I love bed.
I love sleeping, falling asleep, waking up and going back to sleep, all of it. Sleeping is one of the best ways I spend 5 hours of my day. I didn’t used to feel this way. In my time before kids, going to bed was just something my body made me do. And naps? Forget about it.
I love bed.
Lillian, for the most part, does not. Oh sure, there are nights where she asks to go to bed with her words. “Mom, night night.” There are also nights, though, when she tells me she’s ready for bed via an interpretive dance which includes, but is not limited to, screaming, flailing her limbs, chucking herself to the floor, and more screaming.
More often that not she knows that when I say it’s time for bed, it’s time for bed. She doesn’t pitch a fit, but she does attempt to find any excuse to prolong being lifted up into her crib. The conversation goes something like this. (I don’t write toddler dialect well so rather than have you try to decipher what she’s saying I’ll just put it in standard English.)
“Lils, it’s time for night night.”
“No, Mom! Daniel Tiger!”
“No, we’re done watching T.V. It’s time for bed.”
“No. No Jake and the pirates either. It’s time for bed.”
Her shoulders slump as she walks towards me, then perks up. Continue reading
I guess the title is misleading. It makes it sound like my toddler wasn’t wearing pants. And he wasn’t. But I really want to explain to you why I didn’t have pants on while crawling after my toddler.
It all started with poop. The best stories do.
Both kids were in my lap as we watched “Let It Go” on YouTube for conservatively the 812th time that day. I still like the song, they kind of sit still, and Lillian is adorable when she sings along. She does the hand motions too. It’s great.
So we’re all sitting, watching the computer, when I smell something. Oh geez, one of the kids pooped. There went that cute moment. Well, I’ll just wait until this is over.
“Let it go, let it go…”
Why is my leg wet?
I look down, and Levi had managed to not only poop, but somehow completely miss the diaper. I don’t even know what happened. Sometimes the stars are aligned just right, the diaper’s on just wrong, and everything comes pouring out.
Now I’ve dealt with a lot of poop in my two years of motherhood, but getting pooped on always sends me into a fight or flight mode. What do I do?! Continue reading
Luke handles bath time in our house. I can handle it when they’re small and can be bathed in a sink. Once the kid discovers splashing and bath time ends with me dripping wet as though I had a front row seat at a Shamu show, I bail on the idea. Luke loves the water, loves the kids, loves bath time. Problem solved.
He may be second guessing himself after what happened last week. This is how the story was told to me.
First, Lillian threw some noodles into the bath tub. I guess I should’ve stopped her when she ran into the dining room stark naked and grabbed some off the table, but maybe she needed to carbo load before bath time.
Once the noodles were floating in the water, Levi–who never misses a meal–promptly ate them. Well, he put them in his mouth, but quickly spat them out due to their lack of flavor. I guess macaroni a la bath water isn’t his thing.
In protest he then decided to pee on the noodles.
But wait! There’s more!
Luke got everything and everyone cleaned up, ran fresh water, and tried again. About five minutes in, Lillian, who is very into potty activities these days, said “Brother? You poop?”
Why yes, yes he had.
And this is just one more reason why Luke is in charge of bath time.
Have a great weekend!