The Birthday Discussion.

We have this conversation every day. At least four or five times a day.

Beastie: Birthday?

Me: Yes, your birthday's coming soon. You will be two!

Beastie: No, fwee.

Me: No, two.

Beastie: No, one.

Me: No, two.

Beastie: NO! Seven!

Me: Fine, seven.

Beastie: No, Ishie TWO.

And then we talk about the party....

Beastie: Gabba cake? Gabba cake? Gabba cake?

Me: Yes, I'll make you a Gabba cake.

Beastie: And I-Meem! (ice cream)

Me: Yes, and ice cream.

Beastie: I eat it! Nom nom nom! (as she "feeds" herself like a chipmunk.)

And then it all come back around....

Beastie: Ishie birthday, sevennnnn!

Me: No, two.

Beastie: No, five.

Me: No, two.

Beastie: No, fwee.

Me: No, two.

Beastie: No! SEVEN!

[sigh.]

10 Funnies by Beastie.

1. "Stupid ass!!" (but she's really saying "super dad")

2. "You MEAN!" (for any reason at all)

3. "Hey! You bit me!" (whenever you touch her unexpectedly)

4. "WYATT!!!" (this means "quiet," usually said when Mom is singing)

5. "Again?" (when she wants a sippy cup refill)

6. "I 'pank you butt!" (this is a joke in our house since we are a strict no-spank family)

7. "Raaaaah!" (when you ask what a tiger says, always accompanied by limp wristed scratching motions)

8. "All done! All done!" (in a distraught voice, whenever I vacuum)

9. "Happy two ah!" (the title of the happy birthday song - she sings the lyrics correctly)

10. "Donkey kong!" (aka donkey song, aka Tingalayo)

*******

Twenty months old. Where does the time go?

Beastie speaks.

Beastie is 19 months old, and she's starting to talk in sentences, which is unbelievably cute. Her very first sentence was "I bite!" - after which she bit me right on the leg. She also likes to ask where everything is. She'll point at the dog and say "Pee," which is how she says Petey, and then ask, "Where Pee go?" I point to him, and then she laughs and asks again. And again, and again, till finally I make the dog go lay down so I don't have to play this game anymore.

Yesterday she took me by the hand and led me to the window. "Bood!" she yelled. "Bood outdide!" I looked, and sure enough, there was a bird on our front walk. "Look at that bird," I said. "Isn't he pretty?" And she peered out, saying, "Pooty bood outdide!"

She also uses words in context. If you tap her on the shoulder, she spins around and says "Heeeeyyyyy!" in the most accusatory voice. She yells for her sisters: "Gulls!" she hollers, in the same voice I use when I call the girls in from outside. And whenever she poops in her diaper, she tells me "Poopy. Gwoss!"

Its so amazing to watch language develop where once there was none. It's just awesome how they learn and grow.

A Big Accomplishment, and Seedy too.

Today is The Babe's birthday; he's five months old. To be honest, that makes me a little bit sad, because it seems like he was a newborn just yesterday. He's my last baby, so I'm doing my best to cherish every moment with him. I know before long, all my babies will be big kids in school like EJ, and I will sit here at home all alone, wondering what to do with my time.

It's not just Babe's birthday - it's also a big day for him developmentally. Today, he rolled over for the first time! You might think he's late for that. He might be. But he also weighs 23 pounds and spends all of his time in my arms, so he hasn't had much chance to learn how, and even if he did, he had to get pretty strong to heft all that weight over.

Of course, now that he's getting so big, I get people all the time asking when we're starting solids. Even the pediatrician, at his four month check up, said we could start cereal. I was like, are you kidding!? I don't care if he's "big enough" - he is not ready. I am a very big believer in baby-led solids, and there is no way I am going to shovel spoonfuls of nutritionally inferior processed "food" into my baby's mouth, fighting to get it to stay down. No way. I've been down that route and am still paying the price, with EJ. I figure, by the time he's in kindergarten, The Babe will most likely be eating solids. Probably. So why worry about it?

Another thing happened today. I found out what "Seedy" means.

Beastie has, for about a week, been holding my face and screaming "SEEDY!" when I'm singing to her. (For some reason I spend a huge amount of time singing to my kids. Probably four hours a day, if you put it all together.) So I'll be singing "Twinkle Twinkle" and she'll grab my face and scream down into my mouth "SEEDY! SEEEDDDDDYYYY!!!"

I tried to figure out what she wanted. "You want Sister?" I'd ask. She'd get so mad and yell again. "Do you want me to stop singing?" Nope, not that. She'd grab my cheeks even tighter. "SEEDY!"
I could not figure this one out. I tried and tried, but without fail, she'd yell "SEEDY!!" every time I sang.

Then, today, a lightbulb. I started singing the Alphabet Song. "Seedy!" Beastie yelled, gleefully. "Seedy!!"
I stopped singing.
"C D?" I asked her. "A B C D?"
She was downright exuberant. "Seedy!"

So now when we sing, we start with Beastie's favorite song - The ABSeedies.

Bah-eee Poo

There's something crazy going on at our house. To the untrained eye, it might seem like a frat party gone horribly wrong... I mean, what's with the naked baby and the potty chairs everywhere? And ... my God ... did that child just pee on the floor??


I know Beastie is very young for "potty training." She just turned eighteen months old the other day. But she isn't being potty trained. She's learning about the potty. And it's just as well, because the only way to keep a diaper on her is with duct tape, and it's a good thing I know that, or we'd never go out in public.


As soon as Beastie feels a wee coming on, she peels off all her clothes - usually accompanied by frustrated, Beast-like screeching - and runs to her potty. She very rarely makes it. Normally she pees in her diaper, or on the floor next to the potty. (It's right about now that I stop bitching about having ceramic tile and Pergo floors.)

The same thing happens with poo, but she's scared to death of it. She sees it on the floor next to the potty, and screams bloody murder and runs in the other direction. I always gently guide her back, then pick it up with a wipe, and bring her to the toilet. The first time I did this, I put the poo in the toilet and waved at it and said "Bye bye poo! Bye!" And she did the same thing. "Bah-eeee, poo! Bah-eeeee!"

So now, whenever she notices anyone in the bathroom, she comes running in and peeks in the toilet - sometimes while someone is still sitting on it. "Poo?" she asks, even if it's not. Then she grabs the handle and flushes. "Bah-eeee! Bah-eeee poo!!"

If it wasn't so cute, it would probably drive me crazy, what with the barging in on me and all.

The Best Part of Waking Up....

... is a minature Suzy Homemaker dust broom in the head.

Seriously, kid. I get it. You're awake, and the house is dirty, and you want me to get my ass out of bed and clean it. But isn't there an easier way to ask me? Couldn't you use your words, like we've talked about so many times? Could you say, "mamaaaa" like you do when you just crapped yourself and you want it changed? Could you say, "beeeeeez" like you do when you would like a drink of juice, and you know a sweet little 'please' will get mom moving faster than a screech? Could you just screech, then? Because being whacked in the head with your little broom is only slightly better than when you climb up in my bed and pee under the covers.

Two out of Four Ain't Bad

Whiney, whiney Wednesday....

So last night, The Babe decided one eye was better than two, so he took his pointy little finger and tried to gouge out the left one. He literally stuck a finger in his eyeball and tried to pull it out.
Really what he was trying to do was rub his eyes, but since he's only 3 months old, his finger got stuck like freaken Jack Horner. He screamed this weird high pitched cry for like ten minutes, and I called my mom in a panic. "Mom! Please tell me you can't pluck your own eyeball out..." I seriously lost ten years of my life last night. I could just envision my beautiful, perfect little boy with a creepy glass eye and tunnel vision. After the screaming, he went to sleep and in the morning his eye was fine.



So, this morning, The Hub walked EJ down to the bus as usual. Four went with, as usual. And I stayed inside and got the babies dressed, as usual. EJ got on the bus and Four and The Hub came back in the house. Four took off her boots and threw them at me for no reason at all, other than she is wildly undisciplined. "Four! You pick those up right now!" But a wildly undisciplined child does not give two shits what Mom has to say about anything at all, especially boots on the floor, so she ignored me.



Beastie was in the bedroom and came running out, headed right for the melted snow and boots in the middle of the foyer. (Yes we have a foyer in our 1000 square foot two bedroom house. Don't act like you're not impressed.) I wasn't even really paying attention to Beastie, to be honest. I was watching the Today Show, to see who was 2008 Person of the Year. (It was Barack Obama, but anyway.)



Cue suspenseful music.



Beastie slipped on the melted snow (read: water) and then tripped on Four's boots and fell face first on the floor, which happens to be ceramic tile. She let out this bizarre animal-like scream, and really dark, almost black, blood started spurting from her lower lip.



I've never seen anything like that, except maybe on Mortal Kombat, and it scared the hell out of me. My child is hemorrhaging from the lip and screaming like a hyena and I am just panicking and can't do a thing about it. What I ended up doing is calling my mom. "Mom, please tell me you can't cut off your lip on a pair of pink Polaris boots..." My mom told me to wash it with a washcloth, which I did, kind of. Really what I did was gingerly touch the cloth to her lip, and when she screamed harder I just held her and let her bleed all over my new green sweater. She quit screaming after a minute or two, and her lip is completely huge and gross looking, but not cut enough to need stitches or anything.
That incident took at least another ten years of my life expectancy.

At least Four and EJ haven't injured themselves. Two out of four ain't bad. But then again, the day isn't over yet.

Daddy, boob, same diff.

Overheard at our house.

Daddy: Say "Daddy."

Beastie : Mama!

Daddy: No, say "Daddy."

Beastie: Mama!

Daddy: Can you please say "Daddy?"

Beastie: Mama!

Daddy: Come on, I won't ask you again. Say "Daddy."

Beastie: Boob!

A Great Idea

If you are bored, what you should do is wait for your mom to go to the bathroom, and then get in her desk and get out the superglue.

Then, when your mom comes out of the bathroom and is nursing your baby brother, what you should do is squeeze all the superglue into your hands, and wipe them on your bedroom wall.

Then you can get your baby sister, who's only 16 months old, and put her hands in the superglue too.

If you are still bored after that, you can go in the bathroom and try to wash the superglue off, but get distracted by the big roll of toilet paper.

Did you know you can fit a whole roll of toilet paper down a sink drain, if you rip it in tiny pieces and get it wet first?


If you are still bored after all of that, and are looking for a good laugh, call your mom in the bathroom. When you holler for her, use the same voice you use when you are vomiting in the toothbrush drawer.

Now all you need to do is sit back and watch the hilarity ensue, as mom realizes what you have been doing for the last three minutes.

Terrible Twos? Trying Threes?

Frustrating Fours is more like it.

I'm thankful.... (meme)

So, there are days when I get really upset about money, and get myself all worked up about what we're going without in order to pay bills. We aren't rich, let me put it that way, and sometimes it all builds up and I get so mad. Like last week, my radiator went out on my van, and that cost like four hundred bucks, and then the next day the heater core burst and started ejaculating antifreeze onto the driver's side floor. I say ejaculating, which is kind of funny, because antifreeze smells like a dirty cooter. I'm sorry, but it's true. I told The Hub we should bring it to the OB/GYN, with that smell and all.

And did you know it costs $500 to fix a heater core? Yeah, I didn't know that either. But I can't just drive around with green stinky cooter-y stuff spurting onto the floor of my van, can I? No.

So during times like that, it's easy to get caught up in what we don't have, instead of focusing on what we do have. And to that end, I am going to now list for you the things I am thankful for, because I know you are dying to read it.

I am thankful for....

1. My amazing husband, who puts up with my oddballness.

2. My four beautiful children, and my nine little angel babies waiting in heaven.

3. My morbidly obese chihuahua, Petey. (I put him on a diet though, he only ate one grilled cheese today, and part of a smoothie, and some dog food.)

4. My cross-eyed cat, who purred in my face during labor.

5. My house, because even though it is small and drafty, the roof doesn't leak and I can afford the payment.

6. My van, even though it smells like a really dirty vulva.

7. Water. Cause I like drinking water.

8. Living in the country, so I can walk around naked.

9. Skin, because it would be really gross if everyone walked around without skin on.

10. Having enough food to eat, even if I have to cook it myself.

Yep, it looks like I have a lot to be thankful for. I was going to list things like toilet paper (for obvious reasons) and elmer's glue, and coupons, but I thought that might be stupid. So there.

Purging the Mommy Guilt

I spent a number of years beating myself up for things I couldn't change. Some of those things were stupid - oh, I have flabby arms, boo hoo. Some were valid - I should have paid my friend back that twenty bucks.

But mostly all of that stewing and guilt-tripping were related to motherhood. And now that I'm okay with myself as a parent, I can forgive myself for my many mistakes. I can forgive myself for trying to fit in a mold, and I can accept the way I parent as good enough.

For instance, I refuse to feel guilty about formula feeding my first baby. I can tell you I was young and didn't know the benefits of breastfeeding, but it sounds like a cop-out. Formula feeding worked for us, and EJ is fine (well, mostly, except for her attitude, but I have a strong suspicion that her attitude is inherited from - ahem. Yeah. Me.)

I refuse to feel weird about nursing Four until she was 37 months old.

I will not feel guilty about weaning Beastie at four months. I had no choice - I was pregnant and had no more milk for her - but she is fine. And I do not feel guilty about it one tiny bit. I also do not feel the need to explain to anyone (except youse guys) why I weaned, or that I did in fact get pregnant while nursing, despite judgemental moms who have said to me "You wouldn't have gotten pregnant so soon if you had breastfed." How 'bout you shut the hell up.

I refuse to feel guilty for using disposable diapers 99.9% of the time.

I refuse to feel guilty about hollering at my kids sometimes. Do I like yelling at them? No. Do I try not to? Yes. But does it still happen? Duh. All I can do is apologize to them and try to do better and know that everyone gets hollered at now and then, and for the most part we are all fine.

I don't feel guilty for feeding my kids fried food and sugar alongside their veggies and whole grains. Go ahead, tell me about nutrition. I won't listen. Better tell someone who might take you seriously, and not waste your time with me.

I do not feel guilty for letting my kids watch television. Once again, regale me with the dangers. I don't care. Also, I dare you to call CPS on me for letting my kids watch Yo Gabba Gabba. They will laugh at you, and probably even give me a medal for tolerating that crap. (Sometimes I even walk around singing, "There's a party in my tummy, so yummy, so yummy!" Yeah, it's that bad.)

I will not feel guilty about saddling my children with unbelievably popular, common names. Sorry kid, you get what you get in the name department. At least they aren't weird names, or white trash names, or Amish names. They are just regular names, even though the kids will always have to be known by their first name and last initial.

Vacations? Nope, I feel no guilt that my kids will never go on a "real" vacation. The very thought of a theme park makes me cringe. It aint gonna happen. When the children reach the age of majority, and I am no longer responsible for them, they can go on whatever vacation they want. We'll just stay right here in BFE Michigan, thank you very much.

I refuse to feel guilty for sleeping with my babies. The pediatricians will tell you not to, as will your grandmother and well-meaning (and probably childless) friends, but seriously. There is nothing better than suggling up with a fat naked baby. I would spend all day cuddled with my fat man if I could, and as far as SIDS, well, if my baby is going to die of SIDS, I want him next to me, not far away in a cold crib. I will not feel guilty about this, but I will also not ever tell the doctor, because I don't ever have the energy to fight them.

This one I'm working on. I will not feel guilty for taking antidepressants. Okay I still feel a little guilty about that one, like maybe I am really obvious tot he whole world. I think I might have a big note on my back that says "Crazy person!!" But starting now, I refuse to feel guilty about it. At least I have control of the crazy, instead of the crazy controlling me.

I do not feel guilty for being the type of mom who avoids playgroup at all costs. I avoid it because I don't feel like sitting in a room full of moms with whom I have nothing in common, other than the fact that we bore children. I went to playgroup four times, and each time I ran around and kept everyone else's kids from eating the chalk while they sat together and compared four hundred dollar diaper bags.

I don't feel guilty for not coming up with cute creative things for my children to do. You're kids. We live in the country. Go find something to do outside. It is my job to keep you alive and to guide you into adulthood with psyche intact. It is not my job to entertain you. I know a couple people whose parents did that kind of thing for them, and guess what? They're weird.

I won't ever feel guilty for not assuaging my children's egos at all times. Yes, my children are great, they are fantastic, they are super cool and I love hanging out with them, and I am always amazed at them and humored by them and they are my world... but they do not need to hear that thirty times a day to feel worthwhile. 'I love you' will suffice quite nicely.

I refuse to feel guilty for the ten million mistakes I have made, and the infinite more I will make, while I lovingly parent my children. They are loved, and they know it. I am human, and they know that too, and I am giving them my best. And that is good enough.

You can talk to them, but it's useless.

The other day was a hard, hard day at our house. The weather has been nasty for a week or so now, so we couldn't get outside, and the van broke down and has been in the shop, so we couldn't even go for a ride.

It was one of those days where all of the kids are crying for no apparent reason. When they weren't crying and whining, they were doing their best to eradicate each other. I was nursing The Babe with Beastie on my lap, a feat in itself, and all I could hear from the bedroom was "She hit me!" and then "Nuh-uh! She hit me fust!" and then "Mo-om! She's lookin' at me!" and "I'm only lookin' at her cause she's stawin' at me!" (Four can't say her r's quite right.)

It was one of those days, and I was thisclose to completely freaking out. So I called the older girls into the living room, and tried to have a heart to heart with them.

"Girls," I said, "I need you to be on your best behavior. Mommy has a migraine, and the babies are--"

"Mom?" Four interrupted.

"No, I'm talking. You can tell me when I'm done. Now, the babies are tired and cranky, and Mommy isn't feeling well. And it makes Mommy feel really angry when I hear you yelling at each other in the bedroom. So I need you to--"

"Mom?"

"Four, it's rude to interrupt. This is important. Girls, it's so hard for Mommy to do everything she needs to do, and it makes moms sad when we hear our children hurting each other. So I really really want you to try your best and be nice to each other. Because--"

"Mom?"

"Four! You need to wait! What have I told you about interrupting? Anyway, I just really need you to be big girls, and help each other and love each other so Mommy doesn't start yelling like a crazy person. Don't you hate it when Mommy yells? I do too. So let's get along, and be kind to each other, and stop hollering for mom every three seconds. Do you understand?"

EJ said, gently, "Yes, Mama."

And Four said, brightly, "Hi! I'm Lisa and I'm new here. Are you the teacher?"




Oh dear God.

Translating Fifteen Month Jargon to English

ha-eeeee : hi
bah-bah-eeee : bye bye
beeeeeeee : please {never used in context}
bock-ooo : thank you
beck-ah : you're welcome
beh-buh : belly button
bud-duh : brother
gog : dog
ki : kitty
yah-yew : love you
Dod-dee : Daddy
bom-ba : Mommy {yeah I can't figure this one out either}
bay-beeee: baby
dicky : stinky {always accompanied by pinching nose}
dight-duh : diaper
guckle-guckle - I don't know but she says it all the time


Beastie's first sentence? Dicky Dod-dee!

Guess what, it's Saturday. Which means if i am very lucky, I get a couple hours (eeeee!) to myself! EJ and Four went to my Grandma's house for a visit, so I've just go the two babies today. And somehow they are both sleeping at the same time, and no I did not drug them. For whatever inexplicable reason, they are both taking a nap, and I am not one to question a rare Midas touch.

So I did something super-duper fun for the first half hour of the nap - coupon organizing! Whee! And then I fed the cat, because she was bugging me, and then I ate some chocolate chip cookie dough. Because I'm a grown up and I can do that if I want.
[When I was a kid I used to say 'When I'm grown I'll eat a whole cake at one sitting!' - but I have yet to. It's kind of unpalatable now.]

The babies are having their pictures taken this evening, which is another reason I am mega-grateful for this afternoon nap. The older kids got theirs done at school, and since this is my first year of having kids at school, I realize that I have seriously underestimated the usefulness of having someone else deal with your child for a few hours a day - and take their picture too, and somehow have it come out looking half-way decent. Four had ripped up jeans on for her picture day, and for whatever reason the photographer had her put her knee up for the picture, so it's real obvious. But we didn't do retakes because that's all Four ever wears on normal days, is the most ripped up stained up nastiest clothes she can find.

.......and the whining has begun. Which means if I don't go get her now, it'll be screaming, not whining, and that's never good.

Typical morning at our house

So you're like, Ninja Mom, you have this blog called Two Under Two but you hardly ever write about the babies.
And I'm like, Yeah, I know, cause babies aren't all that interesting.

Don't believe me?

Wednesday, 10/29/08
7 am: Wake up. Change The Babe's diaper. Change Beastie's diaper. Wake up EJ and Four for school. Get all four children dressed. Nurse The Babe. Pour out three bowls of cereal. Pick cereal up off the floor. Pour another bowl of cereal. Make sure EJ and Four have combed hair and clean teeth. Make sure both bags are packed. Pack snack for EJ. Make sure Four has underwear on. Send Four to bedroom for underwear. Holler at Four for dawdling. Make sure EJ has socks on. Send EJ to bedroom for socks. Holler at EJ that she is going to miss the bus. Nurse The Babe. Run down to the end of the driveway with EJ. Get EJ on the bus.

8 am: Start getting Beastie ready to go. Get The Babe in his car seat. Put Beastie's shoes back on. Put Beastie's coat back on. Take The Babe out of carseat, nurse him again. Put Beastie's shoes back on. Find Beastie's pacifier. Put Beastie's shoes back on. Put Beastie's coat back on. Put The Babe back in car seat. Put Beastie's shoes back on.

8:30 am: Leave for Four's preschool. Listen to Beastie scream all the way as she tries to extricate herself from her car seat.

9 am: Bring Four into preschool. Put Beastie's shoes back on. Get Beastie buckled up in her car seat again. Take The Babe out of his car seat and nurse him in the parking lot. Put him back in his carseat. Put Beastie's shoes back on.

And you wonder why I look twenty years older than I am.