Jul 26, 2004

The case of the mysterious poopy

7/26/2004 — cori
I don't know what I was thinking...I probably wasn't, but I let Bennett go diaperless again.  Thinking that maybe now he was emotionally and physcially mature enough to put his poopies in the potty where he knows they belong.  I know he's ready because he comes and tells me he needs me to change him.  I know that's got to be a sign of something.  So, after the second time today he comes and tells me that, I tell him in no uncertain terms that this will be the last time - from now on he puts his poopies where they belong.

He went 3 long hours without any accidents this afternoon.  Of course I asked him repeatedly if he had to go and of course his answer was no.  So, you can imagine our surprise as we are cleaning up the dinner dishes when we see a rather smallish brown mass in the living room.  And of course, Bennett is haunched down very close to the vicinity of the mass and looking up like a puppy dog who knows he just got in trouble.  Yet, despite the physical evidence, when asked if he knew what that was, Bennett says "nutin" (nothing).   So, Chuck asks him "Where did that come from Bennett?".  Bennett looks up at the ceiling, around the room and finally points to the door and says "out dare" (there) - meaning outside.  Nice try.  Thankfully, I was only a bystander in this exchange because I don't know if I could have handled myself as good as Chuck did (without laughing that is).

Chuck proceeded to make him clean it up, much to Bennett's shagrin.  He walks away saying "yucky" - maybe we've finally cracked the uncrackable potty trainer.

The Mockingbird that thought it was an Owl

7/26/2004 — cori
It is the eve of our 'big trip' to Seattle for a little get-a-way.  My Mom was sweet to offer that we spend the night at their house since we have to leave so early to catch our flight the next morning.  This is practical for two reasons.  One, we don't have to wake and feed all the children at 4am, so that we can get to Grandma & Grandpa's in time to drop off the kids and catch our flight.   And two, we don't have to wake Grandpa & Grandpa up at 5am and leave them with three very awake little ones with no intention of going back to sleep anytime soon.  So, this was a great idea for all.

However, there was a small little item that Mom 'conveniently' forgot to mention until we headed off to bed.  Mom says "oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that you might hear our little Mockingbird outside your window at night".  We really thought nothing of it...that is, until we couldn't fall asleep.  Actually, let me digress and explain the situation a little further.

The boys were sleeping peacefully together in one room while Chloe slept in the pac-n-play in our room.  We head off to bed, not heeding the warning that Mom just gave us about our little night 'companion'.  We were having a hard enough time trying to be super quiet and tip-toe in the pitch dark so as not to wake our sleeping daughter; then add to that Chuck's attempt to set his watch alarm (a feature which he's never used before but swears it will work and wake us up in time) in the dark.  Since I'm very skeptical about the reliability of this little watch alarm, I opt for back-up and grovel around in the dark, ever so quietly of course, looking for the little alarm clock I brought. 

You might be wondering why we just didn't set that one in the first place.  Well, we would have if it didn't sound like a tornado alert that's trying to wake a whole town.  All we wanted was to be conscientious of all those sleeping around us, that we were willing to risk not waking up at all.  I actually considered just staying awake all night...little did I know my own prophetic abilities.

Okay, so it's been like 20 minutes and Chuck finally has his little watch alarm set and I have the blow horn set (but under pillows - like that will tone it down).  We attempt to fall asleep, only to hear Chuck's little alarm going off.  Its only been like, 10 minutes since he figured out how to set it and convinced me that it would work.  So, he tries again as I, ever the thoughtful wife, solve his lack of light problem by holding down the snooze bar on the blow horn that glows a pretty blue color.

Ahh,  problem solved...now we can get to sleep.  Not.  Problem number two arises.  It is our sweet little Chloe.  She is such a fitful, loud, stinky, noisy little sleeper.  I think between the two of us, we got up 51 times in a 6 hour time frame to either put her paci back in or look to see if she was awake because it sure sounded like she was.

Simultaneously to the 'thrashing sleeper' (as we so lovingly refer to her), we start to hear a beautiful melody right outside the window.  It actually sounded like the bird was chirping into a microphone.  The melodies were beautiful and unique, but not something to put you to sleep. 

I dozed off a few times long enough to wake up to dig the blow horn out from under the pillow to check the time.  Come to find out, it was only 30 minutes later than the last time I did it.  Then comes the hard part, trying to block out the 'thrasher', the bird/owl, and the fear of not waking up in time to try to lull myself back to sleep for another 12 minutes before the whole cycle starts all over again.

Jul 22, 2004

Be specific

7/22/2004 — cori
If I've not learned anything else during my 5 short years of motherhood, I learned this: be specific with your children.  I say this because I guess in the past I've taken for granted that my children think like me.  I am no longer under that assumption.  For instance, when Gavin was 2, I found teeth marks on my armoire.  I asked him what happened there because it looked as if someone just up and bit my armoire and tried to take a chunk out of it.  Come to find out, that's exactly what happened.  He responded "you never told me not to bite the armoire".  Well, he did have a point.  I couldn't argue (I have a feeling he's going to be a lawyer when he grows up).  So, I clarified that under no circumstances do we ever bite furniture - even armoires.
 
Well, obviously I still haven't learned my lesson.  This morning I gave each of the boys a small pad of paper and a pen to run a muck with.  I thought I had covered all my bases on this one.  We already know not to write on the walls or the table or our bedspreads, you know, things like that.  However, I failed to mention body parts.  The kids had run back to their room to play with their new prized possession (pen & paper) and were quiet - so I was taking advantage of that and spending time with Chloe.
 
 
Then all of the sudden Gavin comes running out to show me what he drew - on his foot.  He said, "Look mom, I drew a dog.  And come look at Bennett, I drew a dog on his face too".  Ahhh, great!  I should have known something was up when they were perfectly quiet for 10 minutes.  Gavin's artwork looked great right in the middle of Bennett's cheek.  Bennett tried to duplicate the same thing on his other cheek, but it just looks like alot of circles.  Nice.  Now I have to go straight to swim lessons and do not have time to scrub them down so they look normal.   We were only 5 minutes away from leaving the house when this happened.
 
Now, of course, I have a loud two year old with me in the middle of alot of other kids and moms at a public place with ink scribbles all over his face (no one else could discern it was a dog).  I knew the comments would come and they soon did.  All I could do was smile in response.  After all, it's only ink and you're only little once.  I'd rather them experiment with ink dogs on their cheeks and feet now than have to deal with permanent ink on them (in the form of a tattoo) when they are older.  It's all relative.



"Me too"

7/22/2004 — cori
Poor Bennett...he wants to be big so bad.  He thinks he's 5 just like brother, only with the vocabulary of a two year old.  His best phrases are: "me too", "not me", "yeah, me know how" and "me no like dat".  Ever since he started putting syllables together at 12 months old, he has spoken in triplicate.  An example would be "eat, eat, eat" or "me bayme, me bayme, me bayme" (translation 'my baby' - yes, my two year old son has a baby doll - that's a whole other story).  So, he likes to make sure he is heard.  I guess that comes with being the second child.  But, he has found that that technique, along with a very whinney sounding voice, moves us into action. 

He used this technique on me today when we took Gavin to his first swim lesson.  Brother had his shoes off, so Bennett says in his very loud, whinney voice "me too, me too, me too".  Why not, I figure, it can't hurt anything.  Brother takes his shirt off so he can get into the pool.  Again, Bennett repeats his request.  Again, I concede because I know he likes to be like brother.  But when Gavin gets into the pool and Bennett keeps yelling (yes, he's moved up a notch from whinning to yelling to emphasize how desperate he is) "me too, me too, me too", I had to draw the line.  Unfortunately, Bennett could not see the line and continued to press me from all sides and took his triplicate talk to new levels. 

For 30 minutes - non-stop - he repeated his request and for 30 minutes I told him when he was 3 he could take swim lessons.  So, he had a very simple solution for me.  He would tell me "me want be free (3) right now" (x3).  Now I have to explain the concept of time. 

This was a very hard lesson for him and I feel bad for taking him to a pool and not letting him swim.  But he did well considering.  Now I only have 4 more days of this.  I'm sure he'll forget this lesson come Monday when swim lessons resume and well start all over again. 

Jul 14, 2004

Creative Cooking Techniques

7/14/2004 — cori
Tonight's entry was inspired by the conundrum I found my self in while cooking dinner tonight. I like to think of this as a creative cooking technique, although I'm sure other's might call it a different name.

I was cooking a meal which called for cream of chicken soup. Pretty much the key ingredient. There was nothing I could substitute for it. I already had everything cooking and went to the cupboard to pull out my soup and to my surprise - there was none!! I like to think of myself as creative, so I put my thinking cap on and tried to come up with a solution. Here are a few of my thoughts during my conundrum:

1. call Chuck to stop by the store on the way home and pick up one can of soup for $0.49 which he would have to charge since he never has any cash on him and that would make him an extra half an hour late. I think not. I know I can come up with a better idea....hmmm....

2. pile all three children (1 of which is still taking his nap) into the car in 100 degree weather and drive the 15 minutes it takes to get to our grocery store. Unload my gang and make sure to find the special cart (you know, the one's that have little cars attached to them so the kids can pretend to drive) which they never have enough of. Then fight the rush hour crowds in the store and stand in line for 15 minutes for one $0.49 can of soup. Nope....It's the end of the day and my sanity is already pretty shaky. I don't think I can handle an outing such as that and remain sound of mind for the rest of the evening.

3. wait till Chuck gets home and all of us run up to Sonic...but what to do about the chicken I've already cut and all the ingredients already in the pan....nope, we have no cash anyways.

4. look thru the trash.

Yes, you read that correctly. I did indeed opt for thought number 4. You see, I remember just recently throwing away a can of soup because I thought it was out-dated. But at this point I'm desparate. And then I think to myself - "I'll be cooking it over a high enough temperature, that should kill any of the bad stuff".

Little does my family know the amount of thought I put into making dinner every night. I bet they wish I would think less. Much to my surprise, dinner turned out great! Who knew?

The Personal Shopper

7/14/2004 — cori
All the celebrities have one...they make the celebrity look all decked out in the latest fashions. You've even seen them on "Extreme Makeover". But, not many people are aware of this closet skill that many mother's posses. I was so thrilled to find out that I, too, am a personal shopper. I pick out coordinated outfits for my children, one and all, each and every day - sometimes even two. Unlike most personal shoppers, I also get to launder these fabulous outfits. But I don't mind that secondary responsibility that comes along with 'the title'.

My eldest son, Gavin, who is 5, loves that he has a personal shopper. I am like putty in his hands (so he thinks). I take my position quite seriously on this little subject since he has acquired zero fashion sense. We'll thank genetics on that one (particularly Grandpa). However, I'm glad I can be there to assist him during such critical choices such as: does the "I'm a Dunkin Donuts kid" bright royal blue with pink letters t-shirt go with light blue basketball shorts? I think not - actually, it really doesn't go with anything, ever. It was cute on him at two - but I think it's out-lived it's 15 minutes of fame and needs to stay in the back of the closet.

Most of the time he listens. But when he likes his choice better than mine I break out into a small sweat and try to calmly encourage my choice. When that fails, I opt for plan C - find the sticker to place on his back that reads: "I picked out my own clothes today" so that other mothers won't look down on his personal shopper. It is in those moments that I'm unable to explain to the other 'personal shoppers' that I didn't even buy the Dunkin Donuts t-shirt and that he is in the critical phase of early childhood development where he needs to exercise his choices - even if they aren't the one's mommy would make.

Thankfully, my two year old, Bennett is already showing signs of fashion intelligence. If we could ever get him out of diapers, he could dress himself to look like quite the happing kid. He even turns down clothes options that his personal shopper lays out for him in the mornings. Again, his personal shopper doesn't take this personally because she knows that such choices are important for children to make to feel like they are 'independent'.

Sweet Chloe is my living little Barbie doll and I am in personal shopper's paradise when it comes to outfitting her, at least at this age (3mos). We might have to readdress this topic at a later date when she ges to the 'age of reckoning'. That is the stage of life which most little girls go through when it dawns on them that Mom might be stuck in a fashion time warp. IF that moment ever occurs between Chloe and myself, I will gently redirect her current fashion mishaps and guide her back to the ever so beautiful fashions of the 80's like I grew up with - and I turned out just fine, didn't I?!

Did I mention that if you choose to become a personal shopper - it would be handy to have a degree in psychology, reverse psychology, or mind-reading? You will find that this doesn't only come in handy for purchasing and putting clothes on your children, but in all aspects of parenthood.

Jul 9, 2004

Just call me paranoid

7/09/2004 — cori

I know I'm weird. Nobody has to tell me. I openly admit it - especially in this case. I'm paranoid of putting gas into the car or gas can. I'm the weirdo you see at the gas station constantly touching her car in order to "ground herself" so she doesn't accidently blow herself or her car up because of one tiny little spark.

I've heard all the horror stories about a spark blowing up a car; even seen news coverage on some of them. Well, no one has to worry about that happening to me, no sirree. I'm, shall we say...extra cautious. Be that as it may, I've never gotten blown up yet, so its served me well.

A couple of weeks ago I was mowing and ran out of gas. So, since Chuck was watching the kids, I opted to run up and get the gas in the gas can. I had never done this before in all my years. Obviously, I just fell off the turnip truck. So, I ask Chuck all the pertinent questions in order to prepare myself for the task that lies ahead, such as..."do I have to take off both caps, the big one and little baby one at the back?" (the answer is yes for those of you who are wondering), and "how many gallons does the can hold?". I'll come to find out later that I forgot to ask two VERY IMPORTANT questions...read on and you'll see.

Okay, so I'm at the gas pump and I've prepared the can and have inserted the nozzle. I'm pumping, pumping, ever so slowly so as not to spill any. Once I finish, I snap both of the lids back on. Here comes the tricky part...where am I supposed to store a full gas can? No one ever told me that one. If I put it in the back seat, the fumes could suffocate me. But if I put it in the trunk maybe it could tip over and explode the car. Oh my, what to do!

While I'm trying to decide I continue patting the car to ground myself - you can never be too cautious around gas. Do I sound paranoid or what?! I continue to pat the car all the way to the trunk as I'm holding on to the can. I'm worried that once I put the key into the trunk and turn it, that a spark might occur. So to remedy that I put the gas can on the ground, open the trunk, pat the car one more time for good measure and insert the gas can right into the middle of the trunk. Whew...that was a close one.

Once I get in the car I realize that once I put the key into the ignition, I might accidently set off another spark. So, since my window is rolled down, I put my hand out and pat the door frame to get rid of all my extra static electricity. You might be laughing, but I was dead serious and scared to death! Okay, here goes...I turn the car on and am still alive. I drive ever so slowly out of the lot so as not to spill or slide the can of gas that is sitting so precariously in the middle of my trunk. I decide that that is probably not the best place for it and pull over. I pat the car all the way back to the trunk, take out the can, pat the car some more, open the back seat door, place the can on the floor, pat the side of the car all the way back to the driver's seat and sit back down. One more tap on the door frame before I head home and we're off.

In case you're wondering, I made it home in one piece, but emotionally I was a wreck. I relayed my adventure to my husband who had no clue of this "issue" with gas that I have. He said not to worry, that he'll fill the gas can up for me from now on. I'm sure all the people watching out of the windows at the gas station were thinking "who let her out of the mental hospital?".

Jul 8, 2004

All in a day's work

7/08/2004 — cori
What an awesome day we had today!! And I'm not being sarcastic either. :)

It started at 5:45 this morning when Chloe woke up (which is a rarity) because of a leaky diaper. After changing and feeding her I got ready and ate breakfast. I decided to take the kids swimming at Grandma's today, unbeknownst to them, so I had alot of preparations to handle before everyone awoke. I 'quickly' packed a picnic lunch for all of us and 3 bottles for Chloe, her extra outfit, plenty of diapers for both Chloe and Bennett, all the swim suits...you get the picture, there was ALOT to pack just so we could do something 'spur of the moment'. Actually, I get nothing done 'quickly' anymore, it's just a victory to get it done in one fail swoop instead of it taking 3 hours.

Anyways...where was I? Ah yes, short term memory loss, one of my constant companions that has gotten worse after the birth of each child. I could write a whole blog just on that, but I won't go there right now.

So, things are just hopping along. The boys finally wake up, we read, eat, brush teeth, dress, talk about 'the plan'. I feed Chloe and we make it out the door in record time - 8:45am - with everyone and everything we need - Yes! Victory. I can tell this is going to be a good day.

We swing by Grandma's house and pick her up and run to a school supply store. While we are browsing there, both Bennett & Chloe decide to poop at the same time. My mom is on the opposite side of the store. So, I have my crew make their famous 5 foot baracade (meaning each child holds onto opposite sides of the cart) as we meander our way thru breakable objects. I drop Gavin off with Grandma as I search for the nearest 'Koala Changing Station' sticker. I'm relieved to find one so that I don't have to implement Plan B. Plan B involves taking the children out to the van and changing them - I don't recommend that method. Let's just say, been there done that (only in emergencies), not a good idea.

So, I'm in the bathroom changing Chloe first when Bennett decides he wants to reinstate his potty training. He would now like to go poopy in the potty. I deem this totally unnessesary and inconvenient and try to talk him out of it. I can already smell it and I really can't leave Chloe on the changing table at the moment. Bennett then decides to lock himself into a stall and crawl in and out while I'm hurridly changing Chloe. He wins the battle (I have to remind myself which one's are absoultely necessary to fight) and I place Chloe in her stroller and put him on the potty. By now, we're not the only ones in the bathroom anymore and I don't think everyone else appreciates Bennett's loud descriptive talking of what he's attempting to do in the potty. Surprise, surprise, our efforts yeild absolutely nothing. Yet, I also managed to encourage our pathetic, useless, potty training cycle. Way to go.

We finally make it back to Grandma's to go swimming but before we can even venture foot out to the pool we still have to eat our picnic lunch, feed Chloe and rest our tummies. While Grandma is feeding Chloe, Chloe graciously decides to give Grandma a small glipse into my daily life by leaking out of her diaper onto Grandma. It's a poopy leak at that. Second one today...I wonder if this trend is going to continue....? Not too bad of a fiasco anyways, because I'm at home and can yell for back-up if necessary.

After putting Chloe down for her nap, Grandma, the boys and I all head outside to go swimming - finally! Gavin notices I'm wearing a different swimsuit and compliments me...must of been something Daddy's been trying to teach him. :) Anyways, he earns major points on that one. We had an absolute blast trying to push each other off of inner tubes, chasing each other like sharks and eating a multitude of snacks during our many breaks. The sun-screen that I spent 10 minutes meticulously massaging into everyone seemed to disappear based on the fact that we all came home with pink faces and shoulders.

Once we get back home I remember that I needed to clean the oven. The other night some grease spilled to the bottom and the next time we turned it out we were practically smoked out of our house. Being the domestic engineer that I am, it is quite easy to turn the dial on the oven to the 'Clean' setting. I've never done it before, so I call my Mom and ask her how long it is supposed to take and if it's supposed to stink. As we are talking I'm looking into the oven and notice the beginnings of a small fire. The fire progresses quickly. So I ask Mom if that is normal? From her gasp, I assume not. I quickly turned the dial off of the 'Clean' setting and decided to cook in a greasy, dirty oven instead. Looks like I'm just going to have to use good 'ol elbow grease to clean this oven, one of these days....

Thankfully, it has come to the time of day we all await so anxiously....Daddy's home! I'm feeding Chloe again (she seems to eat non-stop from 5pm-8pm). So as I finish feeding her, Chuck starts dinner (ever the gentleman). He was also so thoughtful to bring home flowers for me.

As dinner progresses and Chloe takes a breather, I head outside to brave the lawn (note previous post entitled "the trials of mowing the lawn"). I'm not too worried about being attacked by our 'nest laying in the ground bird friends' because I plan to only mow the front and all the problems I've encountered in the past have been in the backyard. I receive a few circlings from one bird...but I think he's just checking me out and trying to show his muscle. He finally caves when he realizes I'm not going towards his territory. The rest of the lawn mowing goes off without a hitch.

The icing on the cake today was when we were at dinner. Chloe had just finished eating again and was sitting on my lap facing Bennett. Bennett was starring at her and laughing. She started giggling so hard. We've never seen her laugh so hard before. It was adorable. Bennett loved his new trick. He kept saying "Zozie laugh me". It was a kodak moment - too bad we couldn't find the camera.

Jul 7, 2004

Lego Mom Extraordinaire

7/07/2004 — cori
At the risk of sounding like I'm tooting my own horn, I feel I must share a new skill I've acquired. I can now put Legos together to meet my 5 year old son's standards and receive the all important praise of "cool, mom".

At first I was only good for finding the pieces in the pile of 3005 miscellaneous pieces. I even thought that was all the talent I possessed when it came to Legos. But my son urged me on. And come to find out, I too, can make sense of the diagrams and put together a robot or dump truck right along with the best of them. Mind you, I'm not as creative. I can't just whip some creation out of my hat. I MUST follow the directions. But I'm gaining confidence.

Yet another skill to add to my Mommy resume. :)

Jul 6, 2004

The trials of mowing the lawn

7/06/2004 — cori
I absolutely love to mow the lawn. We have a riding lawn mower. Now that we actually have grass and I'm not pregnant, its a lot more fun to mow. Call me weird, but it is so relaxing for me to just sit and listen to the hum of the engine for the two hours it takes to get our yard done. It's my "me" time. So, you can imagine my dismay when I'm just putt-putting along and all of the sudden a bird starts circling all around me. Then two birds. Then a swarm of them. I jump off the mower and run for shelter on our front porch. Yet they continue to follow me with their screeching noises. Evidently, I have done something extremely offensive to them - now I just have to figure out what.

This has happend numerous times. At first I tried to ignore it. But now it is getting so bad that it is infringing on my "precious lawn mowing time". Now I'm getting mad. What right do these birds have to force me off my mower, in my yard with their circling and screeching? I'm starting to fear everytime I get on the mower that I might get dive-bombed by one of these mysterious birds. The other day I even came in defeated. They won. I told Chuck that I was scared for my life and that he could finish mowing if so desired. I then out-fitted him up in the kids' plastic armor. Just kidding - but we actually did consider it for a brief second. But then, what would the neighbors think?!

Come to find out, we have one of the few types of birds that prefers to make it's nest in the ground. Go figure...our luck. Evidently, we have many nests on our property and we can't see them until we come right up on them with the mower.

This past week I was just tootling along when I see a bird sitting maybe 5 feet in front of the path I'm mowing on. She doesn't budge. In fact, she just glares at me and spreads her wings to try to scare me. Then the shrieking begins. Next, her reinforements bombard me in full force. Again, I run for cover in the safety of our house. What used to be such a serene time, has now transformed into a battle over territory and protecting myself from not being pecked. What happened to the relaxation?

So, I'm sure you can imagine how nice our lawn looks. We wouldn't want to harm the many nests in the ground. Therefore, we drive around them, leaving a circle of about 5 feet in diameter un-mowed. Nice. I don't know what the moral of the story is yet...but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon.

Jul 2, 2004

Out of the mouths of babes

7/02/2004 — cori
Well, I knew today wasn't going to be quite right from the moment Bennett woke me up at 4 o'clock this morning telling me there was a bad guy in the guest room (in his imagination) and that he needed to sleep with me. I don't know how he manuvers through the house in the total darkness of night and finds his way to my side of the bed. But, his skill is surprising. Then, in the loudest voice he can muster up he yells "MOM, I CAN"T SEE WU (you)" right into my sleeping ear. My heartbeat awakens me going triple time. When I realize where I am, who I am and who's yelling at me I finally pull him into the shelter of our bed. Whew, disaster number one averted for today.

Then we all awaken around 7:15am and I tell them today's "plan". We have to have a "plan" everyday, you see...it goes back to my anal retentiveness in Gavin's early developing years when each hour of our day used to be planned. I informed them that we would be meeting Grandma at a store so we all needed to eat, get dressed and go in a little less than two hours. That is quite a feat in itself - but I was optimistic. I was able to feed Chloe and still have a whole 30 minutes to get myself ready. I come out ready to go and Gavin gives me the sweetest compliment. He says "Mom, you should wear that the next time you go out on a date or to a wedding with Daddy". I was touched - even though I was only wearing an old sund dress with flip flops.

We make it to the store with little event. However, Bennett decides to pull a temper tantrum the entire time we are at the store. I am extremely flustered and can't concentrate because I know all the other people around me are thinking "she needs to get control of that child". The temper miraculously stops once we get back in the car and we make it home in one piece. I'm really starting to 'loose my cool' though. Once we get home, I realize I've been wearing my dress backwards for the past 3 hours!

I continue to wear it backwards at home because here, obviously no one cares whether I'm dressed correctly or not (thankfully) or when Gavin complimented me earlier he could have also mentioned the whole backwards thing. But he often wears his clothes backwards, so no wonder that little error got over-looked on his part.

We proceed to lunch and Bennett is just driving me crazy at this point with his constant whining and figeting at the table. Finally, I yell at him to sit on his bottom, or else. A little while later Gavin asks me, "Mom, you know when you yelled at Bennett to sit on his bottom...don't you think you could have handled that better?" Either he really does hear everything I tell him in regards to handling his frustration or he enjoys giving me a taste of my own medicine. Now that I was completely humbled for not "practicing what I preach", I had to apologize to Bennett for yelling and admit that I have not been handling my frustration very well today.

Then out of the blue, Gavin comes and gives me a hug (which I normally have to beg for). I asked him why he hugged me. He said he could tell I was frustrated. Then a light went off in my head. I realized that sometimes when they're frustrated, maybe all they need or want is for Mommy to just come and give them a hug instead of a lecture. I know it helped me.

Jul 1, 2004

One more cup of water....pleeeease

7/01/2004 — cori
Everynite we tuck the boys in, say prayers with them, read them each a book and give kisses - then lights out. Seems pretty straight forward and easy to me. But one would be wrong to assume that bedtime would transpire every night just as planned without a hitch. There is always the inevitable "I'm so thirsty, Mom. I just need one more cup of water..... pleeease!!!". I mean, what kind of parent would I be if I were to deny my parched child a cup of water? It's just so ironic to me that their dry mouths and bed time always occur at the exact same time every single night. I'm sure they think they've pulled the wool over our eyes, that we're not onto their little scheme yet. Oh, how wrong they would be. They're not aware that we actually put them to bed a little earlier each night, knowing that the inevitable dry mouth will occur and that we allow them to get up and get one more drink. I mean at least they're asking for water, something healthy.

But then Chuck & I think back to when we were kids and when we had to go to bed before it was even dark out; there's just something wrong about that. Its just not fair in the eyes of kids. I guess I can't blame them. You feel like you're missing out on all the good stuff that goes on at night. That's kind of funny, when you're a child, you just don't want the day to end. When you're an adult, you can't wait for it to end. I'm glad we have one another to balance each other out. I'm so thankful for this time in our lives...it will give way all too soon to adolecense and we'll long for the days when our most trying moment was the kids getting out of bed and begging for one more drink of water.

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