Menthol sleep curse

I have the problem of falling asleep while putting Lance to bed. The deal is I lie down with him for a quick story and a 5 minute snuggle, but often I can't make it through the story and 5 minutes horizontal means I'm asleep. He's often shaking me, saying, "Mommy, finish the story" or "What?" when some complete nonsense mumbling about work or a grocery list comes out in the middle of the story. It's pathetic, I know, but I'm tired.
And tonight we put Vicks VapoRub on his chest because he was coughing, so I was lulled to sleep by the mentholy-eucalyptus vapors in the air. My husband had to come in and wake me up--twice--before I dragged myself out of there.

The worst part of falling asleep is that I'm ruined for the rest of the evening. I stagger around the house, trying to remember what amazing organizational tasks or huge amount of work I was going to accomplish tonight, but really I just straighten papers, eat some cereal, check email, and remember that I HAVE TO POST A BLOG ENTRY because I am trying to do one every day. I need a theme if I'm already writing about falling asleep putting my kid to bed on November 5.

But it was either that or be depressed about how much our new furnace is going to cost.

Time for more Vicks, I think...

Will I ever learn?

I find myself feeling crazy, disorganized, and out of control and then I look at what I put on my own plate.

Saturday's example:
8:30 am - trying to leave the house in the middle of morning breakfast chaos to get some work done at a coffee shop and the library. (This has been our Saturday routine lately so I can get my work hours in and not feel so exhausted and insane trying to work every evening after kids are in bed). I leave after being grumpy and stressing everyone out.
9:00-11:00 am - spend 2 hours at a coffee shop, actually get some work done, but feel mostly guilty for being so crabby in the morning
11:15 am - quick stop to Trader Joe's to buy the noodles I forgot last night
11:30-2:00 pm - spend 3 hours at the library, continuing to work but mostly being tired and restless, wishing that if I had free time without kids on a Saturday, that I could actually be running errands, early Christmas shopping, cleaning my house, or visiting a friend.
2:00-2:30 - make a mad dash into the consignment store that I never have time to hit without the kids, and if I'm trying to bargain shop and not buy new things, I have to go there occasionally and check things out.
2:45 pm - go home to crabby-just-woke-up Audrey and wild-Mommy-just-got-home Lance, try to cook pasta for my dinner w/friends tonight BEFORE the other friends come over with their 1 yr old to watch the football game on tv.
4:30 - friends and 1 yr old arrive, Audrey tries to hug their baby to death, chasing him around like he's catnip. I frantically try to clean dishes, get chips and salsa out, get some dinner for Lance, peel Audrey off friend's kid, fix my hair for tonight
6:00 - leave the house, complete with pasta dinner, to meet group of friends for dinner. I leave husband there with 2 kids, dinner partially scattered around the kitchen, friends still there with their poor mauled baby, and a hurricane of toys.

Whew. And I wonder why I feel stressed?

P.S. - I had a nice time with friends, got home at a reasonable hour, and got to set the clocks back. And because of darling husband, house was completely cleaned up and kids were snug in their beds. That extra hour of sleep is a myth, unfortunately, when the kids wake up an hour early with their little clocks still on Daylight Savings Time. But I still woke up with the overwhelmed crazy feeling.

Nearly-Five is so...

capable, funny, able to laugh at jokes. I don't know exactly what it is, but I am really enjoying Lance right now. We've always had fun, but lately he's just so grown-up. Maybe it's the contrast with Audrey, Miss "Trying to be grown up but really still such a wild toddler/baby girl," or maybe it's my mama heart realizing that his last year of preschool is a huge milestone, the beginning of him moving slowly away from my clutches.

Don't worry--not that much has changed. Of course I'm alternately wildly loving him, watching him sleep or laughing at his silly antics or marveling at his deep thoughts and GRITTING MY TEETH in annoyance at his rough play with Audrey, constant GUN-SHOOTING-BAD GUYS-VIOLENCE play, BURPING on purpose, or his NONSTOP TALKING.

I'm just more aware these days of how BIG he is, and how much he can do. The other day I was upstairs getting Audrey resettled during her nap, and Lance was playing outside in back. He came in, took off his shoes, went potty (wiped all by himself) and went back outside--gasp!--without any help from me! And he often clears his plate without being asked, says "thank you" and "excuse me," and quite often is spotted playing sweetly and actually sharing with his sister. He plays "reverse psychology" with us sometimes, saying "Mommy, do NOT eat your broccoli!" and laughing himself silly.

After a couple of weeks of issues at school, bringing home notes about hitting and playing too rough at school, we set a goal for last week. If he had 3 good days (one week) at school (which included Halloween on Wednesday), he could pick out a movie at the movie store. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (don't even get me started about my feelings about the movie, or the road we've gone down in terms of superhero/fighting tv) cartoons make a powerful incentive, obviously, and he earned it. He was very pleased with himself, and as much as I hate the external reward idea, it worked. We plan to use it again as needed, but use alternative rewards like a special meal out or special activity, so it's not always a movie.

I'm so proud of the boy he's become. Of course "proud" from me comes with all sorts of silent worries and fears. Poor boy can't avoid that--no matter how I try to hide it, I know he can sense them. He's doomed to a life of First Born Type A, I'm afraid.. But the thought of kindergarten next year makes me a little nostalgic (ok, a little excited too--he'll be gone every day!) and a little freaked out at how just yesterday he was this tiny baby who arrived too early.

It's the time of year, too.. Every November I think about being on bedrest with him, and Christmastime reminds us of his 11 days in the hospital. It reminds me to be thankful for my many blessings, even if it's through gritted teeth some days.

Dr. AB, DDS

We're calling her Dr. Audrey, DDS. The girl is obsessed with her dental hygiene. Slightly ironic, since she only has 6 1/2 teeth, many fewer than her peers. She loves to brush her teeth.

We hear "Aaah, aaaah" and see her running toward the bathroom, finger in her mouth, about 20 times a day. If she finds the door open, she climbs up on the stepstool herself, her forehead barely reaching the counter, and grabs blindly for the toothbrush. If anyone slips and says the word "teeth" or "brush" or (heaven forbid) "brush my teeth," she immediately drops what she's doing and heads for the bathroom, "aaaah-ing" all the way.

And don't try to discourage her--it only makes her want to brush more. We had to add another cup and bring her own toothbrush downstairs, with her own toddler toothpaste. She somehow repossessed Lance's Spiderman toothbrush, but luckily he didn't mind.

She would seriously brush her teeth every 10 minutes if we let her. And she'd stand there for 10 minutes or more, brushing and drooling down her arm. She's really brushing--you should see the technique--it's better than Lance brushing his own teeth. I wonder if she can brush too much?

I guess it's a better habit than playing in the toilet. Which, by the way, she blissfully ignores. Right now, anyway.

Already a day late

It's the theme for my life. I'm going to do the "blog post a day for November" thing, but I decide on Nov 2 to start. Ah well... you know what they say.
So here's my Nov 1 post - seems like someone with kids could come up with something the day after Halloween.

It was actually better than I expected. Lance had school that day, so a full day of Superman and candy was bound to have a bad ending. But when I picked him up, he had had a good day, even after getting PUNCHED by another boy. Seems they were breaking each other's Lego ships, and the other boy just had it. But the important thing here--Lance didn't hit him back! (Oh, and he wasn't hurt either). We rejoice over small things in this family.

After a crazy dinner and donning of costumes, Anakin Skywalker (that's Darth Vader pre-dark side for those of you uninformed) and Yoda were ready to go...


Luckily, I have angels for in-laws, and they volunteered to stay late after watching Audrey all day. So they made us dinner, and Grandma stayed to answer the door while we all went trick or treating.

Lance loved it, as usual. Audrey did well for about 30 minutes, seemed intrigued with the "putting things in my bucket" business, but didn't really get the candy part except some mild interest in a lollipop.

Lance and Pat went out for another hour after Audrey went to bed, bringing home a ridiculous amount of candy. Somehow my Jedi mind trick worked, and I was able to get him to trade all but 15 or so pieces of candy in for a trip to the toy store. Another Halloween miracle.

The funniest part came when Lance came home and was getting ready for bed. He LOVES answering the door, but (eerily like his mother as a young trick-or-treater) only if he can be in CONTROL!

So I've compiled Lance's List of Halloween Non-negotiables:

• Lance must answer the door.
• Lance must hold the candy bowl. (unfortunately for the trick-or-treaters, this was about 18 inches too low for most of them)
• Lance must CHOOSE the candy for them. Mommy must keep her hands out of the bowl.
• Lance gets to say Happy Halloween and make any comments or ask any questions about their costumes.
• Lance must say Good Night and close the door.
• If Lance sees any more kids coming up the driveway, he must wait with the door open, depriving them of the opportunity to ring another doorbell.

Sigh. I have a picture of myself at about age 8, sitting outside in my nightgown and coat, with the candy bowl and a book. Mom wanted to stop answering the door, but I insisted on giving out the rest of the candy.

Word has it from Pittsburgh that my sister's baby Maggie (18 months old) insisted on giving out the candy herself too, and wouldn't even let Mom sit on the same front step.

Control runs deep in our veins...

Happy Halloween - may the Force be with you as you try to keep from eating the leftover candy. Ours went to school with Daddy.

The Truth about Happiness

My eyes nervously scan the display of brightly colored pictures. An attractive bulletin board display of kids’ artwork, highlighting their Second Steps curriculum about feelings.

“What makes you happy?” chirps the title above the board.

I see a few pictures, mostly drawn in pink or green, showing stick people and flowers, authored by Megans and Amelias and Annas, that say things like “I’m happy when my mom hugs me” or “I’m happy when I’m with my family.” But somehow, my eyes are magnetically drawn (by the Force, possibly?) to a picture drawn in yellow crayon in the center of the display.
“I’m happy when my mom takes me to a Star Wars parade.” By Lance.

(photo coming soon)

Nice. His happiness is based on a lie, since he’s never been to a parade, let alone a Star Wars parade. I just remembered he saw some people in Star Wars costumes on tv in the Rose Parade last year, so I have to come clean--it's not a complete lie.

His last drawing was “I’m scared of thunder and lightning,” which was reasonable, if somewhat exaggerated. But I have seen that his favorite book is “Attack of the Clones” and I was briefly afraid that his choice for “Where would you like to eat green eggs and ham?” was “With Darth Vader.” Luckily, someone else beat him to it.

Quickly, I search for the only thing that will keep me from falling to my knees, wailing and gnashing my teeth. Aha! “Transformers make me happy.” By one of Lance’s friends, of course a boy. And even better, from the famous you-have-to-wear-cool-clothes-to-be-my-friend boy: “I’m happy when my mom buys me Buzz Lightyear, Woody, and Zurg toys.” And last but not least, “I’m happy when I get to be a pirate at school.” Lance just finished telling me that it was “very important” to that boy that he wore a belt every day and his pirate bandana. I can just imagine the morning getting dressed battles in that house.

Redemption! It’s not my parenting problem, it’s that darn Y chromosome. I guess I should be happy I made it on the picture at all—at least I took him to the parade. I’ll just have to wait on Audrey for the hugs and flowers of happiness. And on a positive note, the picture was wonderful – lots of little alien and starship-looking circles with legs and wings, and I’m sure “shooter guns.” But at least he’s using his imagination and his crayons. Maybe I could use a little Jedi mind trick on him one of these days.

Slip sliding away…

Thanks to Paul Simon for the title...

I knew Lance would eventually start this. I’ve known it since December 14, 2002, when the doctor announced, “I see a penis.” He’s a boy. But he’s always been a Mama’s boy, and he’s been very verbal and dramatic, and despite being very active and physical, very much LIKE me—a girl.

But suddenly I am faced with almost daily flashes of his boy-ness, and the fact that he is running headfirst into the social pressures of being male. He has always been physical, needing to be outside running around. And I’ll admit I don’t quite “get” the love of digging in the dirt, but I think I did at his age. But he’s always had lots of girls to play with, thanks to most of my friends having girls first. And he’s happily played Princesses and dress-up for years (see future blackmail pictures of the pink butterfly costume and Ariel mermaid costume, complete with shoes). He even went through a princess-obsession phase last year, devouring Disney stories and fairy tales like a hungry ogre.

Not this year. It’s not just the “everything is a gun” or obsession with Superheroes and Star Wars. He’s a shining example of the budding male ego, thanks in part to his budding friendship with two boys at preschool – He was friends with them last year, but this year it’s going to a new level, with one boy clearly at the lead. Lance reports that his friend "hates girls, hates princesses, and thinks Barbies are stupid." He likes to chase the girls in the gym and play superheroes. Now of course I’ll admit that Lance likes to do much of these things on his own, but he's always had girl friends and happily played Princesses with them. His friend has two older sisters, which is probably the root of the problem—he’s forging his own identity.

Even more troubling is the insecurity I see in Lance. His friend is clearly the leader, and Lance has actually said things like, “He said I can’t play with so-and-so." "If he comes over we have to hide my Beauty and the Beast toys or the princess toothpaste (which, by the way, we only have because he prefers the bubble gum flavor to Power Rangers Fruit Burst),” or “He said we have to chase the girls,” or “I’m not going to a girl’s birthday party because we hate girls.” His own opinions are bad enough, but if he’s so worried about wanting these boys to like him at this age, I can’t stand the thought of junior high!

And he’s a compulsive liar. I think it’s the ego thing—have to be first, best, smartest, fastest. He tells the most amazing stories, but when they’re couched as truth, I’ll have to admit I get irritated. He has claimed to be a better baseball player than Ichiro, faster than a track star and Dash on the Incredibles, and taller than everyone. I am trying to go along with it, but I just can’t let him get away with the lying. It’s crossed over into other areas, like hitting someone at school (that’s another whole story) and then telling the teacher “someone else made me do it” or “I didn’t do it.” We’ve had many conversations about the difference between truth and stories, and lying and fibbing, and using your imagination for positive things. I cringe at the thought of what he’s told his teachers, and what they think of me.

There’s a new villain in town now. I asked Lance if he wanted to bring “shooshy pants” (like nylon running pants/sweat pants) as his extra pants on the pumpkin patch field trip day, and he said, “No, shooshy pants aren’t cool. A. says I have to look cool to be his friend.” I just about went through the roof, but calmly talked about how it’s your personality that makes you cool, and if you’re nice to other people and not what you wear. But I could see his face – I was just the blurred Charlie Brown adult voice “Waah wahh wahh wahh.”

He is a lot like Pat, so that’s both wonderful and frustrating. The black and white, no gray area attitude is hard for me. And he’s super competitive, so looking at Pat, it’s doubtful that’s something Lance will grow out of. We are working on sportsmanship and hopefully getting into team sports like soccer or t-ball next year will help improve that.

I always joke that “peer pressure will get him eventually,” more for things like potty training or crying for Mommy when he falls down. But the truth is, peer pressure already has him. It’s scary how stealthy it is, sneaking in at preschool and Target and in our words and the little amount of TV commercials he actually watches. (Tons of movies and DVD and OnDemand, yes, but not much network TV). I often wish we lived in the middle of a wheat field with only wooden blocks for toys.

Let’s not even get started with Audrey. I am nervous about Lance growing up in this crazy world, but am downright terrified about raising a girl. Macho ego is one thing, but body image and self-esteem and self-worth and mean girls is an entirely different side, one that I’m not excited to venture into. So while I’m wishing her older so they can play together better or so we can go somewhere without worrying about her naps, I’m going to remind myself that soon enough, she’ll be 12 and heartbroken because some dumb boy doesn’t like her or because some other girl has left her out of the group or because she’s not tall enough or thin enough or doesn’t have big enough breasts. At least I’ll be able to sympathize in that department. Lately with Lance I am just at a loss, in uncharted territory, like I got off the elevator at the wrong floor or talked my way into a job that I’m not qualified to hold.