A Beautiful Day

What looks like a tantrum

I don't know who made up the whole "terrible twos" adage because no parent I know has had much complaint about the behavior of their two-year-old children. It should be renamed something - I don't even know what - because in my estimation, age 3 just bites it in the challenging behavior department. And yes, the acting up stems from developmental progress and it's a natural part of learning boundaries and challenging and working through fears of this big, confusing world. For Mr. Smacky, it's all about that...but what will send a normal tantrum into a bizarre freakout is a night of disrupted sleep or not enough. In this house, well-rested = good times for all. But if we dare let the routine slip, we shall pay. Oh, how we pay.

Since we've returned from vacation I've switched his baths from nighttime to mid-morning. This wasn't done with much conscious thought but rather has been due in large part to the fact that school has not yet started up again and since he loves a long bath, why not? The day is long and he can play and swim around and have a good time to his heart's content. While he's in there I'll play with him a little and then straighten up in and around the upstairs hall area - mostly directing washed and folded piles of laundry to their respective bedrooms. From there I don't have to let him out of my sight for more than a second or two and can continue conversations with him. It's been a win/win...there's no rushing to get him out to continue with the bedtime process and I get to get some things done while he enjoys one of his favorite things.

This past Wednesday we visited the aquarium and have since had frequent conversations about all things aquatic - of most interest is the topic of how some fish swim together in schools. Today he "swam" in the tub, chatting aimlessly with some toys and proclaiming that he too, was a fish. After a long while I pointed out that his fingers were becoming "raisins" and in two minutes he would need to start letting the water out.
I urged him to begin the process of taking out his toys. He yelled a stern NO MAMMA. STOP IT.
Thinking this was related to the fact that he stayed up late last night due to a visit from Uncle Todd, I knew this transition was going to be a challenge. I began giving him more info and warning times (you should know that part of his routine is to wait while every last drop of water goes down the drain before coming out of the bath). NO MAMMA. PLEASE STOP. STOP. His hands went up at me, his face in a scowl. I gave him another minute. It was time. No really, this bath was over a half hour already. Time to get out, now, Smacky. It's time to let the water out. Would you please flip the switch? (meaning the lever to allow the water to drain).
And as I knew that today was the kind of day he'd never do it on his own, I moved to do it for him. And I did it. And had to hold it down while he struggled to remove my hand and flip it back up. This enraged him.
He began clawing at me, hitting me. He threatened to scratch me (verbally said this) and basically, went apeshit. He's tired, I kept telling myself, and, knowing a timeout would be useless in such a scenario, decided to remove him from the bathroom, dry him off and let him work through this...after that I'd put him down for a nap, I thought. He continued to yell STOP MAMMA STOP! THE WATER! THE WATER!! while flailing and hitting. I walked away in the hopes of taking away some of the steam. He ran after me, punching my legs, hysterical, crying, yelling. God this kid needs sleep, I kept thinking. I normally pick him up and hold him at this point to help him calm down. But today, for reasons unknown to me, I wondered if this somehow was encouraging his hitting behavior. So I walked away to my bedroom and shut the door, letting him stay out in the hallway to cool down for a bit. Because if I became uncalm the whole thing would deteriorate further, and I was getting a bit tired of getting hit. He began pounding the door, screaming. At this point I didn't even know what to do - what the hell was all this?
I waited a few minutes - he never let up - and opened the door and just grabbed and hugged him - I picked him up, kissed him, and took him to his bed where I put him down with his quilt tucked over him. He touched my hair and through his sobs chanted I'm sorry, I'm sorry. God, I thought - he knows this is all wrong but clearly couldn't help himself. I've got to spend more time talking about emotions with him...this can't happen again - it's exhausting for him and me and can't be good. Plus I'm just freaked out by it.

I waited a few more minutes and he began talking again and asked me where water goes when it goes down the drain. I briefly explained about sewers and treatment plants where the water goes to get clean again.
Can it come back up? he asked. From the drain? - no, I explain...once it goes down the water goes away for good. There is a pause, and I see he is thinking. It doesn't come back up? he asks again. No, I assure him. He's quiet, then says, "The fish are all gone." Which fish? "Our school of fish - our school was swimming in the tub and now they're all gone."

More discussion revealed that while in the tub, my son had made friends with quite a few invisible fish whom apparently he had developed quite an affection for...and I, with my linear parent thinking, had callously allowed those very good fish to slip away forever down a dark drain for the sake of moving on to the next step. Smacky, simply protecting his new friends, was worried about where his fish went - and, in addition, later revealed that he was afraid about the drain and wanted to be sure that he too, wouldn't slip down there and never come back.

Fear. It was all about fear.
It wasn't about defiance or rebellion or him just being difficult or needing to do it himself - it was about him being three, about him feeling scared, and not knowing how to ask for reassurance or how to handle his sometimes overwhelming emotions. I need to remember this. Always.

I will never, ever look at a tantrum the same way again.

Update: early this morning, Smacky told me that he was angry about the water. I agreed and told him again that he was far too big to slip down the drain and I would never, ever let anything like that happen to him...this made him giggle. I asked what we could do differently today. He didn't respond. Later, when I started the water, I made it clear that he would be the one to activate the drain, and I'd help if needed. It turned out to be a very happy bath.

This is now

One day about, hmmm, let's say give or take 10 years ago, my friend Lo and I were shopping together and while people watching, took note of various women who looked to be about our age but appeared somewhat unkept and haggard. Their clothes were boring and comfortable, their hair wasn't done, they looked beat. You can tell that at some point, these women had once had it together - they weren't trashy or dirty or anything like that...they just looked wiped and old and like they had some point stopped caring. Lo, who had the one child between us at that time, surmised that it was kids that did it to them - she then went on to theorize (relatively speaking, of course) that having one was easy, two was manageable, and when you hit 3 - when as a couple you're outnumbered - that's when caring for yourself becomes next to impossible and from there it's a downward spiral. That is when, she went on, that you can just kiss yourself goodbye. Add to that a less-than-cooperative-husband, or none at all, and you're just screwed. I remember thinking that through and feeling a pang of sadness for those women along with a bit of quiet smugness in that hey, I may not have kids yet but at least hey, I've got a hot bod and a sweet wardrobe to boot.

Hah. I laugh at my naivete...if I had only known.

KT, my doppelganger (2 years ahead) in the family structure department, once remarked to me that it's disconcerting how often she's been forced to just trust the universe when the mothering responsibilities spin out of control. I myself find this the hardest part of parenting...when you only have two arms and there are three to care for, there are times that one child will go astray. And go missing for a bit. And as you are changing Number 2's diaper while negotiating fruitlessly with Number 1 about the merits of breaking peanut shells on a plate at the kitchen table instead of the floor and please get that sippy cup out of the dog's mouth, at some point your mind will remember Number 3. Where's Number 3? you'll wonder. And you'll call out for him but now you've smeared poop on your hands and Number 1 is tugging at you to please open this shell for him and where is Number 3? And the panic sets in while you're frantically trying to dig poop out of your fingernails and you're stepping on peanut shells and oh god the babies can't have peanuts yet why am I so stupid as to give Number 1 peanuts when I know he's going to make a mess and WHERE IS NUMBER 3? WHERE IS NUMBER 3??? And the adrenaline starts what with all the worst case scenarios you're thinking of (like he's probably choking on a peanut he found on the floor) and there you finally find him, licking water from the dog bowl, and you're like thank god it's only bacteria, and then you go back to tending to the need of the moment, which is most likely to be poop-related. Rinse, lather, repeat a few times and you can see why my hair is now 1/4 grey. Or almost. Cleaning poop all day will put 5 years on you in no time. Being forced to trust the universe will add 10.

S has an Aunt Jessica who has 7 kids (5 are boys). Their ages range now from their early 30s to late teens. These people are some of the best people I've ever met in that they are each super polite, nonjudgmental, respectful, confident, well-spoken, loving, smart, happy, interesting, social, and gracious. Aunt J, a teacher, homeschooled all of them. One is now a doctor. Another, a teacher. Another, a war hero. So I'm pretty sure Aunt J is on to something in the parenting department, and I asked her how she did it - and what advice could she give me (she refers to me as having "only 3," which cracks me up, but hey, 7). She first gave me sound advice on indoctrinating courtesy in children, and then a love for learning. She then surprised me a bit as she went on to talk about how I most definitely need to eat before they do because if Momma isn't happy, then, well, you know the rest. This snippet gave me pause a bit as it seemed counterintuitive, but DUH, it goes back to Stephen Covey and the whole 7 Habits thing and why couldn't I apply management theory to parenting? I always used to compare leading business teams to babysitting. Why wouldn't it work for managing my new life with the kids? And as I consider this, I realize that I often eat last. If at all. I'm actually hungry all the time and wind up gorging myself on comfort food at the end of the evening when they're all asleep because it feels so good. As a result, I'm a bit porkier than I'd like to be, by about 10 pounds. I need to put first things first.

So, you're saying...she's haggard, she's aging, and she's getting fat.
Yes, yes, and yes.
And I think it plays into what's been making me unhappy as of late. I'm becoming one of those women.
And I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

I know what I need to do:
exercise
eat right (and first!)
take breaks and stop feeling guilty about it (i.e. let the nanny handle all of them now and then)

I'm starting tomorrow.
I'll let you know how it goes. Suggestions are welcome.

****

Fearless J: a tiny, spirited firecracker. Watch out world.

Unscheduled Break

We've evolved into a solid routine here at Casa della Crazy. The littles, more often than not, are sleeping through the night. T has really picked up the pace and I'm able to count on her to take care of everything without feeling the need to supervise. Smacky, courtesy of Dodder Cowan's sage advice, has seemed to have evolved past chronic nervousness and is demonstrating more typical 2 year old behavior - like jumping on the bed (yes! jumping!) and coloring the kitchen chairs his shade du jour: navy blue. He's been confident enough to leave me for (long!) stretches of time and play alone in his room...our next step is sleeping there, and I can honestly see it happening soon. The potty? It's a process, but we're heading in the right direction. I'm thinking we'll be retiring his diapers completely in the next few months. Last week I caught him stomping happily in the snow. And he's been giggling and singing a lot more. The drama is still there, but there's a different tone - the best way to explain is that it's more of the two year old variety than the stressed out kid kind. I've learned a lot these past few months- probably the most important thing is that every child is different and the more creative and flexible I am in my parenting, the happier the entire famiily. That said, I marvel at the differences between the three of them - even between the twins. Though they all have times when they depart from their default personalities, Z is motivated, curious, physical. J is silly, giggly, observant, laid-back. Smacky is sensitive, affectionate, observant, cautious, cerebral. The one very strong trait they all share is their verbosity - which makes for quite a loud home - though that's probably universal.

The littles are absolutely adorable and coming into their own. Early Intervention has been a godsend - they are doing so well and growing up so fast. They will be a year old in a mere 3 months. Gah.

I won't bore you with the other details of my life - it's your basic housekeeping-mommy-planning a baptism-treatment on Tuesdays-knitting on Thursdays-crafting whenever I get a moment type of stuff. This weekend S and I did get to enjoy a night out - we went to Cambridge to see my brother and his band. Suffice to say I'm so proud of him and was overwhelmed at how loved they are here in Boston...the fans adored them and S and I got our punk rock on.

Beyond that, I am, very happy to say, not very interesting. Smacky absolutely hates it when I blog and does this highly annoying thing with his hands trying to grab mine when I'm trying to type so I've got to wrap this up. Hope you're all doing well, and sorry if I haven't visited as of late - it's just that I've had to shift priorities and the internet sometimes has to take a back seat to life.

A Mom's Resolution

Our kid show of the moment:

Lots of Trains!

and also, its companion:

Lots of Trucks!

There's something beautifully simple about a video montage of moving machines set to music - - okay - - bad music, but it's eventually catchy enough that you can't. get. it. out. of. your. head. Ever. It's like sweet candy for the Smackeroo, appealing to the pure boy that's deeply hard-wired into his DNA. For me, however annoying it is, it means a whine-free, cling-free, tantrum-free 28 minutes. Or sometimes 56, if I let him watch twice - which I sometimes do, because heh - nowadays I'm not above having to steal some quiet time, even if it means my child's brain will implode from imagery overload.

I kid. I'm actually very worried about Smacky, and have been for some time. I haven't much time to write about it but it appears as if for now Lots of Trucks! has assumed control of his mind and that gives me a few minutes to let it all out.

For those of you who were reading my private blog, you'll recall that Smacky had a developmental walking delay. Though considered "borderline" and something that appears to have resolved itself, the boy had problems learning to balance his somewhat disproportionately large head and move his legs at the same time. At 18 months old, he finally began a heel-to-toe steady gait vs. taking very short choppy Frankenstein trips, which he had been doing since 16 months. Most people who noticed it at the time would assure me, telling me that ah, it happens - kids just do things in their own time and I shouldn't worry. But I did worry, and had Early Intervention come out to conduct an assessment - and lo and behold - the very day before the consultation, Smacky began moving in a manner which demonstrated some form of competency on his feet. The therapist noted to me that yes, the weight of his head would indeed be a burden on his relatively small body and make it more challenging for him to gain control. She also noted he wasn't climbing well, and thought she saw what she'd consider a "minor" gross motor delay. We had discussed some exercise options, talked about how really, he'll be fine and no, no therapy program would be necessary, at least not at the time. And she left and most of concern vanished with her...Smacky was motoring and he'd eventually catch up to his peers. I bought him an indoor slide as recommended and went back to enjoying his emerging toddlerhood. All would be well.

That meeting was over a year ago. And yes, he became adept enough at walking that he started running. His climbing skills are good enough that he will - and I have no idea how he does this - climb up on top of the pool table in the basement and need to yell for help to get down. But beyond that - beyond that, he's still not where he should be. He's clumsy and stumbles often. He can't jump. I see him tip-toe a lot. Stairs are a problem for him - last summer, he took a nasty spill and sailed down three steps head-first to the bottom. It was a carpeted flight, so he was spared severe injury bit but still sported a fat lip and needed lots of love to get past the fright of it all. After that, he regressed in stair-climbing - back to one step at a time, holding on to the railing for dear life. Eventually, months later, he's become terrified of stairs altogether, often screaming for help. He agonizes about when he might be expected to descend or ascend, and when he does he'll beg for help (hold you Mommy, hold you!). I've tried to encourage him to overcome his fear with lots of cheerleading and sometimes assistance. I show him how to move his feet step by step. Only in rare cases will I pick him up altogether and just carry him - because only by practicing will he gain his confidence back.

But I noticed too that his stream of anxiety doesn't end at the staircase. Elevators - which he used to find interesting and fun - are now making him nervous. Riding a tricycle is terrifying for him. He refuses to ride on his new big big Thomas Train that Santa brought him for Christmas. And, speaking of Santa, he's come to the conclusion that no, we don't want that man in the house at night when everyone is sleeping, even if he does bring gifts. While we were careful to present the concept to him as fun and joyous, Smacky saw it more as a home invasion, and fretted about it. We were quick to just not talk about it anymore. His separation anxiety has come back full-force - there are days I cannot go to the bathroom without a meltdown on his behalf. The vacuum cleaner sends him into the next room. And, the other day while in the car, he yelled from the backseat: that truck is getting too close! He's only two. This stuff shouldn't be taking center stage in his brain.

What makes me the most sad is his concern about the snow...as soon as the flakes fly he isn't pressing his nose against the glass begging to go outside but instead becomes quiet, speaking only to tell me that he won't be going out - that he doesn't need his shoes today. When people leave the house he'll yell after them, "Be careful in the snow!" which makes our departing guests laugh but I know it's because he really means it. Snow to him means slippery, and for someone not very confident on his feet, it scares the pants off him. He is so terrified of it that he cannot go outside without being held. He's a basket case, despite the neighborhood kids encouraging him to come play with us.

Smacky has always been an analytical, cautious kid. Contrary to my nephew, who, if you let him, would go basejumping at this age, our guy has always paused at new situations - and most always chooses to not chance getting hurt...even if he sees other kids having fun doing it. And I can only imagine that he's worrying, and knowing that worry can make a person extremely uncomfortable, as a mom, well, it breaks my heart.

A lot of this can be attributed to the arrival of his brothers - I'm sure all of you here get how profoundly our lives have changed - the details would take far too much space and time and I won't bore you with all that. But you get that the reigning King now has competition, and after losing his mommy for a month, learning to share her with these new brothers who aren't even fun - well...that stings. Plus, he's TWO...not exactly an age known for contentment or serenity. Add to that a father who travels at least half the time for business. Add to that a string of caretakers (now that Tici is here, and lives here, we have some stability in that regard) coming in and out of the house, an anxiety-ridden grandmother (don't let him walk - he could fall!) with panic disorder who upholds the Italian doctrine of enabling the men in her life into insecure helplessness, and there you go.
Now add the whole not-confident-on-your-feet thing and oh my poor kid.

My poor Smacky.

I'm not entirely blaming myself for how we got here but will if I don't do something about it. So I've made an appointment with the pediatrician to address this whole thing. My thoughts are that if we can get him on an exercise program to help him with muscle control, his confidence will improve. I'm also taking advantage of a life event in the family - my SIL is having a baby (scheduled C section is next week!) and MIL has announced she will "take that baby" one day every week. She'd like this day to be on one of the days she has Smacky (Tue & Wed)...MIL is older (72) and though she thinks otherwise, there is no way she'll be able to handle the both of them. I've already signed him up for a drop-off toddler class on Wednesday afternoons and will be doing the library with him on Tuesdays, leaving him with less time there (again, I can't go into detail here about why we just can't cancel MIL care altogether and see her only on weekends, but will tell you it does involve avoidance of drama and name calling and dysfunction more harmful than the current state of affairs - I think she means well, but somewhere there's a huge disconnect between intentions and outcome). So anyway, we'll be able to slowly extract out of that situation and Smacky will be out and about instead of trapped inside a house two days a week with a nervous woman who keeps the thermostat at a roasting 83 degrees, lest he catch a cold. The Daddy away and the twins thing is beyond my control though - he'll just have to learn to suck it up in that regard.

Most important though, I believe is that I need to institute more of a routine around here - and that, my friends, is my downfall. I come from a family of a lot of Bohemian types - we live in the moment more than we plan...it's just the way it's worked for decades. Every day is unlike the day before. Lunch can wait if it means we're in the throes of inspiration or enjoying a game...as can everything else. Creating and being was more important than rigidity and rules...that kind of stuff is for black and white people - those who can't appreciate the grey. And though as I grew older and away from my family and became to need rules more and more, I'm overall still a loosey-goosey type of gal. But I understand fully that in order to feel secure, children need a reliable, predictable kind of day. And for us here, currently, no day is the same...this is due a lot to the twins, the ramping up of Tici and her responsibilities, my ILs' erratic desire to help (is she coming or not? if so, is she staying or taking Smacky? what time?), and, well, my own reluctance to put dinner on the table every night at 6 pm. Before the twins, my focused attention and affection were enough for Smacky to overcome our flimsy schedule. Now? My fleeting hugs and kisses are not nearly enough. Putting off dinner so we can draw and stamp together isn't working out. We need order. And predictability. And with the holidays past us there's really no excuse anymore. At all.

And so my resolution this year is to give my family and myself the gift of a routine. I will attempt CIO (ugh) so to give the twins a settled nighttime and give myself more time not only with Smacky and S but for myself. I will attempt to put dinner on the table every night at 6 pm, with everyone expected to sit down and partake of whatever it is I decide to make that day. I will shop on Tuesdays and Fridays and cook on the weekends too. I will insist on a stricter and less-dependent schedule with MIL. Smacky will get a bath every night before bedtime instead of random times during the day when I could find a moment. Lights out at 8 pm for all kids, regardless. Friends? Visitors? They'll have to be flexible. Crafting? Sewing? At night, when they're asleep. I will force myself to do these things even though I pretty much abhor a schedule and prefer doing as I go. I have to do it because it's for the common good - the good of my family - and everyone, especially Smacky, needs it now more than ever.

Wish me luck, cause I'm gonna need it. It's time to take my position as CEO and President of 44 Suburban Drive more seriously. It's time to get things done and give my family a life.

And let's hope all this pans out in a calmer, happier, Smacky. Because really. My poor kid.

Ever try to clean up those freaking packing peanuts? He had a good time though, so it was well worth it.

Pushiness and Baby Horses

Thinking those little musical skating figurines are cute beyond words, this year I bought one for Smacky.

Okay that's not entirely true - let's be honest - it really was for me; something about Rankin-Bass characters just evokes childhood memories of back when Christmas really was the most wonderful time of the year. Back in the days before cable, before VCRs - before we could buy or replay a television show at will (God I'm old) - the only way to capture and play something back when you wanted was to use your Panasonic tape-recorder. And one year I made sure to tape every single Christmas show that came on so that I could learn every word to every song. After that, my obsession with Heat Meiser and Rudolph and Clarisse would continue unabated until my heart came upon one Danny Zuko, and my tape recorder was ditched in favor of the stereo and the Grease soundtrack double album and a satin pink jacket. And I learned to wail There Are Worse Things I Could Do and say things like, "I've got so many hickies, people think I'm a leper." Ah, I loved Rizzo... she was such a slut.

Um, yeah.

Rudolph.

So we're at CVS and I see this little skating rink and I motion to S to come see and we both kind of get all nostalgia-melty and as it's on sale there's no way this thing isn't coming home with us. On the way home I realize Smacky doesn't really know Rudolph yet (he doesn't really get Santa yet either), so I embark on a quest to familiarize him with the whole red-nose-flying-reindeer concept - which is kind of ridiculous because I'm so caught up in the nostalgia and am basically willing him to feel all happy and melty about what used to make me feel happy and melty and it's not entirely working for so many obvious reasons but I'm not having it. What's 39 years between us? Feh! And so I'm explaining the whole tale - the thing with Harvey, the misfit toys - and even breakout some pictures, because I'm on a quest damnit. I'm turning the house upside down looking for the DVD and why can't we get it On Demand anyway??? He seems to get it but because he's still only two, one can never be sure and I'm being clueless and dorky anyway, only half-consciously aware that I'm trying to relive some of my childhood through him.

I broke out the batteries and set up the rink today.

And upon seeing it, he sucked in his breath, paused, and ever so quietly whispered, "Ohhhhhhhh."

"What?" I prod gently, smiling, waiting for him to show me he knows Rudolph. And I'm beaming as he goes for it and picks him up and very carefully holds him up for me to see.

In the quietest of whispers, with big, big eyes, he answers with wonderment: "It's a baby horse."