I am the Great Cornholio!

 

In the beginning...

I can't make this stuff up.

I AM THE GREAT CORNHOLIO!!!

And in case you wonder why Ian would emulate the venerable Beavis, here is your answer..

That kid will do anything to get Will to laugh. And I'm pretty sure there were tears, folks. I'm also pretty sure Christian was laughing wildly, shouting "I need TP for my bunghole!", and the kids were looking at him like a crazy person. Vaya Cornholio!

And I'm the Beast...

I've been holding in a lot of emotion for the last few weeks. I thought I was doing okay until I hurled a handful of plastic blocks from their perch on the stairs -- thankfully not AT anyone. But they made a hella racket.

That's not all.

There was lots of yelling, mostly by me. The yelling was followed by threats, and then one day I stomped away from Will, locked the gate at the bottom of the stairs and told him not to bother me for 30 minutes OR ELSE. [Note: our enforcement of the no-nap "quiet time" was not going well.]

He didn't bother me, and I did get to finish reading one article and a cup of coffee. But I felt like crap smeared on the bottom of someone's shoe. I really did. I was so utterly, horribly ashamed. And then I baked one of these, ate a slice, and felt somewhat more calm...

Damn those blueberries were good.

Anyway, the point is that I thought I was SO handling the stay-at-home mom thing. So on top of groceries and chores and playdates. But this lasted for about, oh, almost one month to the day since my last post here. Then an odd thing happened. I lost control. It was Lord of the Flies over here. And then I got anxious. Reaaalllyy anxious. And snippy. And kind of depressed because I was like, "OMG, this is freakin' snowballing! I'll never get out from under the chaos!"

When this happens, I tend to go into fight or flight mode. I try, try, try harder. I feel worse. I am the typical overachiever in every silly thing. Can I make the bed better than I did yesterday? Yes! I can! Can I have dinner prepped, have an educational but fun morning with the kids, and the laundry done? Yes! I can, dammit!

But here's the thing. All the DOING makes me such a serious bitch who gets annoyed at her kids for just being kids. Cause, you know, kids sometimes get in the way of all that doing. Duh. When I get like that, I even bore myself. Honestly. It makes me want to hit a Cornell frat party on the way home from swim lessons at the Y and just LET LOOSE.

And the worse part is that I stop enjoying my time home with the boys. I'm almost positive they stop enjoying their time home with me... However, the lesson here for me is NOT to do nothing, or lower my expectations (though, yeah, I need to). The lesson is that I need to find a way to make time in the day, or the week, for only caring about or doing something for ME. At the end of the week, after all that DOING, I am a mess. I need my books, my writing, my something. I need to have no one touching, or asking, or wanting from me. I need space.

Yes, this kind of space... I know for all you experienced SAHMs, this may be another "duh." But riddle me this. How the hell does one do it?*

*And not feel like crap smeared on the bottom of a shoe.

Home Economy 101

I'm the one on the far left...

It's funny how time sometimes feels like it's moving at warp speed, and then will suddenly and arbitrarily slow down to a snail's pace. Of course, this is an illusion, but it gets me every time. For example, watching the boys ride their bikes together, climb on the monkey bars together, cut paper together. Time stands still and I tear up remembering them both as soft, blubbering babies who counted on me for every need. I fantasize about scooping them up and nestling their heads into the crook of my left arm like I did a million times at a 2 AM nursing. I even, for a moment, miss it. I miss the lack of sleep and the utter simplicity of our existence. Feed, sleep, cuddle, change, feed, cuddle, bathe, sleep.

And then I take off my rose colored glasses, and laugh out loud.

Because if you'd asked me if I wanted to stay home full time with my soft, mewling newborns--and then three and six and ten month olds--the answer would have been a resounding "No." This is for several reasons. First, it is hard. Not hard like a day at work with back to back meetings, annoying clients and a parking ticket. Hard like walking 15 miles each way to school in 2 feet of snow, and then making your own steel cut oatmeal from scratch, and then hand-paving a new 6-lane highway. At least this is how it felt to me. Second, I was scared. Postpartum depression and anxiety (it's evil twin?) had made me even more unable to make decisions than normal--and this was before I got help for it with my second. I felt deep down that this 24-7 childrearing thing needed a professional's touch. I was also deathly afraid of screwing them up by yelling, or not feeding them homemade meals, or by having a messy house.

So I skipped off back to work full time after Will was born, content to know he was in good hands at daycare and happy to be with me after work and on the weekends. It was fine. But I had twinges of doubt. I pushed them down. I had worked so hard to get where I was. Wasn't it just as important as raising my kids? Didn't I deserve to have a career, a life outside of children? So I proposed and got a two day a week telecommute option to help ease our hectic morning/evening routine--which stressed me to no end.

Fast forward (as life does), to Baby #2 and another round of PPD and anxiety. Big time. But this time I started back to work part-time, to ease back into things. Even then, I felt I needed to cherish this time (but really didn't know how), since Ian would be our last child. I hemmed and hawed. Searching for more balance, I eventually negotiated a part-time schedule. This is when things came to a head.

You know when people wag their fingers and tell you 'the grass is always greener...'? Well, those people are annoying because they are right.

Working part-time, much to my surprise, was worse (how could that be possible?) than working full-time. Worse for me mentally, worse for the kids and their schedule. Worse for my husband who picked up the slack. There are a lot of reasons this was the case for me, and I acknowledge that this isn't true for many others who work a part-time schedule. I'm not big on blaming right now, so I won't go into details. Suffice to say, after almost 8 months of a 20 hr week from home (yes, I had it that good), I upped my hours to 24, all from the office. I figured the answer was to work MORE, not less. I also had something to prove--that I was a worthy, smart, effective employee.

Almost five years after my first son was born, I finally decided to quit my "other job," and stay home with my boys. I'm an outlier, for sure. Most mothers I know do the exact opposite. Stay home while their kids are infants and until preschool, then slowly start edging back into the workforce. Not me. I'm the one who takes 5 years to make a freakin' decision. Two weeks in, I don't feel the fear I thought I would. It's hard, but hard like running a marathon each day. Not like running two. The hardest part for me is losing my "identity." And then I remember, I have no identity. I am not me. I am not who I think I am. I am a collection of parts. Move on [thank you Sarah Napthali].

So, what to call my new  job. A stay-at-home mom? A full-time, stay-at-home mom? These don't ring true to me. After all, was the choice between staying with my children and leaving them, abandoning them? Not for me. And wasn't I a full-time mom before, when I left the house to work and then put in "my hours" at home? Plus, many women and men work from home these days. Like my husband. What is he? A work-inside-the-home dad? Sheesh.

I'm leaning toward some old-fashioned monikers. Like homemaker. Or home economist. These names at least capture the essence of what's going on. Women who work outside the home can make a damn good home for their families. I know this. But I also know that for me and my family, my being at home with our kids full-time--and frankly, managing the bajillions of details of our home lives for the family--will make OUR home a slightly less stressful, chaotic place. And I like that. I also like cooking meals from scratch but hate cleaning and grocery shopping.

As the one who manages those bajillion details, my new role does impact the economy of our home. I don't mean financial economy, like savings from me not drycleaning my suits and buying new high heels every fall (ha!). I mean the other definition: "sparing or careful use of something." That something is the time that my husband and I have on this planet with our children and each other. For us, the financial economics allow me to make this decision. If this weren't the case, I would use my time carefully to support our family. It's not either/or. It just is. For now.

I baked a mean apple pie in 9th grade Home Ec class. And I was proud of it. I should have known.

Hold up, wait a minute...

Ian just turned 2 years old!

So happy about the storebought Go Diego Go cake.

Are you shocked that I'm just getting around to posting the fond, icing-coated memories and reminisces? Not I. Let's say, for the sake of simplicity, that things have been a wee bit busy on our end lately. But who am I kidding? The second child pretty much always gets the shaft (gasp!).

UNLESS ...

His parents finally plopped down mucho bucks for a much better, faster camera last Christmas in order to catch the whirling dervishes that are their sons -- in SPORTS MODE.

What, you don't know it? Sports mode is how sports photographers catch the world's greatest feats of physical prowess and showmanship with an expertly-timed click of the shutter. It's also how we catch our children doing things like: smiling at the camera without snot trickling down their noses, being cute and angelic, and other similarly impressive -- and fleeting -- feats of physical prowess.

Observe ...

Ian: pre-flight routine

Will: mid-flight!

Or, for example ...

Watch the golf ball -- IN FLIGHT, heading toward C's head

But maybe the most fun are those silly moments caught in sports mode that deserve a closer look. Like Ian very seriously trying on my winter hat (Rastafari!), or Will caught in mid-kick while jamming out to some guitar rock on Rhapsody.

So, as Ian turns the corner into his second year, I really only have one lingering, burning question.



Question Authority Boy

How did we go from here ...

To here ...





In only two years?

Thank God for sports mode, that's all I can say. Without it, I might have blinked and missed it.

The Limit

I've finally reached my limit on being cooped up indoors with several feet of snow outside and several feet of dirty laundry inside. The nasty stomach bug is on the wane--what did we do wrong, God?--and I repeat to myself over and over how lucky I am NOT to be a single parent. What would I do if I had no one to help? I shudder to think.

And once this limit has been reached, I approach near insanity with rapid-fire thoughts about what to clean first, cook first, organize first, throw away first. Of course, because EVERYTHING MUST GET DONE NOW!

Whatever. Truth is, nothing will get done today except some snow shoveling, bathroom cleaning (we've reached critical proportions), and perhaps coffee / hot cocoa drinking at the local coffee shop. For if I create a swirling mass of intensity around myself for the next two days, I will continue screaming at my preschooler for no reason ("How much tape does one person need??!!!"), and telling my poor toddler with a chapped bottom to "Come on, stop whining."

Who is this person? A shadow of my former self. And I blame it all on Old Man Winter and his minions.

And now, as Jon Stewart would say, here is your TBurg Thompsons moment of zen...

Snow on twigs.

Snow leaves.

Ian on top of the world.

Will snarfing snow.

Our lovely abode.

The sun is back there, I swear!

Ian snarfing snow.

Um, maybe they were hungry?!

To Be a Child...

Ah, to be a toddler. The endless curiousity, boundless energy, passionate activity. Complete lack of self-consciousness. Not feeling the need to hold in your feelings. Hugging a lot. Snuggling. Playing...

"Say Freeeezzzzeeee!"

Taking a nap wherever you happen to be, even if it's in the middle of a frozen glacial lake face up on a plastic sled. Yes, that's Ian SLEEPING on the sled. Apparently Nina was pulling him along as Will and she tromped on the ice, chatting up several ice fishermen. Ian started whining, telling her he wanted to "go night night," so she told him he could just rest on the sled. And voila. Amazing.

But at first glance, he does kind of look dead... It was a brutal expedition.

In case you're wondering, this is what we do up here in the frigid north. Take our small children for long walks on frozen lakes when it's a balmy 20 degrees. Hey, the sun's shining, isn't it?

Come on spring, come on.......

Notes on Life

Ian can "dress" himself too.

As summer fades into fall (yes, already fall up here in the Great White North), I can't help but get that excited first-day-of-school feeling. That new beginnings vibe...

The summer was good, but very busy. With all our recent transitions, things were finally sort of settling down. Until this month, when Will starts preschool and I change my work days -- yet again.

And during that long, warm summer, Ian has changed from a baby to a full-fledged toddler. I don't know when it happened, but it did. He's 17 months now, and is running like crazy, talking and quickly mastering the temper tantrum.

Some highlights:

• Fang-a-licious -- Ian has finally gotten in his canine teeth, and I think he might be getting in his 2 year molars (??) already. He had some rough teething patches, but things seem better now.
• That said, Ian is still not capable (it seems) of taking single bites of any food. If it's a large chunk, he shoves it in. If I cut it into toddler-sized pieces, he shoves them ALL in. If I hand him one piece at a time to eat, he grabs the other pieces from my open hand and shoves them in... *Sigh*
• Apparently for Ian, eating and drinking is like patting his head and rubbing his tummy. Too much coordination required... He will spit out an entire wad of chewed food if offered a beverage to wash it down. Ditto if you offer him something else (better) to eat while he's chewing food. Very gross and rating right up there with "most annoying toddler habits."
• Ian is talking! Some words he says a lot right now: Mommy, Daddy, ball, big, truck (pronounced F*!*k), dog, bunny, puppy, pancake, milk, car (as in "cool car"), motorcycle (believe it or not), bike, golf ball, golf club, barn, ride, stroller, night night, bye, Hi, Nina, Pop pop, No, mine, Mouse, snack, banana, up, down, bagel, Will, etc. Wow! That's a lot of words, now that I write them down..
• And those words are becoming sentences:
• "Go night night"
• "Big ball/barn/book/truck/dog."
• "Don't like it."
• "Want milk."
• "Let's roll!"
• "We made it!"
• "Read book."
• "Cool car."
• Favorite activities: Hitting golf balls; pushing his Radio Flyer wagon; throwing himself off the sofa/stairs/out of the wagon; swinging; chasing our cat, Mouse (he even managed to wedge himself under our bed the other day trying to get him); puddle jumping; playing cars with Will; "reading" books; drawing (i.e. pulling the marker tops on/off many times); climbing anything dangerous; wrestling on the floor, WWF-style, with dad and big bro; giving kisses and hugs and high-fives.
• What he can do: Climb up stairs (working on climbing down); golf!; make silly noises with his mouth; run; dance; clap his hands; use a fork and spoon (sort of); drink out of a non-sippy cup (although messy); throw food with amazing aim and dexterity...
• Fears: Getting his hair cut (note to self, haircuts and screaming toddlers and lollipops DO NOT mix); the vacuum cleaner; brushing his teeth (ok, he's not scared, just doesn't like it).
• Things he loves: His lovey, Moomsy Cow (aka Moo-ey); fruit of all kinds; icecream; bananas; bagels; big board books with pictures/words of tons of stuff  (e.g. My First 100 Words, etc.); throwing things.

I don't have much to report on the growth side of things, since he won't have his next check-up until early October (18 months). But, suffice to say, he's wearing some 18 month clothes that didn't fit Will until he was about 2, and is into a size 5 shoe now (maybe 5.5 soon). He's still small (whatever that means), and much too busy to care about eating sometimes. So he's a slender guy -- but incredibly strong. Strong enough to hold on by both hands to the railing when he steps off the top stair and misses the next two (because we forgot to latch the gate). Thank god.

Ian (right) and his buddy Eutaw. Attitude, dude.

But his personality -- wow -- that is something else altogether. Maybe it's a second child thing, but he is a wild and free creature for sure. Not afraid of strangers (maybe just a little shy), has no fear, and loves other kids. And unlike Will at this age, Ian is more "typical" in his attention span. Will has always been able to really focus on whatever he's doing--to the point where he sometimes gets mad at us for interrupting his "projects." Ian is more apt to move from thing to thing, mostly doing whatever the big kids are doing that looks fun!

Overall though, he's a happy kid who loves to smile, be silly, kiss, hug, and tell you what he wants. Loudly. He is fiercely independent, to the point where I get a little sad that it's all happening so fast. Will is the one starting preschool, but Ian firmly believes he should be going too.

Brothers in name only?

So, I have to do a little comparison between Ian and Will. It's been almost one year, and Ian is quickly moving from infant to toddler. The past year is a complete and total blur. I honestly don't even remember how Ian got here sometimes!


I used to post a lot of stats about Will when he was a baby--since, as a first-time mom--I was obsessed with stats and percentiles. Those arbitrary numbers somehow made me feel like I was doing the right things. That said, let the comparisons begin...


When Will was a little over 11 months old, he had JUST started crawling, his FIRST tooth was peeking through, and I think he was saying "mamama" and "dadada." He also weighed in at about 22 lbs.


At the same age, Ian has just started WALKING (yes!), CLIMBING, has SIX teeth, and says "mamama" and "dadada." He weighs around 18 lbs. 4 oz (we think, at his last sick visit).


Another fun divergent fact: Will was always a great daytime napper, but had a harder time at night. But once he got the nighttime thing down (about 10-12 mos.), he was going to bed at 7 PM and waking up at 7 AM. At 3 years, Will still could take a 3 hour nap each day if we let him.


Ian, on the other hand, has never really napped well during the day, but has always been great at night. As a little baby, he drove me crazy taking 20 min cat naps all day (or sometimes not napping at all!). Now, Ian pretty much only takes one nap per day (about 1.5 hours if we're lucky), but it's hit or miss. Some days he'll take two half hour naps (gasp! not a pretty sight when he melts down at 6 PM). Other days--for no apparent reason--he'll take two, hour or so long naps, even if he slept in that morning. Ian is in constant motion, while Will literally didn't even start moving until he was 11 months old.


And eating. Both boys nursed and had formula from early on, and both self-weaned (whatever that means) at just around 11 months. We start both on solids about the same time (6 months), but Will took off from there like gangbusters. He ate baby food with no problem and was quite a rolly-polly baby (although not long). Ian, on the other hand, never really liked baby food and only now wants to eat things he can pick up himself.


He actually started on finger foods much earlier than Will. Probably because of the teeth--and just cause he wouldn't eat much else. And the doc was a little worried at Ian's 9 month check-up that he's consistently dropped weight percentiles since about 6 months. At 9 months, he was at the 4th percentile for weight -- which shocked me, since he's developing so quickly. So who knows. He was about the 25th percentile for weight when he was born.


And there ends my motherly comparison of the boys. Funny thing is that even though these guys are starting out so differently, watching them now, it looks like they still have lots in common. Mostly, a crazy mother who is already pulling her hair out worrying about the first trip to the ER.