Saturday, October 20, 2007

Updates on the boys

I have blogger's block. So just some updates on the boys, how's that?

Grant - 17 months old. He is just a happy, easy-going little guy, with an adorable smile and hearty laugh. He tries to do everything Kyle does and often succeeds. He's the more laid back of the two boys and is sometimes my own worst enemy when I'm trying to get Kyle to share or not be ugly to him, because at least 50% of the time, if Kyle goes bananas over a toy and they start screaming, Grant will just move on, completely unaffected. It's not an I'm-scared-so-I'm-going-to-let-Kyle-win kind of thing; it's more along the lines of dude-it's-a-toy-chill-out-we-only-have-about-120-other-ones-so-here-knock-yourself-out.

Kyle - 2 years and 2 months old. I'll start with the really good stuff. He makes us laugh hysterically and is big on physical humor. Flinging himself to the ground dramatically after running around drunkenly with his chest and tummy stuck out as he’s drumming on them and saying, “Whoa, whoa, whooooaaaa!” Or acting like he’s throwing a ball at himself (he’s really just holding it and then touches his chest with it) and flopping to the ground as if it knocked him unconscious. I will admit, I have a flair for the dramatic, but I really don’t know how he comes up with some of this stuff.

The really hard stuff is probably fairly typical toddler behavior, though now that it’s happening to me it feels like it’s the worst situation in all of parenthood (it’s not). If I hear “no” one more time I might turn to clay (and actually wish I would sometimes). He freaks out when things don’t go his way or at least the way he expects them to. And then of course he watches to see how mommy and daddy are going to handle it, no doubt taking careful mental notes so he knows how to get us even more the next time. I won’t even get started on the hitting.

We’re off to watch one of my nieces play softball this morning and I don’t know what else. Tomorrow it’s out to see Dave’s parents to celebrate his mom’s birthday. Should be fun.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Mooooove!

Kyle has been adding new words to his vocabulary every day; for the most part you have to either be his mom or dad or have nothing better to do than watch every move he makes and every place he looks so you can use context to make an educated guess of what he’s saying.

His newest addition seems to be “Move” which when he says it is more like “Mooooo.” He says it kind of insistently and while it’s not ugly, it’s not cute. When he says it to me, it’s usually because I’m laying on one of our big stuffed dogs and he wants on it. Usually I say, “Well, actually, I’m laying on it right now. You can have it when I’m done with my turn, though.”

We were at Target on Friday and I realized that as I’m wheeling the boys around in their stroller, he’s telling anyone who is stopped in our way to move. I liked that he used it right, but then I crinkled up my face because it’s just rude and I don’t want him saying that. Not to mention that if the other people had heard they'd probably think he was moo-ing at them, implying that they could stand to put in a little time at Curves.

So I was pondering where he got this charming word and sentiment from and my first thought was that he’s back at day care so maybe he’s heard it there. Then it dawned on me. Dave and I are to blame.

One of our dogs, Katie – a shepherd mix – is actually to blame. If she wouldn’t be in the way all the time, we wouldn’t have to tell her to move in a very irritated tone of voice. She is our sweet little baby, but she is very needy and is pretty high strung (hence the anti-anxiety medication she takes every night to the tune of $47 per month). She is very talented about getting in our way and nearly tripping us at every turn. A perfect example is her stepping on the back of my slip-on shoes while I was walking a few months ago. A few months ago I said, “Katie, why are you stepping on my shoes?” Dave answered for Katie, “Because I can’t get up your butt.”

So at least 37 times a day, everyone in the house hears, “Katie! Move!” or just “Move!!!” This is my first real experience with one of my kids adopting one of my undesirable behaviors; it’s not my most shining parental moment, but it’s relatively tame. Dave and I just need to stop doing it. We’re thinking of trying out one of these three options:
1. Pardon me, Katie.
2. Just ignoring it, since it’s white noise to her anyway.
3. Katie, get the f$%* out of the way.”

My keen maternal instincts tell me that option three probably isn’t our best plan of action unless we want Kyle’s next word to be the f-bomb (we don’t), so I think we’ll try out the first two. What do you think?

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Goldfish and other guts

Here’s a very important exercise I need you to follow. Stand up and put your arms at your sides. Now lick one of your thumbs and put your arm back down. Take your wet thumb and stamp it on your leg wherever your arm is hanging. Somewhere on the side of your thigh near the top of your leg. Okay, so now you know the area I’m talking about.

I’ve been combing the mall and anywhere else I can find so I can scrutinize the upper thighs of moms with young children. Subtly, of course, as I don’t want them to get creeped out. You’re likely asking yourself what on earth is this nut doing, right?

I’m looking to see if I am the only mother who has the remnants of their day on their clothes, especially in that area. Am I the only one who has wiped mushy, wet, half-chewed Goldfish guts on her thigh? The only one who wipes drops of water, juice or milk on herself? Oh, settle down. I certainly don’t wipe everything on myself and I use napkins and Kleenex regularly, but what’s a mom to do when she has neither of those or anything that could suffice, and their toddler decides to give them said Goldfish guts?

Am I to frantically try to fling it from my hand so that it goes anywhere but my hand without regard to anyone else who might sit on the bench? I am way too thoughtful for that. Plus the guts would probably just land on my leg like gooey torpedo and then where would I be? Frantically kicking my leg in hopes of propelling the guts off me? I’m far too civilized for that.

So I guess I’ll either make sure I carry napkins with me all the time, or resign myself to dirty shorts. One problem, though. Kyle has noticed me do this and he decided the other day to wipe his grimy little mitts on my shorts. Maybe I’d better get on that napkin thing.

Monday, October 8, 2007

The potty horizon

I think that potty training Kyle is on the horizon. The only problem is that this particular horizon isn’t one I’m terribly keen on seeing just yet.

Kyle is 2 years, 2 months old. He’s long been able to tell us when his diaper needs changing and has recently realized that poop sure stinks. He seems to have some control over his bladder and will sometimes pee in his diaper when we suggest it. At bathtime just before taking off his diaper all the way, I’ll say, “Do you need to go pee pee?” and he will.

He’s showing a lot of interest in the toilet and points to it and says “pee pee” and “poo poo”, just in case I am unclear about what goes in there. He’s now in preschool (okay, it’s pre-preschool) twice a week and is seeing some of the bigger kids using the potty so that’s making him more interested, too.

So why am I dreading this? Because I know that once this starts, I become a hostage. I picture him needing (wanting) to go potty everywhere we go and at every inopportune time that arises. Then what do I do? Discourage him and hope he doesn’t pee in his pants? Try to freak him out about how nasty and dirty public restrooms are and tell him there are monsters in the toilets whose favorite snack is little boy butt cheeks? I’m thinking such an approach would have unintended consequences down the road. I don’t particularly want a germophobe who has to sleep with a flood light on because he’s so afraid of butt-cheek-eating monsters.

Kyle is very strong but he is a pretty small little guy. Any monster who bothered to bite his butt would be sorely disappointed. Is he going to lose his grip and fall in the toilet? Yes, I know I’ll be right there and sort of holding him up, but I’m only so strong. And does he have to touch the toilet seat? Oh vomit I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have to get a bigger diaperbag for all the disinfectant wipes, hand gel and toilet seat covers.

This post was very therapeutic and has helped me conclude that I am going to resist this fun as long as possible. Though I am sure there will be countless blog entries coming on the potty topic, hopefully I can drag my feet for a few more weeks!

Friday, October 5, 2007

Chinese dragon

I headed to Target on Wednesday with the boys and took a spin through the toy section, thinking, “I am Good Mom and am going to find a toy – one that doesn’t talk or need batteries in any way – that stimulates and excites my kids.” The toy of choice (mine – not the boys’) was a 6 foot long Thomas the Train or Tank Engine or whatever he is crawl-through tunnel.

They won’t go near it. Maybe they think it’s a toddler-eating snake that never closes its mouth, just waiting to gobble them up. Or maybe they think it’s an Alice in Wonderland deal – they think there’s a chance they could get sucked into some netherworld acid trip like Alice did. Or maybe they just want to sit back and see what kind of idiots their parents will make of themselves trying to show how wildly fun crawling through the tunnel is. Though it probably makes their fear worse because when we crawl through it, it flops around and shakes so much that the toddler-eating snake actually looks more like a Chinese dragon in a Chinese New Year parade – all writhing and partially airborne. I guess it’s no wonder they don’t want anything to do with it. I’m kind of creeped out by Chinese dragons, too.

Our double-stroller has gradually gotten harder and harder to maneuver and this morning Dave took the wheels off, cleaned them and WD-40’d them thoroughly. And I’m actually excited about this. I can’t wait to test it out and wheel around Walmart like it’s a race-track. Sad, huh?

My mom had some minor surgery this week and I’m going to visit her this weekend. Twenty-four whole hours of just me – no kids or husband. The last 2 years have been such a whirlwind of life changes for me, resulting in me rarely having alone time. Since my whole life used to be me-time that has been the hardest adjustment to bringing home my two boys and getting married in less than 10 months. So now I’m going to get some time by myself. In theory, it sounds great. We’ll see how it goes.

I found some pumpkin patches that are open today that I’ve thought about taking the boys to, but I don’t want to end up paying for an expensive 20-minute walk. Though what’s a few bucks when I’ve got my ‘new’ stroller to test out? Walmart shmalmart. I’ll take it on a real test drive.

Monday, October 1, 2007

We are the lucky ones

Fabulous news, everyone! The boys have been at daycare for two whole days so far (last Tuesday and Thursday) and Grant had a cold within 48 hours of darkening the door of the place. And being the loving and generous little tyke he is, he has shared it with Dave and me. Ahhh, it brings back memories of when they were in daycare full-time and seemed to juggle one ailment after another.

We went to a free festival at a local church on Saturday and it was a nice little diversion and most importantly it got us all out of the house. I’ve never gotten so many comments about the boys before, and while they were harmless and well-intentioned I was glad the boys are still too young to understand. Dave and I are fair-skinned and fair-haired so we definitely garnered some attention pushing around our double stroller.

I think I handled all the questions fine, but Dave and I have to work on how we’re going to respond as the boys get older. They are going to look to us to see how we respond and this is going to help them form their opinions about themselves, their birth country and birth family, and their adoption in general.

One lady came up and blurted out, “Where are they from?” and “How old were they when you got ‘em?” There is so much negative and erroneous information in the media about Guatemalan adoptions these days that it’s hard not to be on guard as to people’s intentions. I truly think all the intentions on Saturday were good, but again, it’s hard. After NPR’s one-sided and completely ridiculous story that claimed anyone can write a check for XX,000 dollars (I’m leaving out the first two numbers just because) and bring home a Guatemalan baby, I’ve been seeing red. I’ll blog about my adoption experiences another time.

The conversation that bugged me most was, again, from a well-intentioned, very nice woman. Here are some of the questions she asked… Are they twins? Brothers? Where are they from? Then came what I’m glad the boys can’t understand yet…
Woman: Thank you. (This was sad very seriously and solemnly and with her grasping my hand)
Me: (puzzled look)
Woman: Thank you. For adopting them and giving them a loving home.
Me: We are the ones who are thankful. They are the best blessing we could ever have dreamed of.
Woman: No, I mean what a wonderful life they have compared to what they would have had. You’ve given them so much. It’s really wonderful and they are so lucky.
Me: Well, we are the lucky ones.

Sometimes people who don’t have a multi-ethnic family might think we parents who have adopted children of different heritage than ours overreact and make a bigger deal of conversations like this. But we have to take seriously the impact on our kids of repeated conversations that point out how our kids and family are different. Our boys aren’t charity cases. They are simply children who, like all children, are entitled to the best life they can possibly have, whether it’s here or in Guatemala or in Timbuktu.