This morning the boys were kind enough to actually play something that Chloe wanted to play instead of forcing transformers, bionicles or legos upon her still impressionable female mind. Her game of choice was dollhouse. In her dollhouse she has a table and two chairs, a mommy, a daddy and a baby. Gavin chose the daddy. Chloe chose the mommy and baby. Bennett was the table.
I asked Bennett why he was the table. He said, "Everybody had already picked everything else so I chose to be a flying table." That must have spiced things up a bit in the world of 'dollhouse'. Let's give the kid a gold star for ingenuity!
"A day that will live in infamy." Very serious words spoken during a very serious time in our history. Funny how history tends to repeat itself. I even fancy myself a bit of a history buff, yet I never saw this one coming.
Remember the Battle of the Bulge, Bunker Hill, Custer's Last Stand? What do all these things have in common with my little corner of the world? They were all famous battles recorded for posterity. They were all smaller battles in a bigger war that ended up making us who we are today.
Similarly, we too, have just experienced a battle that will inevitably leave its mark upon future generations of our family. It has come to be known as "The Battle of Breakfast (at Dinner)". It was messy. It was loud. There were threats, tears and turmoil. We hearkened up from the depths of our muddled, history memories a small, yet influential battle called, "Custard's Last Stand". We too, had decided to take a stand at all costs.
We were on the defense, not a good place to be against a strong-willed 2 year old little girl. She seemed to be gaining ground. She pounded us with everything she had. For 20 minutes she repeated the same phrase non-stop, "I not want dis anymore. I no yike eggs." Her weaponry was a highly detonable whine. She knew her enemy would weaken within 30 minutes of this shrill sound, so she pressed on at full volume. Next, she unloaded the weaponry form known as "Large Alligator Tears Streaming Down From Puppy Dog Eyes". We didn't buy it. We had expected this line of attack and had just moments before changed our concourse so as not to see the alligator tears directly.
The incessant whine was beginning to bring me to my knees, but Chuck pressed on, encouraging me that this was a battle that HAD to be fought, we couldn't show our weakness now. We were going to win, we could just feel it. If we couldn't force our daughter to eat when she was no longer hungry, than, by George, what kind of parents were we? We made our stand and were executing solely on principle now.
Our strategy of leaving her alone at the table to finish her eggs seemed to inflict much turmoil. This brought about the "I'm going to cry so hard that it makes me gag" routine. We didn't see this one coming. We were going on past experience here. Every time we employ the "leave them at the table alone" strategy, it works. Nobody ever wants to be left at a table alone (except for Mommy - Mommy really likes that punishment). We felt we were only minutes away from a swift victory. We started feeling as though taking a stand on this issue and choosing to fight this battle wasn't in vain after all.
Evidently, we started our celebratory procedures too early. It seems that Chloe had indeed tried to put a bite of that dreaded egg into her mouth only to see it come out again in various other forms. The 'gag reflex' from her previous strategy was seemingly still employed and she used it to her advantage. She let whatever was left in her mouth spew forth upon her plate and herself, unwittingly causing damage to herself (getting her favorite jeans dirty - this caused even more of an uproar from her than the fact we were making her eat the rest of her dinner).
We were forced to concede. We couldn't make her continue to eat when a foreign substance was now inhabiting the very food we were trying to get her to force down. We raised the white flag and came to her rescue. Instantaneously, once we removed the object of her detestment from before her, she switched back to the fairy princess she had been earlier that day. Gone was the whiny warfare tactics, gone were the over-sized tears, gone were the looks of betrayal. We were friends once again. She even dared to smile at us.
What's the moral of the story? I'm not sure. I'm still trying to figure that one out. It appears to be: Never fight a battle with a two year old because she will always win. Wait until they're three to start choosing battles.
Although it is true that I am still a mommy in training (everyday I learn something new and interesting about my children I previously had not known), I am actually referring to my 2 year old daughter here. She fancies herself a 'real mommy'. End of discussion. If anyone tries to tell her differently, they wish they hadn't.
Since she does everything with extreme attention to detail, it makes sense that she would enter her new found career armed with as much knowledge about the job as possible. Where better to get all the answers from than your own Mommy. It is rather a convenient set-up for her. I am drilled with a million questions a day - a least. She watches my every move like a hawk. She immitates everything.
You can imagine the boys' shagrin at having two mommies in the house now. They can never get away with anything. She monitors their every move. She reminds them of things I've said. Everyone appreciates all the extra 'help' she provides.
She is constantly asking me things like, "Do mommies yike ayigators?" If I give a puzzled expression, she'll rephrase her question to, "Mommy, do you yike ayigators?" If I like them - then they're 'in'. If I disapprove, they're banished to the 'out' category in her mind. She'll respond appropriately, if I say "Yes, I like alligators." she'll say, "Me too. I a real mommy and I yike ayigators too. Ayigators don't fweek me out."
Now you might be questioning the use of the phrase 'freak me out' in my two year old's vocabulary. Funny story there. I kind of taught her that one. I made a lasting and indellible impression on her already highly impressionable memory. It just so happens that about two months ago I came across a mouse running thru my car. Not a sight that anyone would like to see. Especially me. I freaked out horribly. I immediately stopped and turned off the car (thankfully we were in a parking lot already) and literally jumped out. After I got out I yelled to the kids to "Get out of the car, quick, quick!!" I was too grossed out to explain why. A mouse just came dangerously close to my foot, maybe even brushed against it. How is any mortal supposed to act in such a close encounter with the rodent species?
Once I caught my breath and the children were all safely beside me in the parking lot I told them in a very weak and shaky voice, "There seems to be a mouse in the car. Get it. Please" Gavin was overjoyed. He'd always hoped to catch a mouse. I told him to look under the driver's seat floor mat. Unfortunately the suspect wasn't there. I'm now standing in a busy parking lot with periodic hee-bee-jee-bee shivers running down my spine while onlookers give me curious stares. Why anyone couldn't see we were in immediate peril is beyond me. All the doors to the van were wide open and we were all standing 3 feet away staring at it.
I guess this small episode left it's mark on my poor daughter. She questions me about it constantly. "Mommy, why you fweek out about mouses?" That's an easy answer, "Honey, Mommy freaks out about mouses because I don't like them. I think they're gross." She felt the need to inform everyone we saw that day about the mouse we had in the car and how her mommy freaks out. (I obviously need more mommy training in how to adequately handle my innante fear of rodents while around small children.)
Thus began the onslaught of questions from Chloe, "Mommy, you fweek about flies?" or "Mommy, me no yike mouses. I fweek out about dem too." or "Mommy we don't yike mean feens (queens) do we, Mommy? We yike fnow white." I assure her that we do infact like Snow White, we do not like mean queens. "Do mommies seep wid dere heads under dere pilwoughs?" This mommy does. Therefore, that must be the one and only true way to sleep in her little mind.
If I go to write down some item I remember we need to pick up at the store, guess who pulls out her trusty little pen and paper and 'writes' down her list too. If I start to make dinner, guess who toddles up behind me and says, "What I do to hep you?" If I sit down at the computer for even a minute, guess who comes up behind me to tell me that she needs to work on her 'purple yetters' (a word document we let her type on with purple font) - it is of utmost importance and must take priority.
She's highly offended if I go to the grocery store sans Chloe. Why in the world would I want to go alone? Who would be there to eat all the samples they hand out or run over to the bakery with such glee to grab a free cookie? We even play 'Going to Market Street'. She makes me be her and she plays me. It's a hoot.
But nothing is better than the unsolicited, random hug I get in the middle of day with Chloe telling me, "You my best fwend evur, Mommy." We may go thru some ups and downs during our 'training phase', but nothing compares to the uncompromising love, trust, and admiration of your children.
Her actions remind me of an anonymous quote, "Immitation is the best form of flattery."
I kid you not. This is the cake my HUSBAND so kindly and proudly presented to me on my most recent birthday. I thought it was a joke. I asked him, "Did you let the kids write this?" To which he replied, "No. The lady at the bakery counter did it." Hmmmm. Maybe the lady at the bakery counter needs to come to terms with the fact that she's not a good frosting writer. Then I was like, "You mean you actually paid money for this?" He nods his head, "But it has buttercream frosting. Your favorite. And red icing too."
Okay. How should I respond? This isn't the cake I had spent the whole previous two weeks hinting about. It isn't even close. And it has red frosting. Everyone knows that red frosting tastes terrible. I mean, yes, red is my favorite color. But if you really knew me, you would know that I hate red frosting. So, this takes me back to the question running thru my mind, Did the man I marry 10 years ago, who's known me since I was 12, really and truly pick out such a hideous cake and just give it to me as if everything is normal? Maybe he's giving me marital counseling as a birthday present. Maybe we don't really know each other as well as we thought we did. Maybe this is all a big practical joke and the real cake is hidden away somewhere, the one I've been drooling over every time I pass it at the bakery counter at the OTHER store I hinted about. He didn't even buy it from my favorite store.
And then to top it off he inserts these 5 inch high sparkler candles and lights them. True to their name they start to spark. Oh goodie...a possible fire hazard, I just love fire. Can it be? Did my sweet husband also forget my intense fear of fire. I mean a small 2 inch birthday candle I can handle, but a 5 inch sparkler that spits fire? What's happening to our marriage?
He has this huge grin on his face thinking I am just in awe at everything...he's so proud of himself. Since he thinks he's on a roll, he proceeds to tell me how proud I would be of his efficiency. He got my slippers 75% off at Target just the day before and while he was there he saw this wonderful cake and thought this was just way too perfect and the epitome of efficiency. I guess you can't argue with logic like that!
However, all was not lost. To his credit, I did receive a pair of tickets to the Symphony along with the slippers and cake. Oh how I love the Symphony! I guess our marriage is okay afterall.
I don't think I've ever laughed so hard when receiving a cake. I had one of those deep, belly laughs that makes tears involuntarily stream down your face. Laughter is a wonderful gift and I sure got an abundance of it on my birthday.
Lately, it seems, Chuck has been in charge of putting the boys to bed and I, Chloe. I haven't had the joy of those last minute cuddles and hugs and loves from my boys. I don't know what happened, or how it subtly changed, but it did. I realized this tonight as I was getting ready for bed myself.
I was remembering how, for years, every night when I would go tuck Bennett in, since he began talking he would ask me, "Tiss me yaya ba?" Which, when translated means, "Kiss me after bath?" He always wanted one more piece of me. Often times, he would stay awake until he heard my bath water running and knew I would be in to kiss him in just a short while. It seems he wasn't able to fall asleep until that final closure. Many nights I would go in there to see his smiling little face look up at me and tell me one more time, even if it was in a muffled, sleepy voice, "You look pretty, Mommy." Ahh, now all was right in his world and mine.
When did he stop asking me that? I wish for the life of me I could remember the exact day. I guess its just one tiny step in his progression towards a life without dependence on his Mommy. Thankfully they're only baby steps because I don't think my heart could handle it if we moved too fast.
I need to go kiss my little boy now because its after my bath and that is what I always have done and will always do as long as he lives with me...even if he never asks.
I
t is a pretty well known fact that I'm a huge clutz. I walk into walls, bump into corners of furniture and trip on a fairly regular basis. But I was unaware that I could possibly die from my clutziness. I almost died the other night. Let me further expound...
It was late and I was very tired. I had just turned off the computer and picked up a scrap book I had been working on and head back to my bedroom. I was walking with the book flat out in front of me, not held against my chest like normal. I round the corner to our room with a little too much velocity and forget that I'm holding a large object in front of me. I failed to take into account that I would not make it thru the doorway until I ran smack dab into it.
Everything else is pretty much a blur. All I remember is feeling like I was just hit in the heart. I dropped my book and tried breathing. I COULD NOT BREATHE. Then I start panicking. I realize my fingers and toes are tingling. I drop the book and start shaking my hands to try and get some feeling back in them all while trying to inhale.
Chuck then realizes that this was not one of my typical clumsy mistakes and realizes I am hurt. He was under the assumption that I just stubbed my toe. That is one of the major differences between us - I am a 'worst case scenario' type of person, thus, I am freaking out that I'm about to die. Whereas, Chuck, the 'eternal optimist' feels that I have a little stubbed toe. How did we end up together? Anyways...he comes over to me and leads me to the bed to sit down. After he placed me on the bed (I was still gasping for air) he turned around to pick up the book I dropped and place it on the counter. In that 2 second time frame, I had evidently passed out face down on the bed and started fribulating and convulsing.
Evidently he woke me up. Again, in his optimism, he felt I was joking with him. I don't know how to convulse and fribulate on my own. Why would I think of joking like that? He asks, "What are you doing?" Like I know?!? I had no clue what just happened. I asked him, "What just happened, Baby?" And he was like, "Okay, now you're starting to scare me." I felt as if he had just woken me up from a nap. I asked him, "Are the kids okay?"
Evidently, when I was 'sleeping' I heard alot of loud noise and woke up to tell Chuck to turn it down so it wouldn't wake up the kids. Weird. I know I'm weird, but that takes the cake for me. He told me, "Uh, no, Cori...it seems you passed out and I was shaking you to get you awake...there was no noise." Hmmmm - what do ya know. I then have an awful sensation that I'm about to puke and head towards the bathroom. I'm able to inhale small amounts of air, but it is extremely painful. I now lower my prognosis from 'death' to 'puncturned lung'.
Seems that I ended up bruising my ribs, inside and out and somehow jolted my body enough to momentarily stop my heart, thus, disallowing blood to continue its flow, thus resulting in tingly hands, thus ending in the grand finnaly of 'the faint'.
No need to panic though, I'm alive and kicking. I'm also walking thru the house alot more slowly. Breathing has resumed to its normal pace and I am no longer fribulating. Life is good.
Chloe announced to me today that she is now a princess, "I am be real pinsess, Mommee." Wonderful. I thought I'd see how far her imagination would take us, so I asked some very pertinent princess questions, such as:
"What does a real princess do all day, Honey."
"Prawbe (probably) I go visit people."
"What do you say when you visit people?"
"Prawbe I say, 'hi'. Prawbe I cook for dem. Yes. I do."
All this while she is gently pushing the random strays of very fine blonde hair out of her face with both hands. She looks so matter of fact about all this. She does have her special pink high heel shoes on after all - what else does one need to be a real princess?
"Prawbee I hep (help) people all day yong (long). Yes, I am be real pincess. Me have baids (braids). Me be yight back Mommee." She takes such pride in her newly acquired role. She even deemed me a princess too. I'm so lucky to have my very own pink princess!
It is interesting that she has taken to making her princess so proper. She used to don her beautiful princess dress, pick up her purple light saber (a gift from the boys) and run around the house yelling, "Pincess dirl, pincess dirl" and making swooshing and flying noises - all no doubt because of her brothers' superhero influence in her life. It's so nice to see her becoming more genteel.
Chuck has been out of town for a 3 days now. I am starting to run low on fuel - and not the kind I put in my car. I can not sleep when my husband is not home. I barricade the house like Fort Knox. I double and triple check all the doors and windows. I slide a heavy chair in front of the door. I leave all the lights on. I stay up as late as I can until my head starts to bob to one side and I feel the effects of exhaustion sweep over me. Now. Now is the perfect time to attempt to allow myself to fall into a fitful 'sleep'.
However, all the lights on in the house are keeping me awake. Or maybe it's the one of the little people I let sleep in my bed. They each have gotten a turn to sleep with Mommy. More for my own peace of mind. They all make their own unique noises and twitches. This also keeps me awake. Last night, Gavin was also sleeping with his light saber - in my bed. Not that I'm not grateful for the extra amount of security that allotted us - but I think it was a bit over the top. I've never slept with a light saber before.
The previous two nights brought maybe 4 or 5 hours of sleep - accumulated. Anyone who knows me, knows that I REALLY need all 8 hours. I feel like I'm back in the throws of just bringing a new born home. Sleep is elusive. It's all I think about. Yet, I can't relax enough to enter the Land of Nod for more than an hour at a time. But last night was the kicker. I wanted to find my time card and punch out. I'm off duty. No more Mommying for me for the next 8 hours. God had other plans, however. It seems this is the week of Mommy needing to learn to give more of herself even when she feels she can give no more. It is a lesson I need to learn and am walking through wearily.
I finally dozed off somewhere around 11:30ish (VERY late for me). At 1:30ish I hear the swishing of little feet on the carpet approaching my side of the bed. I groan inwardly as I expect Chloe to come crawling in bed with me. How I wish it were only my little wiggle worm. Instead, it was Bennett. "Uh, Mom" he says. "What's wrong, Honey? Did you accidentally pee in your bed?" I ask. "Uh, no. I woeuflskdhfasiefhaosdjfsalkdjs....wahhhhh!!!". He started talking in his signature high-pitched, little piglet squeal, and I couldn't understand a word of what he said. I finally was able to get out of him that he threw up all over his bed.
My first thought was, Daddy normally handles this - I can't. I'm tired. I might throw up too. Then who's going to take care of me? It took a while for my compassionate motherly instincts to kick in. It then dawned on me that he might not be done throwing up so I bolted out of bed and ran him into the bathroom where we sat for a while. While he was washing his face, my second thought came to me, Oh man! I hope this doesn't mean we can't have our playdate with our friends tomorrow. I'm wreaking with compassion at this point. I'm thinking more about what I want instead of my poor, puke ladened child. The sight of him pulls me back to reality and all selfish thoughts seem to scatter (momentarily, at least).
Bennett asks if he could sleep with me now, since his bed is a mess. Uh, No!! I cannot allow the possibility of puke upon myself or my bed. But instead I answer with, "Honey, it would be better if you slept in Gavin's bed so you could be closer to the bathroom." My next step is to enter the room and remove all hazardous materials. This is definitely NOT my forte. This is the part Chuck so lovingly does. I don't know where to begin.
So, at 2am I find myself up on the top bunk, my head way too close to the ceiling, and my nose way too close to that awful smell. I somehow managed to get all affected materials off the bed without getting any on me. I threw it all in the laundry room and decided to deal with it tomorrow. I'm sure I'll have greater clarity of thought in the morning. Right about now I'm thinking, I'm glad I never went into nursing. I so couldn't handle the hours or the smells.
Our mini-disaster has come to a close and I re-enter my beloved bed wide awake. This begins the time of 'brain overload' where it feels it must think of everything and anything and the problems and solutions that lie therein. My thoughts range from the rain outside and progress to more and more unimportant issues, such as: our water heater, what would happen if our water heater exploded, I should probably come up with an evacuation plan, what if our roof collapses, we should probably have our a/c unit checked, have we changed our filters recently, I guess things could be worse, at least I'm not in a concentration camp....ad nausium. I was unable to find my brain's turn off switch for 2 whole hours. How lucky for me that Chloe decided to enter the picture at this time. She comes climbing into bed and continues to rotate her little body like a pig on a skewer for the next 30 minutes.
Enough! Before I say anything that might make her cry, I swiftly pick her up and head back up stairs to lay her comfortably in her own bed. I tell her it's still too early to come cuddle and head back downstairs. I just get the covers pulled up only to hear her screaming bloody murder. I sprint back upstairs and ask her what's wrong. "I hear a noise." She sobs. I can so understand being scared of the dark and of noises - I am right now too. But I assure her it's only the rain hitting her window and she's safe. That seems to work.
Again, I crawl into bed with my heart rate now highly accelerated from my little midnight exercise routine. The doctor did recently tell me I should exercise more - but this is NOT what I had in mind! God in his mercy, allowed me to continue sleeping for a full 3 hour stint - it was wonderful. All that to say, boy to I have a whole lot more compassion on single parents now! Not that I'm not already immensely grateful for my husband, but I'm even more grateful for our midnight team work, for the times throughout the day he so lovingly gives me some alone time, for the constant affirmation he bestows on me for the 'job' I do day in and day out.
Thank you, God, for your grace during this time. The only way I have been able to make it thru this week is by his grace alone. Thank you also for giving me somebody to take care of me - I like that.
Today, I decided would be a great day to go down to the DMV to check on my lost license. I felt this would be fun to do with the kids. I actually had the option to leave them at home with Chuck and thought, no, they'll be fine, it's just a quick little trip.
However, that's not what I was thinking an hour later as we were still standing in line. Standing might not be the appropriate term. I was the only one left standing. The kids found many other ways to pass the time. They thought trying to squeeze Chloe between the two of them as they leaned up against the wall was an acceptable activity - until they got 'the glare' from me. Then they decided it would be better to come lavish all their love upon me. So I had 3 children hanging from every available limb smothering me with kisses and hugs and words of affection. Not that I don't love to be loved on by my children, but we were in a small enclosed room with alot of other people standing all around us (I felt as if we were on a stage with a microphone) and we seemed to be the only ones talking.
Then Chloe saw that a Mommy and a baby had entered into the picture. She asks me, "Who dat baby, Mommy? Me go see dat baby?" To say no would be to incite the wrath of Chloe and I already had all eyes on me and my clan, I didn't need to show the world one of Chloe's temper tantrums; so I opted for, "Why don't you and Bennett go say hi to the baby."
The only way to describe the next moment is: awkward. Bennett and Chloe amble hand in hand towards the back of the line examining each person as they go. They make it to the young, unsuspecting mother holding the object of Chloe's affection and just stand there and look at her. The mother stares back at them. They look at the baby. The mother looks at the baby. I'm not exactly sure what the mother is thinking, but she did walk out about 5 minutes after this exchange. I guess Chloe did exactly what she wanted to do - she saw the baby.
Note to self: Need to teach the kids to speak to people and not just look at them. Let's work on conversation starters.
A Christmas Eve candle light service scares me. It scares me a lot. Two reasons come to mind - Bennett and his slippery fingers and my innate fear of fire. Add to that Bennett and I sitting right next to each other and you have a recipe for disaster.
As we entered the sanctuary this morning, we passed a basket of small candles. We paid no mind to it thinking they were for other people. They really wouldn't want anyone in our family to hold a fire stick in their nice sanctuary if they really knew us.
We made it to the end of the service without creating too much of a scenario and then the Pastor says, "Now, we're going to light the candles...". Uh-oh. Chuck quickly makes a mad dash for the back to go bring enough candles to make it look like we're a bonfire waiting to explode. He gets back in time for the 'master candle' holder to light his torch. But let me digress a bit and set the scene a little more in focus for you...
Chuck is on the isle seat with Chloe perched upon his lap. Next is Gavin with a goofy grin on his face - a little too excited about holding a candle in a public space, if you ask me. I am next with Bennett lounging beside me. He thinks these chairs are recliners, I think.
Another important piece of information that is imperative for the reader to know is that Bennett drops everything. Just yesterday he spilled his drink at the table. If you give him something to hold, it will invariably end up on the floor. He has just seemed to be plagued by the 'butterfingers curse' since infanthood. Now add to Bennett's 'issue' my fear of fire. I think I'm just as scared of fire as I am of heights. We have never made a fire in our fireplace because of said fear. Oh yeah, and remember, I'm 'worst case scenario girl' - so you can imagine how the fear immediately gripped my mind and starting cranking out 'worst case scenario' movies.
So, when I hear that we are fixin to light a million candles in a sanctuary filled to the brim with little kids, people packed in like sardines next to each other and many flammable materials in too close of proximity to Bennett, my heart starts to race. I am in panic mode now - yet on the outside I try hard to keep my composure together by giving tight lipped smiles to those around me. The whole time visions of the church up in flames is running through my head. I'm imagining the person's coat in front of me on fire. I'm seeing Bennett drop his candle and a fire starting on the carpet and spreading like wildfire. I don't think this is what is supposed to come to mind while the choir is singing 'Silent Night'.
Amazingly, we made it through the everybody-light-your-candle-from-the-person's-next-to-you phase. I am begging the boys to hold on to their candle with their entire fist. Dropping the candle is not an option. And I have declared myself Fire Marshall in this all important mission. I can no longer concentrate on the beautiful melodies coming from the stage, my mind is on one thing and one thing only - keep the candles upright, far enough away from the person in front of us, but not too close to our noses to catch our hair, ties, or shirts on fire.
I'm starting to sweat. I need to sit down. As I sit down, I ask Bennett (trying to keep my voice from shaking), "Honey, would you like Mommy to hold your candle for you for a bit?" He hands it off without so much as a good-bye. He actually couldn't wait to get the object out of his hands and doesn't give me adequate time to position my hand exactly where I would like it. It seems that I caught it more in mid-air. After the transfer of the fire object is made, I am able to start breathing a bit easier. But by sitting down, it seems I have unintentionally invited Chloe to come stand too near the flames. She insists on 'helping' me.
After inspecting Gavin's holding position and deeming that he is safe, I no longer worry about him and devote my attention to my little helper. My next mission is to not let Chloe's pig tails, which she is constantly flicking around, get in too close of proximity to the candle tip. I allow her to hold the candle under my fingers which are precariously close to the flame. The part that freaks me out. I then find myself staring wild eyed into the flame and forget where I am. I quickly remember as I feel hot wax running down my fingers.
Thank God someone on the stage had the wisdom to tell all these pyromaniacs to blow out the candles. Chloe and Bennett cover the two I'm holding with enough spit for me to also cool down my burnt hands. I quickly pass off the evil objects to Chuck with a look of utter disdain. I proceed to peel the wax off my fingers. Merry Christmas everyone!
Whenever the kids whine about something they don't have or didn't get they can always count on Mommy saying, "Guys, let's just chose to be happy and thankful for what we do have and not worry about what we don't have." Thus, the background is now set for our most recent adventure.
It was a lovely, mild, fall day and I decided a picnic was in order. The kids and I worked fast to pack a picnic lunch. Gavin put the fruit in, Chloe pitched in the napkins, Bennett put in all the puddings and I donated the sandwiches.
We get the park and are having a glorious time. We sit down at the picnic bench, spread out our red and white checked table cloth and begin to distribute our lunch foods. It didn't take long for me to notice a vast disparity among the food. I was missing my pudding.
I mount a deep investigation into this oversight. I go right to the source. Bennett. I ask him, "Honey, where is Mommy's pudding?"
He does a great impersonation of someone trying to act surprised. He wrinkles his little nose, contorts his face and feigns a thoughtful pose. Then he responds with, "Hmmm, maybe I forgot it. But that's okay Mom. Let's not look at what we don't have, let's chose to be thankful for what we do have. See, you have a nice little tangelo to eat there. Be thankful for that."
Who can argue with such logic. I'm the one forcing it on them. I may as well suck it up and take my own advice. It sure was a good tangelo.
We had to institute a new rule in this house. Not your typical rule. But we're not your typical family. See, Bennett gets a particular urge to use the bathroom - for a LONG time - every time we sit down to eat, that is. Therefore, the new rule is: If one feels so compelled to use the bathroom during a meal, one must limit that bathroom habit to pee only. In other words, Bennett must get permission to poopie. I never thought we'd come to this...but here we are. He takes this rule very seriously too.
The reason the rule is so strictly enforced is because Bennett seems to spend lengthy amounts of time in the bathroom when this urge stikes, thereby, coming back to a cold dinner/lunch/breakfast, be that what it may. Add to that his very slow eating habits and you end up having a little boy who spends an hour at the table for each meal. We like to all enjoy our meals together - but we don't all like to sit there for an hour watching Bennett eat. Thus, Daddy decided drastic measures needed to be taken.
Granted, he still gets his urge, but he is faithful to follow the rule. He is so conscientious that even when he's not sitting down to eat and feels the need to go to the bathroom, he comes and asks permission to poopie. I can't believe I'm even talking about this. This entire blog, since it's inception, seems to have been devoted to Bennett's Bathroom Habits. Welcome to my world.
So, we're traveling for the Holidays. We spent two entire days in airports within the past week. All the boys decide that it's time to check out the bathroom at the current airport we've been waiting at for two hours. Daddy graciously offers to take them to the bathroom. Once they get inside, Bennett asks Chuck, "Daddy, can I go poopie?" very loudly. Of course, they're not the only ones in the bathroom. Chuck is getting some odd stares, but he's the kind to let things roll off his back. Bennett wants to make sure that it really is okay to poopie, so he asks yet again, even louder, "Daddy, can I please go poopie?" Chuck responds, "YES. Permission to poopie is granted." Feeling relieved, Bennett choses a stall. Gavin decides that since Bennett has permission, he must also, and choses a stall next to Bennett.
Of course, this is all hear say, being that I was not in the men's restroom at the time of this conversation. As Chuck is waiting patiently for our beloved boys, he hears Bennett say, "Hey Gavin. Do ya wanna play 'I Spy'?" Chuck can't believe his ears and quickly nips this little diversion in the bud. He does NOT want to loiter in the bathroom any longer than necessary and encourages the boys to do prompt business.
How do you play 'I Spy' when you're not even in the same place as somebody? What is there to see in a stall? Everything is gray. It's not like there's many things to 'spy'. It's not like you need an activity to help the time go by. You gotta hand it to Bennett, there's never a dull moment in his life - or ours either.
