But you know, I’ve got a 10yr old, a 7yr old and a 4yr old that are more than capable of doing chores. So guess what? Mean Mommy has been thoroughly dusted off and put to work. The kids are required to clean up after themselves every day. They don’t like it much and I get a lot of attitude. That’s ok. I have even started encouraging the 2yo to put things away.

I think for a long time I was terrified of my kids not liking me. Even after Ariel and her mother moved in I was horrified by the idea that she might not LIKE me. But you know what? Pooh on that. It’s my responsibility to be their parent (or in Ariel’s case, her god-parent), not their friend. In a way it makes me kind of sad. I’m afraid, I think, that my kids will grow up with a negative perception of me. It’s a very real fear of mine. Maybe that’s a normal fear.

In some respects my parents prepared me for taking care of myself better than many of the people I know. One thing that my parents did that I absolutely abhorred growing up was chores (I’ve yet to meet a kid that LIKES chores). Now, in my house chores were um, stringent. From the time I was about Ariel’s age, I had my room, overseeing the kid’s rooms (those of my youngest sibs) the upstairs bathroom (which was technically my sisters’ job but she was much younger than me so really, it was my job) plus the kitchen, the dining room and on days when my brother was unavailable, the living room, the closets and the hallway (which largely amounted to dusting and vacuuming). It doesn’t sound like all that big of a deal until you enter my dad’s idea of an inspection into the picture. The brother I shared most of the chores with had his own things to deal with. If I was doing his chores that weekend it was only because he’d been drafted into doing some other kind of chore. Like yard-work. His mowing and trimming had to be every bit as thorough as my cleaning. More often he was helping my dad on a house project, reloading ammo, organizing his office, fixing the car, whatever. One thing we learned growing up was that working, in one form or another, is part of living. We also learned to work together, to identify and implement the steps needed to complete a job and to take pride in a job well done.

The point here is that on the one hand, as a parent, I think the things we were expected to do and harshly punished for screwing up were a bit over the top. On the other hand, we learned a lot about what doing things right looked like. Though I have to say, I pretty much refuse to pull out my stove or fridge unless absolutely necessary (this was a weekly requirement growing up). I wouldn’t have made it in the military.

The frustration of keeping up with my kids was driving me crazy! Then I realized, by the time I was Morgan’s age I was regularly expected to do dishes, fold laundry (which I sucked at) and handle pretty basic chores (like vacuuming and dusting). I’m positive that I remember doing them more effectively than I actually did them, lol. I argued with myself about it until one day I realized that some of my resentment and frustration was at my kids for not appreciating or respecting what is done for them. But, well, how can they respect or appreciate something they don’t understand? I realized that while I may not always agree with the way my parents chose to implement the lessons they taught me, I agree with the lessons!

After much thought, I’ve realized that my parents demonstrated a lot of faith in us kids. We got reprimanded for doing a lousy job because my parents KNEW we could do better. It wasn’t that they wanted to force us to do something outside of our abilities but that they wanted to see us to do it RIGHT because they knew we could. I’ve come to understand that while it’s important to not expect more from my children than they can reasonably handle, it’s equally important for me to recognize that they are quite capable human beings. In some ways, not expecting them to do things for themselves is essentially demonstrating a lack of faith in their abilities and that’s just not fair.

It is not an easy thing for me to be stern and keep being firm until a job is done right. Those fears come back: what if they hate me? What if they think I just want a slave? On the other hand, how on earth can I expect my children to learn to respect and appreciate the other people in their lives if they are never required to have any responsibility of their own? Do I really want to wake up one day with a couple of teenagers that can’t even be bothered to do their own laundry or clean off their own places after a meal? NO. I want my kids to go out into the world as prepared as they can be to deal with life. I cannot give my children an education; that is something they must apply themselves to on their own. But I can teach them responsibility and it just so happens that in doing so, I also get to transfer my work energy away from picking up toys for the 400th time in an afternoon and focus it instead on directing the growth of little minds.

Another reason I resisted the chore thing for so long was, to be honest, a kind of laziness. It might seem like making the kids do the work is being lazy but in reality, it’s MORE work than doing it myself, most of the time. It’s not like I can say “go clean the living room” and come in half an hour later to a sparkling, domestic paradise. The reality is that each step involved in cleaning up an area must be directed and supervised, making “clean the living room” into a two hour project sometimes. Truthfully, while it’s nice not to be the one cleaning up the junk off the table, in reality it’s not less work for me, it’s just different work.

However, the process of properly cleaning a room isn’t any different than any other job my kids are going to have to do in their lives. It’s not, at the end of the day, the fact that they’re cleaning off their places at the end of a meal that’s the big deal. What really matters is that they are learning skills that are applicable in every facet of their life moving forward. I know adults that are much older than me that cannot walk into a messy room and clean it without having a panic attack or dealing with anxiety about the sheer amount of work that needs to be done. It is painfully difficult for them to break the work down into projects that can be handled a bit at a time. I think many people do not realize how important being able to walk into a disaster and make it right actually is to the rest of their lives.

While I certainly did not appreciate this as a child or a teenager, my parents gave all four of us kids something that is invaluable. I can walk into just about any situation, learn about what is going on, break it down into bite size pieces and tackle a problem until it’s completion. I learned this, believe it or not, from doing chores and being required to do them correctly. Sure, other things in my life have added to that education but the groundwork was laid at home, by parents I believed just wanted four little slaves.

Figuring out how to implement this kind of education in my own home has been more challenging than I thought it would be. For one thing, I’m dealing with four different levels of ability. For example, Ariel is ten years old. If she vacuums the floor and it looks like she didn’t even try, it’s because she didn’t even try. If I ask Abigail to do it and it looks like she didn’t even try it’s because she’s only four years old and doesn’t understand the steps involved in doing it well. This means that after she’s completed her assigned task, I have to do it over again anyway. Which is frustrating but what’s important is that Abby is learning to do things for herself and participate in keeping the home nice for everyone else, too.

Aside from cleaning up after themselves, I think the most important thing they are learning right now is that none of us live in a vacuum. “But I didn’t make the mess” is never, ever an acceptable response to me. I recently heard myself suggesting to certain young lady that I saw no reason whatsoever why I should wash clothes or cook food I wasn’t going to be wearing or eating. I mean, sure, she may not have been the *only* person who dumped bits of dirt, crumbs and candy-wrappers on the carpet but so what? How many people grow up in life and have this ridiculous idea that the only person they are ever responsible for is themselves? No. You live in a home and it’s a community made up of the people that live in it. The bottom line is that in this crazy world, we have to take care of each other and work together from time to time for everyone’s benefit.

It totally starts at home, cleaning toilets, vacuuming floors and cleaning up after little brothers.

So my friends, what’s new, what’s happening?   How’s life?

I’m beginning to understand, more now than ever before, that life is really freaking complicated sometimes.  Occasionally it’s necessary to just sit back and let everything go and just know, deep down, that in the end, life is actually pretty damn simple.  We’re born, we eat, we struggle, we live, we die.  There’s a comfort of sorts in that simplicity.  If only it was recognizable in day to day life, eh?

My kids are all at these stages of different growth where their age differences are suddenly standing out in sharp relief to each other.  As frustrating as it can be in random moments, it’s really fun to watch.  I know I’ve said it a million times but I never get tired of doing so: I just love watching them.  I do.  I love how intensely different their personalities are, how obviously they are their own, unique people.

Take my oldest, for example.  Morgan just turned seven (where does that time go?) and she’s reading!  I mean, she’s reading very well!  I’m so impressed with her determination to conquer and master new skills- even when it’s accompanied by a whole lot of complaining.  She’s quite bright (sometimes entirely too much so, I might add) and she can be very snarky but she’s also got a budding sense of responsibility already and she loves and cares for her siblings in ways that make me smile.  Also, while I may be somewhat biased, she’s gorgeous.  I mean yeah, she’s got that awkward thing going on right now: She’s got a mouth full of half adult teeth and half little kid teeth, complete with an adorable gap in between her two front teeth!  She has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that are just picture perfect.  She still has stick-out ears that I, personally, think are charming but she’s rather sensitive about them as people comment on them a lot.  Her eyes are still enchanting, though their color has totally changed.  She still has half a brown left eye but instead of being a grey-ish blue color, they are now quite green hazel.  With a pert nose, pretty mouth, my little girl is a looker.  :)  She loves to “teach” or help other people learn to do new things and she’s quite curious about just about everything.  I love her intelligent questions and she’s continuously surprising me with the connections she makes.

Abigail’s personality seems to  grow in depth by the day.  She’s still as energetic and passionate as ever but the softer parts of her personality come to light more often these days.  I’m still completely flabbergasted by how quickly she can go from angelic and happy to shrieking with rage and back to perfectly complacent again.  Abigail reminds me of the ocean: her moods are complicated, unpredictable and breathtaking.

Her nurturing personality is really coming out in spades lately.  While she can be as temperamental and nasty as any other 4 year old, she has a sweetness about her that is completely entrancing.  She very seriously takes care of her “babies” (a whole host of baby dolls, stuffed animals and, hilariously, her little brother and the animals in the house).  She takes these duties very seriously and her imagination is constantly going at top speed.  It’s almost like she lives very strongly in her own little world.  I have a suspicion that she is going to be an avid reader.  She is always talking to her babies, and then pretending in a different little voice that they are talking back to her.  She steals Ethan’s diapers and clothes, bottles and blankets, so that she may better care for her “littles”.  She “cooks” for them and puts them down for naps, kisses their booboos and makes sure they are cuddled and kissed and disciplined, all day every day.  She absolutely adores her big sister and gets very personally offended whenever Morgan really just needs a little space.  She’s very firm with me when she thinks Ethan needs or wants something (Mommy!  Ethan’s CRYING!!!  as if I can’t HEAR him).  She has discovered her own little friends around here and never misses an opportunity to tell them how much she loves them.  Well, that is when she’s not shrieking at them for some reason (holy hell 4 year olds are loud.  I thought it was just my kid but NOPE.  It seems every child between the ages of 3 and 7 on this block does everything at about “screaming” volume).  I’m very much looking forward to when she starts school.  Not so much because of the “peace and quiet” factor (though there is a little bit of that, too) but because as her awareness expands, it will be interesting to watch her discover more about herself and see how it affects the way she thinks, the choices she makes and how she interacts with her peers.

Of course, there is also my Little Man, my Ethan.  He’s at that stage where he’s got something new going on every day.  Recently, he decided that climbing up and down the stairs via the use of his knees and coming down backwards is for sissies.  Upright and one at time, facing the correct direction, is the only way he’ll do the stairs, now.   Right this second he is coming down stairs hollering about some slight one of his sisters did to him.  I am just absolutely loving his new-found verbiage.  Ethan has come into talking much more slowly than either one of his sisters, beings as he just turned two and still does not speak in sentences recognizably.  I don’t feel that he’s delayed at all, though: Morgan was speaking in full blown, complex sentences at 2years old and that was a bit ahead of the curve.  Abigail was a bit more average in her ability, speaking in full sentences at 2yrs old: except her enunciation was so poor that actually understanding what she was saying was challenging for us and nearly impossible for anyone that didn’t listen to her babble all day.  Ethan’s enunciation isn’t all that great but it’s generally understandable and while he doesn’t speak in sentences, exactly, he is very good at making himself understood.  I feel that sentences are right around the corner as he often babbles nonsense words in an attempt to make a “sentence”, particularly when he’s complaining about something or asking for something.  I just  love his hair, too, all wild and curly and soft; it’s like a halo of innocence that crowns his head.

My son is a nudist, though.  He is definitely interested in  clothes and really gets into getting “dressed” and “undressed”.  By this I mean that he likes to wear shirts like skirts and take them on and off throughout the day.  He’s almost 100% out of diapers: during the day he only wears them if I have to go out somewhere or I want to send him outside.  As long as he’s not wearing a diaper, he uses the potty on his own, without being reminded or making mistakes.  He is SO good at it and it’s entirely coming from his own motivation.  Have I mentioned how much I love the driving principles behind EC?  Even though I did not fully EC him, I used the principles as I know them as I really don’t know any other way to “potty train” a child.  It works!  All I did was leave a potty out and let him run around naked.  Whenever I saw him start to pee, I’d point at his little penis and tell him “Ah AH! Don’t pee on the floor…pee in the potty!” and I’d redirect my pointing towards his little potty.  After a couple of day of that, he started using the potty by himself and then bringing it to me to show me he’d caught a pee.  He still does this and it’s SO cute.  He can also climb on and off the big potty on his own and doesn’t even like an insert.  I just love watching children figure things out on their own.  It’s really amazing how complex their little minds are and how uniquely they will approach a given situation and solve whatever puzzles are inherent in it.  but this brings us back to my son’s general nudist preferences.  He has a terrible time getting pants and undies or pull-ups OFF while still managing to pee in a potty.  As such, he prefers to run about without any on and really, if I have a choice between cleaning up dirty baby bum or having a naked little gelfling running about, I am GOING to become very comfortable with my son’s little bits waving about in the breeze, mmmkay?  Right now my little man is running about with only socks on.  He absolutely loves socks and shoes and he’s usually wearing something of that nature on his feet and rarely do the shoes he pics belong to him.  He especially loves Abigail’s new sparkly, silvery, light-up shoes.  Nothing like a naked little streaker running about in BLING shoes.

I started this entry a month ago.  A MONTH.  Suffice to say it’s been a very busy summer!  Changes have come, gone and come again and while the evolution of our family, our lives and my inner spirit has been immense, positive and challenging, it hasn’t meshed well with my internet life, lol.

What is your favorite color?
“Um….pink or purple.”
What is your favorite food?
“I think Jerky aaaand Bacon!” <-- This greatly amuses me as she typically will refuse to eat anything else that has meat in it.
Favorite animal?
‘Horsey, horsey HORSEY!”
What is your favorite TV show?
“Um…the Might B”
What kind of music do you like?
“I like…Irish Jig”
What are you really good at?
“Dancing”
What are you not so good at?
“Uh…I don’t know. Nothing!”
Who are your best friends?
“Aniya, Jayden, Macanzie, Nick, Alison, Max, you (Yay, Momma made the list!) and my family.”
What is your favorite thing to do at school?
“Recess and fun activities”
What is the best thing about having a little sister and a little brotherr?
“They’re fun to play with”
How are you different from the two of them?
“I like Barbies but Abby’s not a big fan cuz she likes her baby dolls. Ethan seems to like screaming a lot and I don’t really like screaming.” <--She is referring to his new favorite game which seems to entail him out-screeching whoever he’s playing with. He thinks it’s great fun, claps his hands and laughs all the while the rest of us are plugging our ears and wiping tears from our eyes.
What does brother/sister do that makes you mad?
“When they hit me”
What do you want to do when you grow up?
“I want to be a Jockey”
If you had a lot of money, what do you think you would buy?
“I’d buy a hot tub- no a castle!” <--That's my girl!
What is the best thing about your mom?
“She’s nice!” <--I'm so reminding her of this when I tell her it's bed-time and she throws a fit!
What is the best thing about your dad?
“He’s nice!”
What do you like to do with dad?
“Play with him or just be with him”
What do you like to do with mom?
“Cuddle cuddle cuddle”
Tell me something that is really funny.
“Eve, sometimes she’ll climb a tree and hang from a bar by her feet. And then she licks the tree”
What is your favorite thing to wear?
“A fancy dress.”
What makes you cry?
“Someone being mean to me”
What does love mean?
“Love means that you really like someone”
What does it mean to be a good friend?
“It means you’re really nice to someone”

A few minutes ago, I found my sex-journal in my daughters’ bedroom. Thank GOD neither one of them is reading. Well, actually, Morgan can read, just not my handwriting. It’s not as bad as it sounds, it just got unpacked a couple of days ago and it’s covered in flowers so most likely Abby thought it was a doodle book. Still…good thing she’s 3 and not 13.

Two weeks ago my daughters found Big Jack. If anything is going to get me an escort to the helluvator, it’s that thing. See, I loves the sex. It is probably my all time, #1 favorite thing to do. Dh? Well, let’s just say he’s not a natural red-head (we can’t all be perfect, now, can we?). He likes to encourage my er, “red-headed” ness, though, and so he bought me Big Jack as a gift.

OMG you guys I Love that thing. LOVE IT. Oh hell, I’ll just tell you: Big Jack is an extremely well-endowed, cyberskin dildo. I tease dh that he bought it for me just to keep me out of his face while he’s working. It’s more fun when we’re together though (What? Oh shuddup you like TMI as much as I do.)

So yeah, how did my KIDS get it? See, there was this one time, at band camp…
Dh “introduced” me to Big Jack about a week or so before this event. It was very, very late (like 3am) when bedtime rolled around that night so, after carefully (reverently) washing my new toy, I set it on a shelf in my closet to air dry, shut the door, went to bed. I forgot ALL ABOUT IT for like, a week.

Then one day, the girls were in quiet time playing video games on dh’s pc (which is in our room) and Ethan was sleeping. I was trying to catch up on e-mail, minding my business. Randomly, in march my daughters, one behind the other, with Big Jack being held before Morgan like it’s a freakin’ trophy.

DD1: “Mom, what’s this?”
Me: *sputter* “What were you doing in my closet?! That’s not yours, PUT IT BACK!”
DD1: “Ok but what is it? Is it a foot?”
Me: ….”A foot? Seriously? OMG just put it back!”
Sensing that she’d touched a nerve or something, she shrugs and turns around and skips back upstairs with her sister close behind her. As they are trudging back to my room, I hear Abigail’s little voice “Morgan? I think it’s a penis…”
*facepalm* Needless to say, Big Jack has been moved to a higher self, in a bag, in a box in a box. Hmph.

Oh and when I IMed dh at work to tell him what just happened? I get this text in response:
“HAHAHAHAHA. LOLOLOLOL!!! You have fun with that.” Jerk. This is entirely his fault, you know.

Thankfully, nobody has inquired after BJ since then. I hope they forgot about it and I hope they don’t suddenly remember it when they’re like, 12 and instantly suffer deep trauma. Part of me is still wondering if it’s a bad omen that my 3yo totally knew what it was and my 6yo thought it was a foot? A FOOT? It’s not that big, you little gremlin, JEEBUS.

Go ahead…laugh. I would if it was you writing and I was reading. I’d laugh and tell all my friends. So yeah, laugh it up and have one on me.

So what happened? Well, I had just put the baby-gate up to the living room right after Ethan had gotten up from his nap. I had my laptop and was in the kitchen, chatting with a friend about the article I was going to write today. I could hear the kids playing and paused several times to get various things for them and that sort of thing. Typical afternoon. In fact, I was just thinking how irritated I was that Abigail kept calling me when Ethan started to cry. I didn’t think much of it as Ethan is at that age where he bumps his head into *everything* and cries often, usually because he’s pissed about something. But I heard panic rise in his voice and then a gurgle and I was in the living room doorway the next second. I thought he’d probably fallen and was choking on some unknown bit he’d picked up and shoved in his mouth. He was on the floor, facing away from me, but getting up and crying. I began to reach over the baby-gate because for some stupid reason it didn’t occur to me to just move it. Abby says, in that sing-song, tattle-tale voice “Momma, Ethan was playing with your knitting needles…”

Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. I noticed several things all at once. 1) A knitting project I’d abandoned and stuffed away months ago, before Ethan could really crawl well, (and completely forgotten about) was out on the floor, mostly underneath Ethan. 2) Ethan was turning towards me, having completely risen from his fall- he was bleeding from his mouth 3) The baby gate was collapsing underneath me as he was farther away than I initially realized and had leaned farther than I should have to reach him.

Because I had a hold of his shirt as I was realizing the gate was falling, I nearly crushed him under the gate. Thankfully the COUCH was in the way and the gate didn’t actually land on him (nor did I) and I was able to get up and get him out from under it without further injury to him. I hadn’t panicked yet as I thought he’d fallen and bit his tongue.

I’m soothing him, trying to get a look in his mouth but he’s really panicking now, sputtering, gurgling and blood starts pouring out of his nose as well as his mouth. I can’t see *anything*, can’t get a good look and I’m remembering Abby’s comment about the knitting needles and I realize he must’ve fallen with it in his mouth.

Yeah, I panicked. I felt like someone had just deflated my legs. I sank to the floor as the room spun around me and fumbled in my pocket for my cell phone, while holding Ethan. All I could think about was this story I’d read in the media some years ago about a little boy who’d fallen with something in his mouth and punctured his esophagus. That little boy died. Because he was bleeding so profusely from his nose I thought maybe the knitting needle has gone up his nose. All sorts of horrible possibilities were flying through my head faster than I could really follow them. It took every ounce of self control that I had to speak slowly and clearly to the emergency person on the phone. I explained what I thought had happened, made it clear that no, there was nothing currently stuck in his face, told her that I thought he could breathe ok but that I had no idea where the damage actually was.

Now, I live on this street that confuses every delivery person and first time visitor that comes through here. The street I live on is horse-shoe that wraps around to the main road. It has the same name as the main road but the street sign says, “To ***** circle” on it, NOT the name of the street. Not only that but the “to” is very small so it’s hard to see when you’re driving by so it just looks like the street is called “***** circle”. So I watched from my front yard, with my bleeding son on my hip, in dismay as not one but TWO ambulances passed by our street…twice. I’m waving and yelling, trying not to jostle Ethan too much.

Thankfully the ambo drivers figured it out. As they were pulling up I noticed that Ethan wasn’t gurgling anymore and had calmed down significantly. The bleeding had pretty much stopped as far as I could tell, also. Abigail had gotten dressed as I asked her and we went out to the Ambulance and were helped aboard.

Ethan didn’t much appreciate being examined and in the end, I had to wipe his face off and try to settle him. Even with the paramedics help, I couldn’t tell where the needle had gone in, what was damaged or how bad it was. All they could tell me for certain was that he definitely wasn’t loosing blood, his pupils were good and he didn’t appear to have any brain damage. Good, all immediately life-threatening possibilities were ruled out. But we obviously couldn’t rule out slow-leaking bleeding or damage that needed to be repaired. They offered to drive us to the hospital but instead I called my MIL and asked her to come as I didn’t want to take a First Responder out of commission for an injury that wasn’t immediately life threatening (I only live 6 or 7min away from the hospital).

I’m chuckling a bit remembering this, but as MIL’s phone is ringing, I’m trying to figure out how to tell her how important it was that she come home right away without causing her to freak out. But I mean, really, how do you say “The baby stabbed himself in the face with a knitting needle” without panicking a person? You don’t! There isn’t any nice way to say that! I told her what happened and that I needed her to come home right now and she of course said she’d be right there. Poor woman. I forgot to mention the ambulance I was sitting in. When she pulled up, she saw it and got out of the car and started RUNNING up the street. I saw her and called to her not to run, he’s ok.

So we took him to the ER. I must’ve gotten very lucky. The ambulance drivers warned me that the hospitals were crazy today (they’d responded to our call immediately upon clearing someone having a seizure in their car right outside of the fire station!). They were not kidding, the main waiting room at the ER was stuffed full of people but when I got back to pediatrics I found it completely empty and we only waited about 45 seconds before someone got me into triage. By now, Ethan seems to be FINE. I mean, he’s flirting with the nurse that’s taking his vitals, chattering away and generally being his normal, charming little self. He looked a mess, of course. His face was crusty and bloody, he’s got blood all over his hand from rubbing his nose. I must’ve looked quite harried as the nurse took a minute to tell me that she’s sure he’s fine. I got a look at myself in the mirror and had to laugh. I had blood on my face, blood on my shirt, my hair was a mess. *sigh*

In the end, the doctor had a good look at his mouth and nose and said that he had an abrasion towards the back of his pallet. It looked like the needle scraped him, but not deeply and it was probably his panicked crying that had it all leaking out of his nose like that. He opted against an mri as Ethan could swallow and breathe just fine so no reason to expose him to a bunch of radiation.

This was after I'd cleaned as much blood as he'd let me off of his face. He's playing peek-a-boo, here, while we wait for the doctor, at the ER.

To say that I’m relieved is beyond an under-statement. Ethan downed his “lets-make-sure-he-can-swallow” juice in record time and ate his dinner just fine. You would never know, by the time I put him to bed, what he’d been through today.

I stand by my previously held notion: pediatric ER’s need to have boozeahol machines next to the coffee machines. For the parents. I mentioned this to one of the nurses and while she was amused she said the only problem would be that the nurses would never leave it alone, haha. I bet!

K, so yeah. To say today was a long, harrowing day is probably an understatement but guess what? It was a long, harrowing day. I’m just grateful beyond all ability to express that my son is ok. I really thought, in that moment when his nose started gushing and he was choking on his own blood that he was going to die. I’ve never known terror like that. It’s been hours and I’m still feeling a little off kilter.

Ethan is now at the age and Tony and I agree is the worst/best of toddlerhood. I don’t know who came up with the idea of the “Terrible Two’s” but they were WAY off base. Unless, of course, you start counting them at the beginning of the 2nd year of the child’s life, right after they turn a year old. Ethan is still a happy go lucky little guy- unless you are preventing him from doing something he really wants to do. Like pull all of the glass bottles out of the hutch, for example.

It’s the stage of toddler development that is by far the most fun to watch (imo) and the most exhausting and frustrating- for both the parents AND the child! Ethan can’t really talk yet, see, so most of his communication is done by kicking his feet and shrieking. He also has mastered the ability to climb on anything before his ability to grasp the difference between “dangerous” and “safe”. I believe whole-heartedly in allowing children the space to learn what they are capable of. You’re not going to find me repressing that whole exploration thing! I don’t think we give little kids enough credit for what they are capable of doing.

This is why I will spend quite a while every day going up and down the stairs with my son. He climbs up 8 steps, down four, up 8, down 8, up, down, up, down. He’s figuring it out! He’s very fast up. He’s disconcertingly fast coming down, too, and I don’t trust him not to fall so the gate stays up when I’m not available to go up and down and up and down and up and down and believe me, he is mortally offended by the presence of that stupid gate.

This morning I have had to rescue him from a big desk in the living room three times (the phone is on there and he thinks that is the best toy ever) and from the kitchen table twice! He’s either climbing onto high surfaces in the time it takes me to cross a room OR he’s pulling everything out of the cabinets at breakneck speed. Oh, or, trying his best to climb into the oven. I wish I was joking. Even Abby never tried to stuff herself into a broiler repeatedly. Boy, what is so interesting about the damn broiler?!?! I can’t wait until I live in my own home and can keep stuff in the lower cabinets I don’t mind him playing with. My MIL refuses to move the cleaning supplies n things out of the kitchen cabinet under the sink. This would be ok if there was some way to keep Ethan out of it.

But see, he’s figured out that the best things to play with MUST be the things Mean Ol’ Mommy won’t let him touch. So most of my days, recently, have been spent thwarting his efforts to sneak off with a can of Raid. BTW…I hate that stuff. HATE IT. I’d rather burn bugs with magnifying glasses or something than have a can of air-born poison lying around my house. Ugh. I can’t tell you how many times a day my wordless son and I have this conversation:

“Ethan? What are you doing?”

“Yah, Yah! This!”

“Ethan, close it! Close the door!”

“YahYahYah YAH YAH!”

“PUT THAT BACK YOU LITTLE FARTNOCKER!”

“NA! Na! NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!”

*click of cabinet door shutting*

*deep breath*

*air-shattering shrieking and sumo-stomping*

Similar conversations ensue when I find him on the table. Or the desk. Just watch, it’ll be the fridge, next.

I admit it, my kids are little monsters. But you know, I figure monsters are pretty cool. I mean, seriously, let’s compare to other famous monsters. Fizgig is the first that comes to mind. When Abby was a baby, all she needed was hair and she and he were pretty much interchangeable. What about Elmo? Cookie Monster? GROVER!

Yeh, monsters rock. Ethan is some kind of cross between Elmo, Cookie Monster and Animal. Depending on the day, whether or not he’s teething and if he’s hungry.

Still, this age is also my favorite toddler age. It’s so much fun to watch them figure stuff out! I mean, yeah, so I have to go up and down the stairs repeatedly for an hour. But he’s learning! He figures something out and he does it over and over and over again until he’s sure how it works. Sometimes, it’s kind of gross. Two days ago he spent most of the day gagging himself and giggling. Yes, it’s true, Ethan, sticking your fingers, your spoon, random toys etc, down your throat will make you gag. Now stop it, it’s disgusting and frankly, I’m worn out from rushing into a room to save your life from choking only to discover you clapping and pleased with yourself. Ew.

This morning he was seriously trying to stuff his entire head into his cereal bowl. He was DELIGHTED when he realized that banging it on the table repeatedly would dislodge the cheerios that were stuck to the bottom.

15mo old boys are certainly entertaining! Boredom is NEVER something I struggle with!

This is HIS cabinet (at the doctor's office)! See him as he conquers it...Over and over and over again!

My son just turned 15mo old yesterday. He’s quite a proficient little walker now, has mastered climbing up the stairs (and just about everything else) and is absolutely determined to take everything he can get his hands on OUT from wherever it belongs and dump it on the floor. Everything.

Yesterday he managed to finagle out of a cabinet what was left of a half gallon of rum. Before I could get it from him he THREW it on the floor, shattering it everywhere. Awesome. So naturally I scooped him right up and rinsed off his feet, just in case he happened to get any glass on them, and deposited him behind a gate in the living room. Did I mention he’s also mastered the Scream of Rage? No?

He has. Oh yeah, it's gone straight to art-form. He's got it DOWN. I never thought Abigail could find competition but I was WRONG.

Abigail was sitting at the table already doing “a project”. Sitting on the table was a plate she had just finished eating off of, a piece of paper and a little tube of those knock-off Chrystal Lite tubs.

I set to work, sopping up the rum (I admit, a tear or two may have escaped while I muttered to myself, “Why? Why is the rum gone?!”), vacuumed the entire floor twice and then swept it for good measure. When I was all finished, I happen to notice what Abigail’s been up to while I was on my hands and knees (below eye level with the table, of course) taking care of the floor.

I have a plan...

Slowly, quietly, so as not to disturb him if he was happily involved in something innocuous, I peered around the corner. *jaw drop* Is that…an entire roll of paper towels draped over everything in the living room!??! Oh, there is my son! Sitting in a huge pile of shredded paper towels, gleefully waving a tube of cardboard around. He notices me standing there staring at him in horror and starts chuckling. Great big belly laughs of maniacal joy burst forth from him as his little eyes burn brightly red and his head spins full around. Apparently, revenge regarding the little “being gated into the living room” stunt via Momma was very sweet indeed. Little Punk.

MUWwwahahahaha! I've captured the thing Mommy Care About!!! BOOyeah!

All day yesterday was like that and all day today was the same. Today he didn’t actually break anything, at least. Abigail didn’t either and believe me, that’s saying something. She did, however, lovingly do the dishes for me while I was folding laundry. I checked on her several times, delighted she was doing such a good job of not getting water everywhere. I must’ve missed the crucial moment, though, because after she was finished and joined me on my bed to “help” with laundry, there were bubbles on every available surface surrounding the sink. The soap was sitting innocently where I had left it, too (I thought it was out of reach). I don’t know if she conjured bubbles out of thin air or if she has gotten clever enough to cover her tracks. Fartnocker.

Don't be disarmed by the cute little urchin in the front row. She's scheming something..

Her brother waited until I was elbow deep in fixing dinner to sneak off with a pack of oatmeal (my bad, I totally forgot it was in the cabinet I was allowing him to play in) rip the top off with his 6 little teeth and dump it all over the carpet in the living room. I was alerted to this by my ridiculous sense of smell. Seriously, I think bloodhound genes slipped into our family line somwhere…but I do NOT want to know how…ANYWAY. Yeah. I smelled oatmeal and sure enough, there it was, all over the carpet and of course, oozing out of my son’s mouth who was, to say the very least, quite proud of himself. *headdesk*

Toddlers. They are so special. So curious, so inventive.

See! These cabinets are mine too and the BEST part is that I found these THINGS! And these things make all kinds of noise when you bang them together!

Climbing the steps and now to defeat the curb! But Mooooomma! I can DO IT!!!

Pay no attention to the direction I'm walking in, Mom. You will succumb to my hypnotic power of Cute to the 1200th and let me by. I am not the boy you're looking out for...

Don't believe his innocent, delight-filled little eyes. He's practicing his Mackin' skills for his heart-breaking later in life.

Then they get older and are smart enough to know that if Mom is threatening to EAT THEM, all they have to do is smile slyly and say, “You wouldn’t really do that…right?”

You wouldn't really do that...riiiight?

Dammit. They’re on to me.

“No, Momma, it’s not called juggling it’s called ‘Throwing Oranges Up In The Air!’”

A few minutes later, when her lunch was ready, I called her in from the living room to eat it. She responded, “My name is NOT Abby! It’s “Juicy Oranges!”

It got me thinking about some of the funnies I’ve heard over the last several years. I think my favorite involved my smartass husband. And since he was being a smartass all morning (because he’s funny like that) I will now torture him by sharing. Because, when I told him I was drawing a blank for today’s post, he told me I should write about writer’s block. Smart. Ass.

My husband has a very small red mole on his forehead. He’s had it for as long as I can remember. It’s really tiny. It’s also really red. Occasionally, when we were still teenagers, I’d call him a Dothead. Twas funny. Anyway.

When Morgan was 2, she was an amazingly good speaker. I mean, this kid spoke in 2 word sentences by the time she was a year old and by her 15mo well visit, she spoke full-blown sentences (she was 8 or 9mo old when she first started really talking). She had an enormously good vocabulary by 2yo. I decided that she needed to learn the whole names of all of our family members and it was something she was curious about anyway so learning them was more like a game. She had mine down pretty good, knew half of my friend’s whole names but for some reason was stuck on Daddy’s middle name. On this particular evening, she was in a very playful, goofy mood and when I got to Daddy she looked at me with that face that said, “Oh for God’s sake, Again? UGH!”

She ponders. She considers. She taps her little foot. Then, her eyes light up and I think to myself “Ha! She’s remembered!”

She declares, while waiving her arms in the air like Jazz-hands, “Daddy Tony Nipple-head C******o!”

Nipplehead?! ROFLMAO!!! I laughed and laughed, I had tears running down my face. She was so utterly delighted by my reaction that she called him “Nipplehead” for days, especially when our friends were around, just to see if she’d get a good reaction.

I never even realized until that moment that she had ever noticed his little red dot and honestly? It’s nowhere near as big as a nipple. But every now and then, when he’s really being a smartass…I call him Nipplehead.

She's 2.5 in this picture and this was right around the time the "incident" occurred.

I want my husband to know that I’ve got his back and that I respect him. I want him to know that I am 100% devoted to being his partner in everything. That I support him fully. That I love him unconditionally and with all of my heart and soul. I want him to know that he can tell me anything, trust me implicitly and that I am always here for him.

I want my family to know that they are important, that they are worth taking care of and that their needs matter. I feel that the best way to make all of these things happen is to model it in my own life.

When I decided to start seeing a therapist, I did so for several reasons but my biggest reason was for the sake of my family. It’s not that I’m not important it’s just that I’m a wife and a mother; my greatest motivations are always going to be my husband and my children. I knew that I was making life harder for my husband and that I was setting a bad example for my children on several levels.

I was/am struggling with oppressive depression. The last several years have been very difficult for all of us and of course, I have years of baggage I’ve been lugging around with me, too. I got to a point where I woke up more days than not already in tears and spent my days going back and forth between silently crying and shouting. I became so sensitive that every wayward look hurt my feelings, every tone of irritation upset me. I couldn’t function. I was barely holding it together. I couldn’t sleep. I had nightmares. I was averaging somewhere between 2-4hrs of sleep a night and that was broken at best. Plans falling apart destroyed me. Snippy comments from my MIL left me literally shaking with anger or in tears. The only reason I left the house is that I couldn’t get out of doing laundry or grocery shopping and I desperately wanted to be “normal” in front of my friends.

After my first two visits with my therapist he suggested that I was suffering from barely contained rage and possibly depression. While in the moment my feelings were hurt by his assertion, I came to realize shortly thereafter that he was right. Admitting that I was dealing with rage wasn’t invalidating my feelings, it was just stating the obvious. Asking for help dealing with it wasn’t the same as saying that my feelings were unjustified and that is what I was afraid of. My therapist has said over and over again something that I really needed to hear: Anyone would be dealing with rage if they had been raised as you were and dealing with what you are now. Validation for me has been key to being able to learn to cope. Why? Because I was afraid that I was making mountains out of mole-hills. That I was overreacting or that it was all in my head. I was afraid that admitting that I was completely loosing it was an admission that I couldn’t handle my life. That I was a complete failure as a mother and wife.

He spent over a month getting a feel for me before suggesting I consider medication to help with the depression. I struggled with the decision but realized one day, while my children were bouncing off the walls and all I could think about was LEAVING, that I needed to do something proactive. I took the meds. I’m SO glad I did.

Taking anti-depressants has not changed my situation. It hasn’t changed anything about my life, my past or how I feel about those things. There is no magic pill that can fix those things, that is up to us. What it has done is help me sleep, given me some energy and calm down whatever it was inside me that had those feelings running my life. Now, when I wake up in the morning, everything is the same as it was 6 wks ago. My life is still chaotic, my children are still very loud, my husband is still grumpy, my MIL is still crazy and there are so many things that cause us stress. But I don’t feel like panicking or jumping out a window and running away. I still get frustrated, hurt, sad, all the normal things. But I can deal with my banshee 3yo without screaming at her. I can react to my husband’s curt shortness in the mornings without feeling devastated or assuming he doesn’t care. I am not exhausted every. single. morning before the day has even started. I do not want to crawl out of my own skin every time my son cries. I can reflect upon my own actions without wanting to give up, bury myself in a hole in ground and stay there.

I have been doing a lot of the latter. I desperately want to be a great mother. I want to give my children the best leg up in life that I can. I want to be the best wife for my husband. I want our family to be a healthy, happy one. I’m not saying that all of my family’s happiness depends upon me. What I am saying is that I cannot support and uplift my family if I’m not taking care of myself. I have learned this the hard way.

We wives and moms tend to be the center of our families. If Mom is having a bad day, everyone suffers for it. When Mom is having a bad life, nobody is happy and everyone is stressed. This Mom needed help. I’ve come to understand that this is ok. I’m not a bad mother, I’m not a bad wife, I’m not a failure at life. I just needed help.

I’m sharing because I know I’m not alone. I know that I am not the only woman who has felt like they are drowning in their children, in their families. I know I’m not the only wife who has to force herself out of bed every morning and barely holds it together until bedtime. I know this. It is OK. I don’t think we were meant to live our lives like super-heroes. Needing help is perfectly acceptable. We can’t do it alone! Admitting that you’re angry, hurt, frustrated, lonely, going nuts- it’s not invalidation. It’s not an admission of guilt or failure. It’s just an observation and it’s ok to need someone to talk to. I avoided therapy for a long time because I truly felt like taking that time out of my life and using the resources needed to get there was selfish. That I would just have been taking from everyone around me while admitting I was a failure.

It isn’t true. Yes, I need help to get to therapy as I don’t have a car AND I need a babysitter. Not only that but it takes precious time away from my family at times that are, admittedly, inconvenient. But the truth is? The truth is that I am worth it. My family deserves a mother and a wife that isn’t falling apart. I deserve to look in the mirror and not want to smash it.

Is this you? Do you put off caring for yourself out of fear of being a failure? Of being selfish? You are not alone. You are not a failure. You are an integral, paramount part of your family and your community and even if you don’t have a family you are STILL important enough to get the help you need. YOU MATTER.

I have come to realize that I am not less important than my husband or my children. We are all important and all of us, including me, need to be cared for and nurtured.

In conclusion, take care of yourselves, even if it means getting help to cope. Being strong enough to recognize that you need help is not weakness in disguise. Taking the time to care for yourself isn’t selfish. On the contrary, it’s setting a wonderful example to your family. When we take care of ourselves, we give them permission to do the same for themselves and we teach them that they are not the only people with needs. There is nothing but positivity by setting this example.

Love and Laughter to all of you!