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
I’m not a worrisome mom. At least not about the small things. The biggest thing that keeps me up at night is worrying my kids won’t have anyone to eat lunch with at school.
My kids are 1 and 2 and I’m just a little bit crazy.
Due to my lack of concern, I’ve stopped offering my opinion on parenting things because most moms find me a bit too cut and dry for their taste. But no more! Here are ten no-nonsense, hyper-honest pieces of unwanted advice:
1. Your child will sleep through the night when they feel like it. There is nothing you can do to make it magically happen. You can try swaddling, unswaddling, loading them up on rice cereal, a bedtime routine, a dance routine, etc. You know what will actually work? Time and patience.
2. Babies will survive ten seconds without you so you can go pee. Or even seven minutes so you can take a quick shower. If they’re fed and clean and in a safe place, they’ll be fine. Go to the bathroom alone while you still can.
3. You don’t need a fancy changing table. A blanket works just fine as does a towel, shirt, or if you’re feeling lucky, nothing at all. Put ’em down on the floor and break a new speed record out of fear that any second they will poop all over your carpet. 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!
Last week, I laid Lillian and Levi down for a nap in the same room. Levi still sleeps in our bedroom at night, but since someday I’d like to enter my room after 7 p.m. without the fear of God in me, I’m slowly trying to get them to learn to sleep in the same room. Separate cribs of course, though on many occasions I’ve been tempted to throw them into the same crib for a toddler death match.
They weren’t sleeping. I had the video baby monitor on, but I could hear them from the dining room table where I was attempting to work. I just let them talk and babble away because, hey, they may not be sleeping, but at least they’re not crying or pulling on me or asking for cheese.
In the midst of working hard (okay, I was checking Twitter) I heard Lillian’s sweet voice saying, “Mom.. Mom… Mo-om…” Generally she does this when she’s pooped. The potty training thing isn’t going super well because I’m lazy, but at least she’s kind enough to tell me after she’s pooped so that’s something I guess.
I sighed because if I went in there to change her, I’d disrupt the whole notion of nap time and I really didn’t want to do that. I would leave and they would both throw a fit and the whole ordeal would begin again and they would never sleep. On the other hand… I didn’t want my daughter to have poop in her diaper. Call me a softy, but that doesn’t seem like something a “mom of the year” would do and I’m really going for that title this year. Continue reading