toddlers

And the little one said, “Roll over, roll over!”

Posted on by Beth Hull

[Image from Hyperbole and a Half’s fabulously funny blog. Click here to get to the original post.]

I know what you’re thinking: we brought this on ourselves. The place we’re at, right now, is a natural, predictable consequence of implementing the Family Bed (of Pain).

But that doesn’t make it suck any less.

See, maybe the Family Bed (of Pain) works great when you don’t mind letting your kid sleep there past age 7. I do know parents of twins who have done/are doing this, along with their new infant. They have a Cal King and pushed a twin bed up next to it.

Well, a) we don’t have a Cal King and, even if we were so wedded to the idea of Eternal Cosleeping that we were willing to buy a Cal King, b) one wouldn’t fit in our room and c) it still wouldn’t be big enough for us and a three-foot-tall person who wants to sleep sideways.

Two weeks ago, fighting gravity and the kicking feet of my sweet, cherished daughter:

Ever-Suffering Mother: [eyes still closed, barely able to sit up on couch, resenting being dragged from bed for the morning’s goodbye-to-Daddy-just-one-more-hug-and-kiss-oh-last-one-wait-one-more-and-one-more ritual] I can’t do this anymore.
Husband and Z: It speaks! What is it?
ESM: I’m the Ever-Suffering Mother. Pay attention.
Husband: [realizes  Z left some pointy toys of the couch that the ESM might use as missiles] Yes dear?
ESM: I can’t do this anymore. Z, tonight if you wake up and want to come to our room, you can sleep on your cot. We’ll move it next to our bed. [looks at Husband] This has gotta work. Please let this work.
Husband: [muttering] This isn’t gonna work.
[Creepy music to foreshadow disaster.]

The Cot of Urine after its most recent hose-down.

Husband was mostly right. The cot, from here on referred to as the Cot of Urine, is only partially successful. Z’s diaper leaked on the second night, so after getting cleaned up, there was nowhere else for her to go (or was there?) except into the Family Bed (of Pain).

Henceforth (what a great, underused word), Z seems to have realized that peeing gets her into our bed. Here’s what I think goes on in her head:

Step 1: Wake up.
Step 2: Say, “Oh no! My Pull-Up leaked!” (Whether or not Pull-Up is wet.)
Step 3: Wait for grouchy parent to take me to the potty and change my Pull-Up. (Whether or not Pull-Up is wet.)
Step 4: Climb into the Family Bed (of Pain). (Even if the Cot of Urine has no urine in it. This is where Mommy and Daddy are weak, lazy parents. If they were smart/less tired, I’d be getting back into my cot (if it’s dry) or back into my bed. Mommy and Daddy are sucker parents and I shall sleep in their bed until I’m 25.)
Step 5: Talk and kick for the rest of the night/morning.
Step 6: Screech with glee and happiness and ask for a snack at 5 a.m.
Step 7: Wonder why Mommy looks like a zombie bride.

Now that I’ve analyzed her way of thinking, I see where we’re going wrong: Step 4. Things are going to change around here.

Somehow. If I ever get enough sleep to have the energy to completely shut down the Family Bed (of Pain).

The Pirate at the Other Side of the Table

Posted on by Beth Hull

Besotted with my kid as I am, and proud as I am of her smart little brain, I can’t help but wonder if somehow, maybe during her naps, pirates are sneaking into the house and coaching her in table manners.

Having never dined with a pirate (except in my fantasies when Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow first takes a shower, sobers, and then sweeps me away for a pleasure cruise…wait, this isn’t my fantasy. This is – – – – -‘s fantasy. Guess it’s mine now, too). Where was I? Oh yes, having never dined with a pirate, I cannot say for certain what their table manners are like. However, if the most popular modern-day depictions of pirates (yes, you know the movies, starring Mr. Depp) are any indication, I imagine pirates would shovel food into their mouths when they’re hungry, and, as soon as their tummies are sated, they might start throwing things on the floor, at each other, and generally act dirty and uncouth: spitting, piling up the unwanted food, smearing it on their hands and arms, sweeping everything to the floor with a sticky arm (or hook, because we should embrace the pirate clich é s).

Just like my daughter. Just add random, belligerent yelling.

Husband and I weren’t very happy for awhile, didn’t feel very close, when Z was really little and neither of us could do anything fun because we couldn’t hear or talk or make plans over the screaming. But now, now we’ve bonded all over again. We have united in the face of a Common Pirate Enemy. And our sense of camaraderie doesn’t stop at the dining room table. The shared horror at the atrocities performed a mere two feet away from our plates has strengthened our relationship. We understand each other better. We have suffered together, and continue to suffer, and will suffer through whatever future stages of growing-up we are lucky enough to witness.

They say the early years go by so quickly.

The speed of the early years going by is not quite as fast as a pea shooting through the air.

Clean Up, Clean Up, Everybody, Everywhere…

Posted on by Beth Hull

…Clean up, clean up, before your mom pulls out her hair.

Somewhere in the universe there is a two-and-a-half-year-old who does everything she is told, when she is told. And happily. She doesn’t even whine. She says, “Okay, Mommy,” and scrapes her leftovers into the trash, and puts on her shoes when it’s time to go, and stops picking at her effing fingernails when you remind her not to because they will become bloody stumps otherwise. (Ahem. This is another issue I’ve been struggling with. But this is not the place, not today.)

I’ve never seen that two-and-a-half-year-old. She’s not in this house. Here we have the Ever-Suffering Mother trying to manage an adorable monster. We’ve tried bribing her to clean up by giving her “special occasion” toys. We’ve tried special songs – from the ever-popular classic “Clean Up, Clean Up” to Ricky Martin’s upbeat “Pegate,” to the ever-inspiring “Love Shack” by the B52’s. We’ve tried time-outs. We’ve tried time-ins. (Not really the time-ins, I just thought it sounded good.) Finally, what worked best was taking toys away if she didn’t clean them up.

Why did it work best? Not for the reason you’d hope, that she’d be suddenly transformed into a little cleaner-upper at the thought of losing her precious stuffed animal friends. No. It works best because when the toys disappear to the basement, there is less for her to clean up the next night, and the night after, and so on. Because the Ever-Suffering Mother does NOT traipse down to the basement every day to collect whatever toys were banished the day previous. So they sort of collect there.

The family room empties, the basement fills up.

And then, yesterday. I brought up armloads of toys from the basement, some of them Z hasn’t seen in ages. I made piles of toys in the family room. Guess what she did. Okay, fine, I’ll tell you: she put them away. And then she said something kind of sad, but so cute. “I’m not taking anything out.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Then I won’t have to put it away!”

The "friends" are so much happier when theyre hidden away in their little nest. Z doesnt buy this logic.

The No-Nap Blues

Posted on by Beth Hull

The No-Nap Blues: I’m singin’ ’em.

Yesterday, I, the Ever-Suffering Mother, sat through an hour of listening to my child whine in the next room. “I don’t want to sleep. Let me up. Let me up!” (As if I were physically holding her down on the bed. However, if she’s going to continue believing herself stuck in bed, I’m not gonna enlighten her.)

Later in the afternoon, I spoke with one of the members of my Maternal Support Team (a.k.a. “Mom”).

Ever-Suffering Mother: Why didn’t she go to sleep? I think I don’t like her at all.

Maternal Support Team: (makes indistinct noises without committing the blasphemy of speaking against her granddaughter)

ESM: (wails) I just wish I knew what I did wrong!

MST: (finally kicking into supportive mode) You didn’t do a single thing wrong. Sometimes these things just happen.

ESM: No. Something went wrong. I did something different, and I will figure out what it was so it never happens again. (shakes fist at the other room where Z happily plays with her stuffed animal friends)

MST: Really, sometimes these things just happen, and you can’t control them–

ESM: Can so. I know I turned around three times in the kitchen before her naptime. That might have influenced it. Or her sound machine…maybe the volume got adjusted up or down after we brought it back from your house. Or I sang the second verse of her second lullaby in the wrong key. I will figure it out!

MST: (laughs)

By the time my Spousal Support Team (a.k.a. “Husband”) returned home from work, I was a total wreck. Still in my sweatpants, hair tied back in a nasty black scarf (the color of mourning), wondering if I’d ever have time to work on my manuscript again. Feeling a little sick from self-medicating with half a bag of Nestle Tollhouse semi-sweet chocolate chips. (Oh wait, that’s every evening. Tears optional. Maybe change the color of the scarf.)

Really, though, what do stay-at-homies DO when their child stops taking naps? Do they have a second child to distract the first? Do they run away from home? What I’d like to do is institute a three-hour Solitude and Quiet Time. And, yeah, maybe run away for a couple of days.

Mommy Goes To Los Angeles

Posted on by Beth Hull

My first weekend away from home since Z’s birth deserves a tribute, and Z deserves a new book. So I made one for her. It cost no money and took approximately forty minutes to create. The illustrations especially are an indication of the book’s hasty publishing.

Z has been without her father for weeks at a time (usually for work), so she’s used to him being gone (although she never likes it). Because I’m always around, I thought a book might be a good way to explain what’s going on. I could just tell her, but that would be boring.

Plus, I love making books.

So here’s the text:

Mommy is going to Los Angeles.

Los Angeles is a city in southern California. Auntie Dana lives there.

Mommy is going to visit Auntie Dana, and stay at Auntie Dana’s house.

Mommy and Auntie Dana will do fun things, like go out to dinner, go shopping, and tell stories.

While Mommy is in Los Angeles, Z will get to spend lots of time with Daddy!

Z and Daddy will eat together, play together, and do naptime and bedtime. Maybe they’ll read lots of stories, like this one.

Even though Mommy will have fun with Auntie Dana, she will miss Z and Daddy and Clark very much!

But remember, whenever Mommy goes away…

Mommy comes back!

Kids are so easy to impress. She LOVES the book. She especially liked how I used her markers to make it.

Quick bit of blog business (three things):

1) No post on Monday. I have a great book to review for you (Plain Kate by Erin Bow) and I want to do it justice, not, like, write it while I’m in an airplane.

2) Starting in December we’re going down to two author interviews per month. I’ve been missing my free-for-all entries. Starting next Friday, interviews will be shorter.

3) I’m thinking of going down to two updates per week. I need to focus on my fiction, which was the whole reason for starting this blog-website. If the blog is taking over fiction time (or family time), that’s a problem.

Happy weekending, everyone!