The Second Sense

Then...


The crackle of a fire

Warm, rich voices in muted conversation

The musical clinging of a wedding ring against the side of a ceramic mug

Coffee brewing

My Dad singing in random bursts throughout the day

My mom's beautiful and contagious laughter

"I love you, Honey. I've already said that, haven't I? Oh well, I just can't help it."

"How about a knuckle sandwich, Stephie?"

"Hi, Hungry. Nice to meet you. I'm Mom."

"If you're bored, you could always clean your room."

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"Her mother and I do."




Now...


Giggles

Loud, wet kisses

Coffee brewing

My son singing in random bursts throughout the day

Tiny feet slapping against a tile floor

My daughter humming quietly to me as I rock her to sleep

Luke matching his breathing to my own as we cuddle in bed together

White noise on a baby monitor

"Wuvooh, Mommy."

"No more Coke, Evie."

"Muh? Muh? Muh? Muh?"

"Luke, keep your sock out of your orange juice!"

A toilet flushing..."Bye bye, poo-poo!"

A distressed cry..."Mamaaa!"

A welcome voice at the end of a long day...

"You look beautiful, Honey."

"Liar."


_______________

Sink or Swimp

A conversation with Luke during bath time...


"Bop it, Evie!"

"Luke, can you say STOP IT?"

"Bop it."

"STOP?"

"Bop."

"Luke, can you say SAM?"

"Sam."

"Now, say STOP."

"Bop."

"Hmmm....Luke, say SUN."

"Sun."

"Good! Now say SIT."

"Sit."

"That's great, Luke! How about SIP?"

"Bip."

(sigh)

"Luke, can you say SLEEP?"

"Feet."

"How about SHEEP?"

"Feet."

"Okay, interesting. Can you say SWIM?"

"Swimp."

"Well, that's good...sort of. Oh no, don't touch that, Luke! That's Evie's no-no spot."

"No-no spot."

"Luke! You said SPOT!"

"Bot!"



*****************


It's such a thrill to see Luke's personality emerging every day. He's so laid back and loving...and curious.

The other day we were looking at some pill bugs in the back yard. He was fascinated by them and not at all scared. He even designated a "Mommy bug" and a "Daddy bug" from the bunch.

I put the mommy and daddy together to see if they would fight to the death, but they got along swimmingly. By all outward appearances, their marriage was healthier than mine! But they didn't fool me....I know their type. Mister and Misses "Perfect Couple" are rarely that. They were probably embroiled in a bitter Pill Bug divorce.

Mommy bug spends most of her time rolled into a tiny ball, unwilling to face the world around her...and Daddy bug has a bad temper. The Pill Bug police have been called to their leaf pile several times in the past year.

Outwardly, though, they were keeping up the appearance of civility. Which I appreciated, since my son was present. Luke is just too young to be exposed to a failing Pill Bug marriage and I want to protect him as long as I can.

As Luke and I were searching for more bugs (without a history of domestic violence), it occurred to me that my little boy is getting closer and closer to the Build-a-Buddy stage. This is the stage in his young life when Chris and I can brainwash encourage him to share in our own interests. The stage when I become more to him than a caregiver and disciplinarian, and he becomes more to me than someone to constantly protect and nurture. Not that those things aren't important, they are critical!

But sometimes it's nice to just be buddies.

Even if all we're doing is squatting together in the backyard, watching emotionally dysfunctional Pill Bugs crawl through the dirt...


_________________

Evie Reading - VIDEO

This was recorded over a month ago but I just now got around to posting it.

Evie and Paw-paw.

Three's a Crowd?

I overheard a harassed sounding mother in the store today, tiredly scolding her rambunctious children. She was in the next aisle over so I couldn't actually see her face...but that kind of bone-deep weariness sort of projects in the voice, ya know? During a brief lull in the chaos, her daughter asked a question.

Mommy, do you like having three kids?

She didn't answer.

And I didn't blame her.

But it reminded me of my current indecision on when to have another child. Some days, the idea of a sweet-smelling, silky-haired little angel is SO appealing to me. And other days, it's all I can do to keep my current children from killing themselves or each other.

My sister-in-law has four very young children and puts in at least twice the parental effort that I do each day. You'd think this would make me feel a little better about my own situation, but I'm finding that my capacity for self-pity is nearly limitless.

I was asked recently in one of those silly e-mail questionnaires what my goal in life was. I answered "survival." I was trying to be funny but I suppose it wasn't far from the truth. I don't have time to sit around these days and think about my personal dreams. My whole life revolves around my children now.

My dreams are always for them.

So my immediate goal really is survival. It's keeping these little stinkers alive and healthy long enough for them to realize their own goals and dreams. And some days are easier than others.

A few weeks ago, Evie climbed up on our couch.

I immediately purchased a pen light, a neck brace, and a first aid kit.

A few days ago, she climbed up on our kitchen table.

I started writing a eulogy.

Some people might call me a "Stay at Home Mom." I think a more accurate title would be "The Babyguard." Like that movie with Whitney Houston only without the romance and hazard pay.

Oh, and the intrigue. Definitely no intrigue here.

But plenty of bodily harm. And more than enough peril to go around.

Luke has had less of a death wish in his old age, but he's more than happy to assist Evie with hers. Like a two year old Kevorkian, Luke has facilitated his sister's deadly stunts again and again.

That time she got up onto the table?

Luke was up there with her.

Every time she falls off her little push-car and cracks her head?

It's because Luke was propelling her across the room at break-neck speed and ran her directly into the wall.

And he's gotten clever about it, too. We've taught him (in no uncertain terms) that it is not OK to shove his sister down. So now, when he wants her away from something, he turns around and nudges her backwards with his rear-end until she falls over.

As if we wouldn't catch on to that.

So I guess there's really no dilemma after all. For right now, I think that two children are about as much as I can handle.



*********************


And yet, every time I start to feel like I'm in way over my head slightly overwhelmed...the little boogers go and redeem themselves.

I made the mistake of leaving Luke alone downstairs for several minutes today while I got Evie out of bed. He was naked.

Don't ask me why, it's just something that seems to happen with regularity around here. Naked babies, that is.

Anyhow, when I came down the stairs, Luke was waiting for me.

"Poo-poo."

Oh crap.

I pushed him aside and ran into the living room, sniffing the air and baying like a hound. Scouring my eyes over the floor and furniture...dreading what I might find.

"Poo-poo!"

His voice was coming from the bathroom.

Could it be?

I looked around the corner and there he was, standing (proud as a peacock) in front of the toilet.

I walked into the room, peered inside the bowl and nearly toppled over in surprise.

He had climbed up onto the potty and gone poo-poo...all by himself.

If someone would have told me, when I was pregnant with Luke, that my proudest moment in his first three years of life would be him making a poo-poo in the potty all by himself...

I would have shoved them off a table.



________________________

Adventures in Potty Training, Vol. 1

I took Luke into a public bathroom for the first time yesterday. I felt so proud, strutting him into the ladies room like a prize-winning show dog.

And I thought I was so clever bringing along his special toilet-training ring from the house. I figured it would be a little more sanitary for him than sitting on the actual toilet seat. But, when I put it in place, I realized that there was still an awful lot of the toilet seat showing, especially where his legs would rest. So, I pulled out the ring, grabbed one of those tissue seat protectors and laid it in place. Then I realized I would have to "punch out" the center of the tissue seat protector before putting the toilet ring back in or it would collapse and fall into the water.

I don't know what sadistic person came up with those tissue seat protectors but I'd like to dunk them in toilet water. Unless you're actually sitting on it, tearing out the center piece is next to impossible. The stupid things are about as delicate as a three-thousand year old sheet of....er, parchment seat protectors (the Ancient Egyptians were germaphobes, too.) So it was practically in shreds by the time I was finished. Still, I was satisfied that Luke would be protected so I shoved the ring back into place and set him on it.

He immediately curled his fingers around the uncovered edge of the toilet seat for support.

Eeeew.

I can't imagine they clean the underside of the toilet seat with any regularity.

Fortunately, Luke distracted me by going pee-pee like a big boy. And, since watching him go always makes me have to go, I took a turn next...foolishly thinking that the worst was behind me.

The second I sat down, Luke turned and unlocked the stall door.

And it started to swing open.

I lunged forward and caught it before anyone got an eyeful but it was a close thing.

"Don't do that again, Luke."

Meanwhile, a woman had entered the stall next to us and was talking loudly on her cell phone while doing her business.

Who does that???

Naturally, Luke was curious. At the time, he was squatting on the floor and peeking underneath the stall door. No harm there, just people washing up. In the blink of an eye, though, his body shifted and his head was underneath the stall divider...looking up at the lady next to us. I gasped audibly and jerked him back.

She didn't halt her conversation or shriek in horror, so I figured she missed it.

Two seconds later, he did it again. I know I should have expected it, but I was too busy eyeballing the hook on the door and trying to decide if Luke's tank top could support his weight.

This time he made it a little farther before I snagged him.

Still no shrieks.

Either this woman was involved in the most intensely captivating conversation of all time, or she simply was not bothered by a little boy seeing her London and France.

I didn't hang around to find out.

As I was leaving the stall with Luke and carrying a urine-dampened toilet ring in my bare hand (in public), it occurred to me that I might not have thought things through properly.

Oh well.

Until I can find a toddler sized HazMat suit, I'm just going to have to cope with germ-filled public restrooms.

All I can say is thank goodness for hand sanitizer. Now, if only it came in a shampoo and a mouthwash as well. Perhaps a facial scrub....





________________________

T.M.I.

Potty Training Mistake #1: Allowing Luke to flush the toilet when my back was turned and, therefore, not being able to tell if he did his "messy business" for the day.

Mistake #2: Putting Luke down for a nap without knowing if the aforementioned business had been taken care of.

Mistake #3: Not getting Luke up from his nap the SECOND he started making playful noises.

Mistake That's Going To Bite Me In The Rear Later On: Throwing Luke in the bath tub afterwards, and (out of sheer paranoia) showing him how to fill his mouth with water and then squirt it out.

PLEASE NOTE: If you didn't follow any of that...don't read it again. Just be glad. Be very, very glad.



*********************



Maybe I can redeem this blog entry with some good interesting news...

We bought Evie a forward facing car seat the other day. Now the kids can actually hit each other instead of just kicking.

Oh joy.

We had hoped that Evie being able to see the DVD screens would help keep her happy during the longer car rides. Turns out that she has no more interest in a 7-inch screen then she does in the 37-inch one at home.

Go figure.

The good news is that I no longer need to use go-go-gadget arms to reach the child. And now, when she throws things, they land conveniently in my lap (or strike the back of my head) instead of the impossible-to-get-to third row of our vehicle.

They're still sitting right next to each other, though, so the Battle of the Toys rages on. But Evie is becoming a hardened warrior. There was a time when she would graciously hand all of her toys to her big brother...whether he wanted them or not. Many times, I would turn around and see Luke holding Evie's toy or sippy cup. And, just as my mouth opened to scold him, her little hand would reach out and drop a binky on his lap as well.

Either she was being innocently generous....or she was trying to frame him.

Alas, those days are gone now. My daughter has finally learned the game of "Keep-Away." It's so funny to see them around the house now...Luke will grab for something in her hand and Evie turns and holds it behind her back or up in the air, just beyond his reach.

Luke still has the size advantage, though, so this usually ends up with him bowling her over. But the girl is nothing, if not resourceful. It won't be long before she's stuffing toys inside her jammies, I just know it.

In a few years, I can see her as the mastermind of a huge toy smuggling ring...selling toy paraphernalia to all the younger siblings in the neighborhood out of the trunk of her pedal car, sending out her hench-babies to "rough up" the older kids that are causing trouble.

And (most importantly) kissing-to-distraction any adult that starts asking too many questions.


_________________

Remedial Physics

A lesson in physics...

When an empty sippy cup is filled with ice water and a lid is screwed on, the remaining air in the cup becomes compressed. The only way for this pressure to be relieved is through the small, flexible "spill-proof" valve located in the lid. However, since this valve actually protrudes from the bottom of the lid, it is submerged in water when the lid is completely screwed on. Therefore, when the pressure becomes more than the valve can bear, cold water will squirt like a powerful geyser out of the tiny drinking-holes in the top of the lid...directly into the face of the person holding it.

Unfortunately, I never took physics in school so this concept is clearly beyond me. It must be, since there's no other explanation for the fact that I continue to get squirted time and again by that rotten little cup.

Oh, well. Just one of the many untold hazards of motherhood, I suppose. Right along with wide hips and unwashed hair. Oh, and let's not forget bruised shins.

I don't even own a pair of shorts anymore. Why bother? The last time I wore them, I caused three major car accidents. After that, Sheriff Joe was forced to take out a restraining order against my legs....they must never come within 500 feet of human eyes in the state of Arizona.

Take a quick look at my mottled shins and you might think I have a complex series of tattoos. Take a longer look (with unfocused eyes) and strange 3D images start to appear.

And the weird thing is that I'm never able to remember how I get the bruises. Probably because I'm too busy scrambling over toppled chairs, trying to get to the child under the kitchen table before she shoves stray coffee beans into her mouth...as if THAT fire needs any more fuel. Or wading through a room full of toys to remove the 32lb toddler from on top of his 19lb sister's prone and struggling body.

I barely have time to breathe in between my motherly "interventions," let alone rub my shin and think: That's gonna leave a bruise.

And the problem seems to be a bit circular. My legs are bruised, so I don't wear shorts. I don't wear shorts, so my legs are blindingly white. My legs are white, so the bruises show up more clearly. Okay, that was more of a triangle...but cut me some slack, will ya? My high-school Geometry class was right after lunch with a teacher that would make Ben Stein seem flamboyant. I think I snoozed through the entire semester.

But, what I lack in academic knowledge, I make up for in mommy-smarts. Like a blind person with an acute sense of hearing, I've filled the void in my brain (normally reserved for basic math functions and long-term memory) with more practical things.

For example, I can tell you the exact age of the liquid in any sippy-cup with just one whiff. It's a talent that I've spent two years cultivating. Like a fine wine connoisseur, I remove the cork lid of the sippy cup, swirl the contents around and inhale deeply. Spoiled milk is a dead giveaway, but water is a trickier beast...

• No odor means the sippy cup is only a few hours old and still good for use.

• A faint, dirty-shoe smell means it was from yesterday and needs to be washed.

• A toe-curling, eye-watering smell of death means the sippy cup has been lost under the car seat for two months and needs to be incinerated.

And now, this blog entry has come full circle. I started and ended with sippy cups. Which, I guess, is more of a line, really. But it goes two ways, so maybe a BOLD line or a really narrow oval...



____________________________

Tater Tot

Well, I've finally done it.

I've turned my daughter into a vegetable. The rest of us vegetables have waited thirteen long months for her to join us. And now, the girl has finally crossed over.

She sat through an entire 30 minute Baby Einstein DVD.

Please, hold your applause.

Sure, she was locked into her high-chair and only semi-conscious at the time. But it still counts! Don't worry...when they give me the Mommy of the Year Award, I promise to act surprised.

"There are so many people to thank! My mom, for dropping her judgment of 'the electronic babysitter' when Luke was old enough to start getting into trouble. My sister-in-law, Sarai, for providing most of the DVD's. And my other sister-in-law, Tara, for allowing her four children to watch TV as well (albeit in secret and shame). Come into the light, Tara...we'll be waiting for you."

What's that you say?

Teaching your children to become couch potatoes is a bad thing?

Oh, who asked you, anyway...

And, besides, it hasn't really stuck. Since then, she's only given the TV a cursory glance as she speed-walks through the room. Heavy sedation wouldn't keep that girl still so what chance does a flashing box have? A snowball's in Arizona, that's what.

I don't think there's a more active baby on this side of the Mississippi.

We were visiting with Chris' grandmother on Saturday and we had to completely clear off her coffee table to keep Evie's hands/mouth away from everything. What was left turned out to be worse...a 2'x6' jungle gym. It took my daughter three whole minutes before she was able to climb on top of the coffee table and, once she realized she could do it, there was no stopping her. The combined efforts of six (moderately intelligent) adults could not keep this tiny child from scaling the table again and again and again.

So, like any good mother, I gave up and let her have at it. (I've discovered that, most of the time, the best we parents can hope for is damage control. It's an ugly truth, but the sooner we accept it, the sooner we can start regrowing our yanked-out hair.)

I think part of the reason she was able to climb so easily was that she was wearing a dress.

I'll give you a moment to let the shock wear off.

.....
.......
...........

Yes, Evie was wearing a dress. Quite possibly for the first time in her life. And you know what? She was cute. But then, Evie would look cute in a potato sack. Still...there was something so adorable about her bare legs, like little clappers swinging around in a bell.

She was beautiful...and f-f-f (swallows hard) feminine. There, I said it. Is everyone happy now?!

After a while, though, we started noticing that more and more of her diaper was peeking out from beneath the dress. At first, we thought Evie was getting taller before our eyes; but, upon closer inspection, we found that it was simply a combination of a urine-soaked diaper and the law of gravity.

It's a nice change though. Usually I have to feel the diaper to know if it's full. Now, I have a little gauge...

• Two inches below the hem: No worries!

• Dangling between the knees: Time to start thinking about it.

• Dragging along the ground: CHANGE THE DIAPER!!!

Unfortunately, we hadn't brought in a clean diaper and nobody felt like fetching one. Finally, I couldn't stand looking at it anymore and decided to take my chances with her being diaperless for the few more minutes we were staying. She does it at home all the time with no problems. Plus, Great-Grandma's house is tiled so the risk of collateral damage was minimal. And besides, she'd just filled the diaper to overflowing. Surely she didn't have anything left in there!

Suddenly, I heard a strange noise...like rain on an umbrella.

Evie was squatting over a magazine she had pulled from the rack. I scrambled over to stop her, but it was too late.

She had defaced The National Geographic.

As I slowly carried the sodden pages to the trash can (while humming Taps), we all observed a respectful moment of silence. I can't be sure, but I think Luke might have saluted.

Evie took advantage of our distraction and climbed back on the coffee table.



________________________________

Hommas!

Luke is obsessed with trains.

Any trains will do, but Thomas the Tank Engine is a particular favorite.

I made the mistake of buying Luke a Thomas DVD last week and we've watched it 234 times since then. Fortunately, it's a moderately educational show. There are shapes and numbers, and wonderful morals about hard work and honesty. Luke is learning so many things!

Meanwhile, my brains are leaking out of my ears.

It's not that I hate Thomas (although, like may be too strong of a word.) It's just the repetition that gets to me. Every time I try to take a break from it, Luke is there...

"Hommas Twain, Mommy!"

"Do you mean Thomas Train, Honey?"

"Hommas?"

"No, Tuh - Thomas."

"Hommas."

"Luke, say toy."

"Toy."

"Good! Now, say Thomas."

"Hommas."

Finally, the other day, Chris got out the electric train set we've been keeping in storage. It's not really appropriate for little kids, but this is Luke's first real interest and we want to encourage that. Fortunately, the train set was a gift....since I happen to know from experience that there's no quicker way to get your kid to lose interest in a hobby than to invest good money into it.

The problem with getting out the electric train set (other than the massive effort of keeping Diaper-Clad Godzilla away from it) is that, eventually, it must get put away.

Luke has a meltdown every time.

"Oh-no, Choo-choo TWAIN!!"

Chris (in all his adorable naiveté) tries to reason with the boy.

"The train has to go night-night, Luke. We'll get it out again tomorrow."

By now the waterworks are in full force while Luke watches Daddy put the train into the closet. His little hand flops a sloppy goodbye and his crying takes on a mournful pitch.

"Niiiiiight-niiiight, Twaaaaiiiiin!"

He's been doing that a lot lately...talking through his cries. Our personal favorite, though, is when he sings through them.

This might sound hard to believe; but, sometimes when we put Luke down to sleep, he takes exception.

Crazy, I know.

To distract him from the crying fit, Chris and I have started singing right in the middle of it. Before we know it, Luke is singing/crying along.

"Jesus uh meeeeeee...(deep breath)....dis I knoooooow..."

After a while, he's doing more singing then he is crying and, eventually, he's forgotten why he was upset in the first place. It's a strategy that can't possibly last but we're enjoying it while we can.

But the best (non-crying) version of Jesus Loves Me came from Luke's Elmo doll. I was singing along with Luke as he laid in bed one night and, about halfway through, he suddenly held out Elmo and raised the pitch of his voice a few octaves.

"Yessss! Jesus uh me."

Motherhood might occasionally diminish the brain...but it swells the heart beyond capacity.