Motel Toddler

We had our first experience with the kids in a hotel. I learned a lot.

The room was really set up for me. All the surfaces, including the sink, were low, a bonus for a short person. Not a bonus for a short person, with toddlers, who wants to sit and eat a sandwich and watch the television.

One of CJ's favorite things is ice, and here, right in front of him, was a bucket full of it. I don't think he knew that much could exist, and there was nowhere to put it out of his reach. Heck, even the fridge was within his grasp. As was the door that's latch was on the loose side. As were the television buttons.

Within minutes of entering the room, we had to disconnect the phone because Leila was talking on it and pressing buttons. You know she would have managed to call Luxembourg, and it would have ended up cheaper to buy the motel than pay the long distance bill. Honestly, until Saturday night, I wasn't sure they knew what a lan line phone was for.

We decided to get a room with a king sized bed. Even at home, the kids end up in our bed every night, so there is no chance they won't when we are away. It was easier to just start out that way. In theory. Apparently, in her sleep, Leila mistook the new environment for an obstacle course with John and I being the obstacles. Her favorite obstacle was John's head though she might have thought that was a sparring dummy with the amount of kicking it she did. Maybe she is a Potential. At one point she, for her own reasons, crawled to the bottom corner of the bed and just passed out there, face down, sprawled. I ended up sleeping with my head down next to her, with my hand on her, so she wouldn't roll off the bed. I wasn't about to move her once she actually fell asleep.

CJ, you ask? He pretty much slept through it all.

In the morning, there were really only two things that were going to make John and me functional, showers and hot beverages of the Starbucks variety.

Our First Snow Adventure

We have not done much with this blog. We put so much on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, that it can be hard to find more to add. But now that the kids are a little older, and we can go on more adventures, we'll try to elaborate on them here. Hopefully.
Any snow adventure starts with the snow suit prep. This? Is a process, especially the first time when the kids have to investigate all the puffy warmness first. But within an hour of starting, we had all four of us ready for action.
The sliding glass door open, and the kids ran out in excitement. They stopped short. Walking was hard! Arms up! Mum! Da! (When it comes to calling us, apparently our kids become Irish.) Thus carrying them out of the fence to our little hill commenced.
They stayed true to their personalities. Leila thought laundry basket sledding was great.

CJ did not. He liked flinging snow.

It wouldn't pack into balls. And of course once they got use to the idea, running around in the snow was great.


They both thought snow angels were lame.
Of course the best part was introducing them to after snow hot chocolate.
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As fundraising will probably be in my parental future, this looks like a helpful site. And I really want an iPad.
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How to Scare Away Ducks

My iPhone is currently residing in a bag of rice. Why? Well, it got wet, and the hope is that the rice will draw the moisture out of the phone. What? Oh. How did it get wet? Fine.

First you have to understand the daredevil to whom I have given birth. I wish I could put into words Leila's level of fearlessness. I think if the boogeyman showed up in her room she would squeal, clap her hands and give him a kiss on his nose. At 16 months, I think she would bungee jump.

Today at 11 AM, we met some moms and kids from the Carlisle chapter of MOMS Club at Boiling Springs Children's Pond to feed the ducks. Ducks like Cheerios. CJ likes throwing Cheerios. It's a win win. Leila loves to watch the ducks eat Cheerios. Win win win. Only she really wanted to get up close and personal with the ducks. We played a game of move-the-toddler, but she really wouldn't stay away from the edge. I decided to pick her up and hold her. She resisted and slipped from my grip. Her escape route? Over the edge into the water two feet below. Now she was in there for less than 30 seconds. Probably less than 20 as I was right behind her. I had her out of the water and back up on the shore where the moms (THANK YOU) had her wrapped in a blanket before she could start crying (which she did a lot and loudly). I had to wade to a boat launch to get myself out. Seriously, the whole thing lasted less than a minute before I was holding my wet baby trying to comfort her, but people? The image of my daughter lying on her back completely under water is not going to leave me any time soon. I still feel extra adrenaline in my system, and while I am dry, I feel waterlogged. Leila? She's enjoying Lion King and trying to climb the pub table's stool so she can play with the light switch.

Define

It has become politically incorrect to put labels on people and for some good reasons. In the past and still today unfortunately, many of these labels, black, gay, etc., are used to demean and repress those seen as Other. Yet labels have their place. Humans work better with a frame of reference. It gives us a jumping off point for our journey into the world outside ourselves. As long as we don't make the labels more important that the people we are applying them to, they are a handy tool our brains use to cope with all the input we receive.

And while labeling the world around us is important, the most important labels are the ones we give ourselves. Some are simple: brunette, short, Greek, thirty-four. Others are a little more complex: funny, friendly, smart, forgetful. Then there are the ones we use to define ourselves, the ones that shape the decisions we make and the life we lead. They can come in a variety of categories. Career: Writer, Teacher, Librarian. Talents: Writing, Knitting, Photography. Family: Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother. Throughout our lives as we grow, they change. Some disappear, others are added. The level of importance of each always morphing along a sliding scale.

Some people have shining label that glow and drive them. They become not just a label but a definition of our core selves. Actress, Athlete, Reporter, Engineer, Professor, Artist, Volunteer, Activist. Especially in our youthful adulthood the career labels often are the ones of most important or at least daily focus. The family ones obviously grow in import if you choose to start a family with a significant other and perhaps children.

I never felt the pull of a Career. I had jobs I liked, that I worked hard at, but while they were labels, they were never definitions. I always felt my family connections more even at the time of my life when they are often more in the background. I have always been the most proud of being a good daughter and sister and then wife. And when I became a mother, I found my definition. I know it is the one label I was meant to carry and turn into a definition of my self. It is hard. It is exhausting. It is my natural state of being. That is an awesome understanding, and I love the truth of that statement. Yet I worry just a little. It is a definition that is fundamentally about others, one in which I can easily lose myself to the fulfillment of my children. Other parents I know still have careers and talents that are definitions, not just labels. They are of an import in their lives that they go to extraordinary lengths to juggle all the parts of their cores. I juggle diapers and toys, laundry and a vacuum, a part-time job and workouts. And I am very content. I wonder if I should be. Is it enough to have one definition and many labels? Will labels be enough when my kids no longer need constant attention? Maybe a label or two will then change to a definition. Who knows? Maybe I'm worrying for nothing. I am glad it is just a tiny worry, a rumination, really. I wonder if I am the only one who has it.

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Pet Peeve

Here's a pet peeve of mine. Upon hearing the story of my children's births, inevitably there is someone who will say, "See all you had to do was relax to get pregnant." Um, no. First, saying that when I couldn't conceive was utterly non-helpful. Saying it now is just silly and makes you sound like you think you're omnipotent. Second, that time in my life was more stressful than any other I can remember. We'd gone through two failed matches, one of which involved an elaborate lie that kept us on the hook for over a month, and CJ's due date was changed from September to November. His birthmother had issues of her own so contact was spotty at best. We were tied in emotional knots, trying to be excited but so scared of being let down again. And somehow in the midst of all this, one lone sperm found an egg and decided to stay long term paying no attention to John's or my emotional states.
So, please, consider this a PSA. When you run into someone with a similar story, don't bluster. Just be pleased for them, thank God or Fate or The Flying Spaghetti Monster or Chaos, and tell them both kids are adorable. Don't analyze or guess or in any way try to figure out why it happened just glory in the fact that it did.
Thank you for your time.


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Even the Kids Know You're Nuts

I have what polite people refer to as independent children. I call them stubborn. For instance, I cannot feed them. If I try, say, yogurt on a spoon, they grab for the spoon to try and shove it everywhere but their mouths. They don't speak, but they say "Myself!" with their eyes.
Another way this "independence" manifests is the brushing of teeth. They will not in any way, shape, or form allow me to guide the toothbrush, so there is actual brushing. Instead I hand over the brush fully loaded with fake baby paste/gel, so they can suck and gnaw on it. I do not in anyway see this as useful dental care. My strategy has become to demonstrate what I want them to do by overly exaggerating the brushing of my own teeth. This? They find hilarious, so they are now sucking and gnawing on their own toothbrushes while laughing.
Parenthood is an absurdity sometimes.

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