [Indeed, I came home to discover the outfits sitting unmoved in the exact place on the kitchen counter that I had repacked the nappy bag.]
So I exited the bathroom with a naked baby in a diaper (hello, Raising Arizona), hoping that it wasn’t too obvious, only to find that Cubby had pulled bins and bins of toys out from the cabinets of the freshly organized “welcome-to-your-first-day-of-school” classroom. As I held the baby and corralled Cubby into his cheap, filmsy, “we’ll-use-this-only-for-day-trips-to-Disney” umbrella stroller from Target, the other freshly made-up, showered, and pressed Moms and Dads calmly walked into the classroom with their doll children.
To make matters worse, have you ever tried pulling a strong 22-month old away from a world of fun and games and other children, and buckling him into a stroller, one-handed? Just as I had basically dropped him into the buggy, I heard a large splat and suddenly felt this wet sensation all over my feet. I looked down, and to my horror, the baby had puked – no, this wasn’t just a spit up – but actually vomited his entire that’s-what-happens-when-you-feed-me-in-the-sweltering-heat breakfast all over my feet and the sparkling clean classroom floor. Sweet.
Capturing the next few minutes into words is impossible. You really had to have been there to witness me trying to hold frantic naked baby, clean up vomit, wipe my slippery feet, re-find and re-corral Cubby into said wimpy stroller, buckle in baby, find nappy bag again, mutter words of apology to pristine parents, graciously thank teaching assistant for help with out of control child situation, and excuse myself from the classroom, all while forgetting to actually say goodbye to Tigger, whom I was leaving for the first time in a school setting. Needless to say, retrospect wishes I had all that on video.
I would like to say the craziness ended there – and it almost did – except for the minor mishap of being 20 minutes late to pick up Tigger from his first day of school. (That is a whole different story.) Good thing the kid is relatively secure and calm and oblivious to the fact that every other Mommy had returned to take her child home for lunch and here he was, still hangin’ with the teacher.
Being that he is in a 2-1/2 year old class, I am required to physically walk in and retrieve him, instead of being able to simply pick him up in car line. So when I arrived at school, I went ahead and parked in the car line, woke my sleeping baby, unbuckled the Cubby of Pent Up Energy, left a car full of melting groceries, and quickly ran to Tigger’s class to pick him up. Thankfully he was blissfully unaware of my tardiness and was simply pleased to see me, which I was to see him, as well, and we all happily piled back into the Mommy Bus to wait for Tadpole’s class to be released for the day.
And that is the story of the day that Four Boy Mom managed to beat out all the other anxious moms to be first in car line. By the time Tadpole arrived in the car, I probably seemed calm and completely put together to the teacher who delivered him back to me.
But now you know… I wasn’t.
Tadpole had class from 9-12, and Tigger a shortened day from 9.30-11. Just by stating that you know there was trouble brewing.
Fortunately, we made it to Tadpole’s class on time. We barely got in before the door swung shut behind us, but we made it. Then I had 30 minutes to kill with an eager “why-hasn’t-my-class-started-yet” first-time preschooler, an exploration-happy 22 month old, and a baby who typically feeds at 9.30am.
I decided to sit outside Tigger’s classroom where there just so happens to be a contained area of outdoor toys just large enough to entertain but not so big as to lose kids. (Or so I thought). Tigger and Cubby went at it full force, while I decided to sit on one of those utterly uncomfortable toddler-sized chairs to feed Quatro. Let’s just say that 15 minutes passed with various comedic but not wholly unfortunate events which included a super fussy feeder who was sweating so much in the early morning FL heat that he couldn’t stay put long enough to log two minutes of consecutive nursing time, and a restless eager one year old who managed to sneak out the gate of the play area.Anyway, at 9.22 I couldn’t take it anymore, and decided to request that Tigger be allowed to enter his new classroom. Luckily the teacher was Tadpole’s from last year. She was familiar with me and my frequently frantic family, and she let us in. Ah, I thought, I will get Tigger settled and take the younger two out to the car as soon as possible.
It was then that I noticed that Quatro had a poo. Not just a nice, teeny, sweet-scented baby poo, but a fully blown out one that had progressed down the sides of his legs.
As luck would have it, the classroom contained a small bathroom with a baby changing station, so I excused myself into it, leaving Tigger and his brother Cubby in the classroom to explore. Error number one. Or one hundred. But who’s counting?
It wasn’t until I started changing Quatro that I discovered he actually had poo everywhere – all over his new onesie (mind you, as a fourth boy he only has about 2 outfits that are all his, not hand-me-downs, and this was one of them) and all over his back even up to his shoulders.
No worries, I am quick at changing a nappy and besides, every good mom knows to carry around extra outfits for her newborn, and I had repacked the nappy bag that morning and confidently remember putting a spare green “up all night” outfit and a turtle/seashell onesie in the bag.
Apparently the changes didn’t make it into the nappy bag though. [Indeed, I came home to discover the outfits sitting unmoved in the exact place on the kitchen counter that I had repacked the nappy bag.]
So I exited the bathroom with a naked baby in a diaper (hello, Raising Arizona), hoping that it wasn’t too obvious, only to find that Cubby had pulled bins and bins of toys out from the cabinets of the freshly organized “welcome-to-your-first-day-of-school” classroom. As I held the baby and corralled Cubby into his cheap, filmsy, “we’ll-use-this-only-for-day-trips-to-Disney” umbrella stroller from Target, the other freshly made-up, showered, and pressed Moms and Dads calmly walked into the classroom with their doll children.
To make matters worse, have you ever tried pulling a strong 22-month old away from a world of fun and games and other children, and buckling him into a stroller, one-handed? Just as I had basically dropped him into the buggy, I heard a large splat and suddenly felt this wet sensation all over my feet. I looked down, and to my horror, the baby had puked – no, this wasn’t just a spit up – but actually vomited his entire that’s-what-happens-when-you-feed-me-in-the-sweltering-heat breakfast all over my feet and the sparkling clean classroom floor. Sweet.
Capturing the next few minutes into words is impossible. You really had to have been there to witness me trying to hold frantic naked baby, clean up vomit, wipe my slippery feet, re-find and re-corral Cubby into said wimpy stroller, buckle in baby, find nappy bag again, mutter words of apology to pristine parents, graciously thank teaching assistant for help with out of control child situation, and excuse myself from the classroom, all while forgetting to actually say goodbye to Tigger, whom I was leaving for the first time in a school setting. Needless to say, retrospect wishes I had all that on video.I would like to say the craziness ended there – and it almost did – except for the minor mishap of being 20 minutes late to pick up Tigger from his first day of school. (That is a whole different story.) Good thing the kid is relatively secure and calm and oblivious to the fact that every other Mommy had returned to take her child home for lunch and here he was, still hangin’ with the teacher.
Being that he is in a 2-1/2 year old class, I am required to physically walk in and retrieve him, instead of being able to simply pick him up in car line. So when I arrived at school, I went ahead and parked in the car line, woke my sleeping baby, unbuckled the Cubby of Pent Up Energy, left a car full of melting groceries, and quickly ran to Tigger’s class to pick him up. Thankfully he was blissfully unaware of my tardiness and was simply pleased to see me, which I was to see him, as well, and we all happily piled back into the Mommy Bus to wait for Tadpole’s class to be released for the day.
And that is the story of the day that Four Boy Mom managed to beat out all the other anxious moms to be first in car line. By the time Tadpole arrived in the car, I probably seemed calm and completely put together to the teacher who delivered him back to me.
But now you know… I wasn’t.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Breakthrough!
At three months, Quatro’s typical night schedule is this: feed at 6:30, down by 7:15, bottle from Daddy at 11, wake somewhere between 2-4 for a drowsy snack on the boob, and up again between 6-6:30. And finally last night: we had our breakthrough.
Or so I thought.
About 10, I drifted off to la la land, dreaming, oddly enough, of high school. Any mom can identify with what happened next: I awoke on my own and when I reached over for my handy iPhone, I was shocked to read 5:50! Nevermind that I was lying in a pool of milk; my night owl had made that first sleep-through-the-night breakthrough!!
Or wait. Is he ok? I raced down the long hallway, nearly tripping over the down-then-up step of our 1970s style sunken living room, to check on him. Not wanting the clever little tyke to smell my milk soaked shirt, I slyly reached a hand out to feel the rising motion of his chest, then rapidly tip-toed out.
I did the happy dance back through the hall, already planning in those few seconds the glorious things I would tackle and accomplish now that I would be a well-rested mommy again.
I lay satisfactorily down in my bed – oops, on a huge wet spot – and closed my eyes. Are you kidding? I was too excited (and soaked) to return to sleep, so I leapt up and decided that today I would properly get ready, taking time to not only dress myself before 8:00, but also to put makeup on AND brush my hair. Imagine that! Oh the luxury of it all!
Halfway through my eye makeup I heard a faint but familiar noise. I stepped to the bathroom door. What was that? I stepped into the hallway. OH MY, it was the baby, screaming at the top of his lungs. I whirled around to stare at the monitor, whose lights were dancing loudly but was not producing any noise.
And then it dawned on me that my trusty monitor had been silenced, probably by Cubby who has discovered it’s fun flashy lights and rapid almost-out-of-range beeping, and quite frequently mistakes it as a toy. My little guy probably HAD woken up around 3 am, but silent monitor left me slumbering peacefully in my bed, unaware.
Baby monitors have probably only been around for a few decades, and certainly have been mistakenly turned off or muted by hundreds of moms (or weary husbands!) before me. So I’m not alone in this experience. And Quatro was clearly completely fine.
But so much for the “breakthrough.”
Or so I thought.
About 10, I drifted off to la la land, dreaming, oddly enough, of high school. Any mom can identify with what happened next: I awoke on my own and when I reached over for my handy iPhone, I was shocked to read 5:50! Nevermind that I was lying in a pool of milk; my night owl had made that first sleep-through-the-night breakthrough!!
Or wait. Is he ok? I raced down the long hallway, nearly tripping over the down-then-up step of our 1970s style sunken living room, to check on him. Not wanting the clever little tyke to smell my milk soaked shirt, I slyly reached a hand out to feel the rising motion of his chest, then rapidly tip-toed out.
I did the happy dance back through the hall, already planning in those few seconds the glorious things I would tackle and accomplish now that I would be a well-rested mommy again.
I lay satisfactorily down in my bed – oops, on a huge wet spot – and closed my eyes. Are you kidding? I was too excited (and soaked) to return to sleep, so I leapt up and decided that today I would properly get ready, taking time to not only dress myself before 8:00, but also to put makeup on AND brush my hair. Imagine that! Oh the luxury of it all!
Halfway through my eye makeup I heard a faint but familiar noise. I stepped to the bathroom door. What was that? I stepped into the hallway. OH MY, it was the baby, screaming at the top of his lungs. I whirled around to stare at the monitor, whose lights were dancing loudly but was not producing any noise.
And then it dawned on me that my trusty monitor had been silenced, probably by Cubby who has discovered it’s fun flashy lights and rapid almost-out-of-range beeping, and quite frequently mistakes it as a toy. My little guy probably HAD woken up around 3 am, but silent monitor left me slumbering peacefully in my bed, unaware.
Baby monitors have probably only been around for a few decades, and certainly have been mistakenly turned off or muted by hundreds of moms (or weary husbands!) before me. So I’m not alone in this experience. And Quatro was clearly completely fine.
But so much for the “breakthrough.”
Monday, August 17, 2009
Night Owl
My sweet Night Owl. I also thought this photo was appropriate to post given the new blog background!
Critters
I guess I’d better prepare to constantly have critters around the house, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.
One of my earliest memories is my Dad bringing a garter snake into the house when I was about four years old. I recall my brother (five) and Dad thinking it was hilarious scaring my mom with the snake, but I distinctly remember being aware of my own feelings – fear, creepiness, and plain confusion as to why in the world anyone would pick up a snake, let alone bring one in the house.
Boys, boys. Just two days ago when we were moving out of the rental house, Cubby picked up a dead roach and was holding it in his hand. (It may have ended up in his mouth, had I not horrifyingly screamed and shaken it from his curious fingers.) Tigger and Tadpole are frequently trying to catch lizards, and the bug jar from Tadpole’s “Science Box” quite often has a multi-legged creature dizzily wandering in it.
I was immensely proud of myself for helping capture the baby frog that was hopping down our hallway after a Florida summer afternoon downpour a few weeks ago: a major milestone in my getting used to embracing ALL of God’s creation. I tried not to let my bug-happy kids see the fear in my eye – fear, I suppose, that the thing was going to pounce on me and start munching off my nose and ears.
All this was brought to my mind again when my eldest received to his extreme delight an Ant Farm for his fourth birthday. After all, who needs another truck or car when you can harvest your very own farm of insects in your home? I know the critters are contained, but truthfully, the very thought of purposefully having ants in my house is a bit, well, disconcerting. I don’t know much about Ant Farms, but they better not decide to cleverly tunnel out and make their Great Escape into my kitchen.
I dread the day that one of my own creepy-crawly obsessed boys picks up an oversized beetle or harmless snake and brings him in to the house to scare Mom.
I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
One of my earliest memories is my Dad bringing a garter snake into the house when I was about four years old. I recall my brother (five) and Dad thinking it was hilarious scaring my mom with the snake, but I distinctly remember being aware of my own feelings – fear, creepiness, and plain confusion as to why in the world anyone would pick up a snake, let alone bring one in the house.
Boys, boys. Just two days ago when we were moving out of the rental house, Cubby picked up a dead roach and was holding it in his hand. (It may have ended up in his mouth, had I not horrifyingly screamed and shaken it from his curious fingers.) Tigger and Tadpole are frequently trying to catch lizards, and the bug jar from Tadpole’s “Science Box” quite often has a multi-legged creature dizzily wandering in it.
I was immensely proud of myself for helping capture the baby frog that was hopping down our hallway after a Florida summer afternoon downpour a few weeks ago: a major milestone in my getting used to embracing ALL of God’s creation. I tried not to let my bug-happy kids see the fear in my eye – fear, I suppose, that the thing was going to pounce on me and start munching off my nose and ears.
All this was brought to my mind again when my eldest received to his extreme delight an Ant Farm for his fourth birthday. After all, who needs another truck or car when you can harvest your very own farm of insects in your home? I know the critters are contained, but truthfully, the very thought of purposefully having ants in my house is a bit, well, disconcerting. I don’t know much about Ant Farms, but they better not decide to cleverly tunnel out and make their Great Escape into my kitchen.I dread the day that one of my own creepy-crawly obsessed boys picks up an oversized beetle or harmless snake and brings him in to the house to scare Mom.
I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The One-Handed Mom
Back-to-back babies – especially with colicky ones – and the various stages of clinginess and separation anxiety that they’ve each gone through, leaves very little time when I am not holding or carrying around at least one of my offspring.
Which means that for the last four years I have basically been a one-handed mom.
Most new moms become pretty adept at doing a variety of things with one hand, and with four straight years of babies under my belt, I feel confident boasting that I am now practically an expert.
Washing dishes? Clean as the dishwashing machine would do. Whipping up a batch of homemade muffins? As appealing and tasty as the bakery’s. Cooking and setting the table for dinner? Done before you can say “Speedy Gonzalez.” Cleaning the toilets? You could eat off of them, I didn’t miss a speck of bacteria. Folding five loads of laundry? Neater than Martha Stewart could fold 'em.
Want me to help a kid on the potty, put on another’s pair of socks, change the third’s nappy, and pay bills online all while holding a two-month old? Not a problem. Because when you have babies, that’s what you do – you cuddle and calm your little guy in one arm and learn to do everything else with your one free hand.
And if you’re wondering, of COURSE I type this blog with one hand!
Which means that for the last four years I have basically been a one-handed mom.
Most new moms become pretty adept at doing a variety of things with one hand, and with four straight years of babies under my belt, I feel confident boasting that I am now practically an expert.
Washing dishes? Clean as the dishwashing machine would do. Whipping up a batch of homemade muffins? As appealing and tasty as the bakery’s. Cooking and setting the table for dinner? Done before you can say “Speedy Gonzalez.” Cleaning the toilets? You could eat off of them, I didn’t miss a speck of bacteria. Folding five loads of laundry? Neater than Martha Stewart could fold 'em.
Want me to help a kid on the potty, put on another’s pair of socks, change the third’s nappy, and pay bills online all while holding a two-month old? Not a problem. Because when you have babies, that’s what you do – you cuddle and calm your little guy in one arm and learn to do everything else with your one free hand.
And if you’re wondering, of COURSE I type this blog with one hand!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
