Catch up

Yes, yes- I know I've gone missing. There has been a lot going on over here. I forgot to post last weeks ode to poop- but its up there now.

S is now doing what one should do on the potty, and for that I am thankful. She still refuses to use a potty that doesn't look like one in a house- like the ones that are in most restaurants, stores- where the bowl comes out of the wall- those have germs, she is convinced. Whatever. We're dealing.

S is also three. Three years old, using the potty and in a big girl bed. Where is my baby?

Here is my big girl relaxing towards the end of her birthday party. Her dance birthday party. She is rocking her choice of birthday hat. She is such a hat girl- I told her she could pick a hat to waer to her party- we were standing in front of the party hats at a party store- she turned her head, pointed to the next asile and said "that one" She had told me walking in she was looking for a purple hat.

S with her friend P. Note the tuxedo shirt. He brought her some awesome pink plastic flowers. Note that it felt like they were about to go to the prom. With a sippy cup.

The potty and what goes on in there

S is working on getting out of diapers. She is doing very well at peeing in the potty. After a string of accidents, her solution to pooping is apparently not to. We are on day three of no moving bowels.

This is making me very anxious. In an 'expect it when you least expect it' kind of way. I'm afraid to leave the house. I am also concerned for S's well being. It doesn't seem to be bothering her at all, but really, how long can one be backed up? Last night I touched her belly (which is looking larger than usual) and I said "That poop needs to come out!" Well, what, was I born yesterday? This alarmed S a great deal. "There's POOP in my belly?!" No.. no, just food in your belly, I assured her. "What else?" She asked, about 10 times. Not the time to bring up what happens to the food we eat.

H is no help with announcements like "All that we eat turns to poop." I've asked her to keep these observations to herself until S has mastered the potty. With my luck, and how S is wired, she'd stop eating, too.

I didn't think to ask H to not talk about germs, however, and this is becoming an issue. At a restroom in a restaurant with their father a few days ago, H apparently went on (and on) about not touching anything that there were germs everywhere. Now,this is true, and there are plenty a public restroom that gives me the heebie jeebies- but when you got to go, you got to go, especially when you are just learning how to go. J put the exclamation on the germ observation by using one of those paper toilet covers. After that day, at a restroom at a playground (which was quite clean) S looked at the toilet as if it had ants crawling all over it, and refused to sit on it. "Where the paper thing?" she asked.

I am quite possibly the only mother in the universe who tells her kid in a public restroom, with a shrug of the shoulders, "Eh? Germs? There are no germs here." Then, because I can't stand to lie so blatantly, contradict myself with "That's why we wash hands."

The lying continues at home, S says while sitting on the potty,
"no germs at home."
"Nope", I say. "No germs at home."
"Where did they go?"
"Home."
"Where?
I resist saying "GERMany". No need to alienate an entire country in her mind for the purpose of my amusement. Instead I say "Germ-land"

S isn't convinced. But she deals. She is on the potty wearing her kitty costume.
"Hold my tail" she says. "don't want any germs on it"

Writing in the bathroom while the girls are in the tub.
Because...

A beautiful spring day, outside in the garden. I'm doing some weeding, the girls are re-hiding the easter eggs- which come to think of it are still outside. I turn the hose on- briefly, I'm hoping- to spritz the pea seedlings and some violas that I won't plant today. H wants the hose. To water her garden, she says. I know better, but give her the hose, set on mist and say just don't get me wet.

S and H are misting each other until S decides to turn the nozzle to jet, and then they're soaked. They are laughing, its warm, so I don't care. I turn the nozzle back to mist and continue weeding.

They are soaking the flowers, the brick, each other. I hear S calling H a poop hat, and am pondering that comment in my weeding zen. I hear S singing a song, "watering the poop, watering the poop" H says "Don't water the dog poop!" I, still in weed zen, think, how odd, I must have missed some dog poop. "Is that poop? Don't water it" I call out. Making a mental note of that sentence being one of the many I never thought would come out of my mouth.

The hose fun is winding down, H has fallen, turns aren't being taken or given- whining is escalating- I turn the hose off. Major crying. We go inside, I begin pealing their wet clothes off.

I remember S isn't wearing a diaper. She had been doing great since she refused to put one back on after lunch. We were at a restaurant with my mom, I didn't have a pair of underwear for her in my bag- so she was going comando.

After I get S's pants off, notice the poop trail down her leg-
"was that your poop you were watering in the yard?"
"Yes" she says.
"You're not a dog!" Says H
"No! I'm a hoppin bunny! S says, majorly irriated.
"Oh. Well hopin bunnies poop in the yard too" H, the ever logical says.

I took S back out side and hosed her off.

Dressed up

S in her Easter dress with her kitty tail. The tail was part of S's Halloween costume, and has become an appendage.

H in her Easter dress in my grandmothers apple tree.

I spent a lot of time in this tree when I was little. I used to think I was so high up.

Dying and finding

The colors make me happy.

S taking it all in

As soon as the eggs are decorated, H and S want to eat them all. Its become a tradition that they each eat an egg before the dye is even dry. I remember the easter eggs of my youth, my mother complaining that no one would eat any of the eggs.

Then again, my mother bought at least 3 dozen eggs to dye each year, and that is too many hard boiled eggs to be eaten by anyone. Then there were the number of years where the egg quality was questionable. (This surely to be denied by by mother.) For example the Easter morning when I dropped an egg and it broke on the floor in front of me revealing its uncooked status, my mom exclaiming something to the effect of maybe she should have let them cook a little longer.

Action shot

The Easter bunny brought the girls cute fluffy bunnies in their baskets. The Easter bunny was thrilled to find two bunnies just different enough to be told apart, but similar enough to be equal. This turned out to be not a problem at all as one of the bunnies has morphed into a cat.

S pins the ears on hers down with her hand and introduces her bunny as a kitty. When she asks "where my kitty!?" we help her find her bunny. This seems to be the way it goes with her- before we know it she'll have everything renamed and we'll be left confused and wondering how this happened.

Pruning

S loves to cut. She'll sit for a long time with her scissors and some paper and happily make confetti. I've learned that she can cut tiny pieces of paper without cutting her fingers and so far she has kept her cutting to the paper she's allowed to cut. Better still is that with her neat freak gene I can give her a bowl when she's done cutting and she'll pick up all the pieces of confetti and put them in the bowl for easy recycling.

I have been using this love of cutting to my advantage- but until recently only for the time it provided me to do something else while S was busy cutting.

I was outside trying to clean up the garden, S was resisting and no amount of digging, bubbles or the usual outside antics were working. But THEN, I went in and got her scissors and we both spent some time getting the garden ready for spring planting.

The possibilities are endless.

The gift card

One of the many gifts H received from her classmates was a gift card to Target. I was surprised and amused at first, it seemed a strange gift for a 6 yr old. Not looking a gift horse and all that, I was never for a second ungrateful (perhaps a little envious, as I am shameless in my love of Target) I just thought it was odd. Because it was not something I would have thought of.

H was excited to use her card- I refrained on more than one occasion from suggesting how she should use it. I told her we'd go shopping one morning that H was on spring break when S was in school, about 10 days since she got her gift card. No argument, no 'are we there yet', 'is it time yet',' when are we going', etc.

A few days ago, H whispered to me that she was going to use some of her gift card to get something for S, too. She wanted to get her a teddy bear, she was going to make a card and tape a lollipop to it. She was so excited, and I had tears in my eyes that she had this idea. I said it would be a very nice thing to do, but tried not to make a big deal out of it. It really would be ok for her to use her gift card on herself, should she change her mind. I wondered if she'd stick to her plan (although she has never NOT stuck to a plan).

H came home from school one day last week with a heart shaped card with rainbows and peace signs drawn on it "This is for S's surprise" she hiss-whispered spit in my ear.

This morning, we dropped S off at school and headed to Target. H quickly decided on a stuffed Maltese that came with the name Princess and its own carrying case. Then she found a very soft polar bear for S. (S often demands "where the polar bears?" then her eyes fill up with tears when you don't have an answer. "The zoo" and "the arctic" don't suffice.)

We came home and H taped the card and a lollipop (that I found in the bottom of my bag from a trip to the bank a while ago) to the bear, and took it to school to surprise S. H was so happy that S was happy, and I had to pinch myself to keep from sobbing at the warm fuzziness of it all.

S makes a print

I have been stuck. For what seems like forever.
Someones working- these pictures light up my soul in a way that can only be as corny as it sounds. The very best part is that I swear up and down I didn't put her up to this. She said she wanted to go to the tude tude (whenever S uses her word for studio, I get "going to a go-go" in my head and have to answer her with a Mich Jaggar-esque "Every-bo-tay..") She wanted to "Roll. Right there." And I lived vicariously through her printing. The whole thing was done in about 5 minutes- but it was a good five minutes..

She draws.

She rolls.

She rolls some more.

She contemplates.

She contemplates some more.

She uses the barren... (printing on the back of a print of mine)

A print. Is that beautiful or what?

A week of snow days

The begining of the rainbow snow mural

Artistic pride

pom pom snow

We've crafted. We've baked. We've had a lot of wine. Well, some of us. H has had one day of school this week- Tuesday. She is off next Monday and Tuesday- so here we have an improptu vacation. I was not ready for this, and we've been snowed in for most of it. I may attempt to venture out today. I may need to, for all of our sanity. Yesterday J and I were out shoveling snow (for 3 hours) our neighbors were laughing, what did you do tie up the kids? No- we left them inside with a pitcher of milk, a box of cereal and Sesame Street. They were outside with us for about 20 minutes, which is S's limit for cold tolerance. Even H was a little over the snow.

Hummingbird

A portrait of my grandmother- with a hummingbird and a fox.

For whatever reason, I tend to assign animals to my family. Maybe they assign them to themselves, I don't know- my father's nickname growing up was rabbit. (I swear this has nothing to do with my previous rabbit post) His sister always called him that, into adulthood- and he holds on to that nickname to remember her, I believe. The nickname was because he raised rabbits- not because he has big ears or teeth. He doesn't hop.

My aunt, my fathers sister, had a lot of favorite animals, she had dogs, horses, she briefly loved rhinos- but the one that lingered, her animal, was a fox. When she died, the morning of her funeral, I remember looking out the kitchen window at my grandparents house, and seeing a little grey fox just sitting there, for the longest time. My grandmother told me later she saw that fox every day since my aunt died, and she always thought it was her.

My grandmother loved hummingbirds. She would to paint them in water color- and would often call me with questions- the kind of questions you can't answer about someone else's painting but I'd try. She gave me some of her paintings the last time I saw her, including her painting of a hummingbird. After she died, I saw hummingbirds everywhere. There is a hummingbird, or a few, who visit my garden every year- they hover and look me in the eye until it makes me a little uncomfortable- but I always think of my grandmother and wonder.

For the last few weeks at bath time, S has been splashing around in the water saying "I'm a hummingbird!"
The first time she said it I was shocked. "You're a what?"
" A hummingbird.", she said. Miffed that I interrupted her hummingbird splashing.
"A hummingbird."
"Yes."
I have been wracking my brain trying to think of hummingbird books, or a hummingbird that was on a show. Trying to figure out where she's learned about hummingbirds. I asked her teachers if they had mentioned a hummingbird in class. No. I have no idea where this hummingbird thing came from. I'm sure there is a logical explanation- but it does make me smile and tear up a little. My grandmother never met the girls, and I do like the idea of her watching them splash around at bath time like hummingbirds.

Lifted

I had big plans for some studio work this morning- Both H and S in school for a few hours, I was going to do nothing but immerse myself. Except we were out of food, again, so maybe I'd do a quick jaunt to the grocery store. Even though I know there is no such thing. I was almost done with the groceries and my phone rang. It was J with a message from S's school- they called to say "come get your child now because the amount of diarrhea she has been having since the second you dropped her off is spectacular." Last week at school she emptied the contents of her stomach all over the lunch table. I'm sure they're loving her- and me- at the school these days.

All these bodily fluids are putting a cramp in my creativity. So I decided to bake bread. What I really wanted to do which is dye yarn, but I am not allowing myself to pursue that at the moment. I need a new craft like a hole in the head, I haven't begun to knit through the surface of my yarn hoard. Bread I can allow myself.

While the bread was rising, I suggested to S that we go up to my studio and paint. She was game, as always when it comes to painting. We went up, I got her set up- assured her five times that it wasn't really that the white wasn't working, just that its hard to see on white paper. Maybe she should use orange. It worked, today, there have been many flip outs as a result of the white not showing up. Yes, I've used multiple colored paper- she wants to see the white on the white.

I sat down with a scrap piece of rives BFK and some black ink- the closest things at hand. I brushed a line on the paper- and it lifted something in me. I have had this revelation so many times in my life- how I can possibly forget it as often as I do astounds me. This is the pull to the studio- I need to do work so I can live with myself. I am guilty of repeatedly trying to understand the why of it, and telling myself I don't really need it.

S and I were only in the studio for about 15 minutes. She needed scissors, which were downstairs. She paints and then cuts her painting apart into tiny pieces then tapes them all to the wall. I'm working on getting her to collage her pieces, mainly to contain the scraps of paper. Its a colorful hamster cage around here. It was a great 15 minutes. Tomorrow we'll try again, with scissors.

Stuck

Its raining. There are things I want to print. There are things I want to knit.

I am instead being whipped in the face by a monkey blanket and peed all over by S who is trying to remember to use the potty but too busy elbowing me in the ribs to remember. She rolls on me, causing typos, knocking everything over. Demanding a band aid every time she bumps herself. There aren't enough bandaids in the world for this.

There are meatballs are in the oven for lunch- S's idea-" I want a meatball in my HAND", she said. They're taking some time to cook- she asked indignantly "What those meatballs DOIN in there?"

I sit- frustrated, hating myself for complaining, but wanting a studio day.

S pulls her chair up to a giant water bottle- her car. Tells me "goodbye, I'm going to my tude-tude" (studio)

good luck with that, I say. Lets go have some meatballs.

Maybe we'll go up to my tude tude after lunch.

Have you any Hay-re

Disguise

Oh no you not

Me: "on your mark... get set... GO!"
S: "No, mommy, you NOT say go, I say go. Ready... GO" and takes off.

H, singing, "a,b,c,d,e,f,g..."
S "NO H! That MY song. You NOT sing my song"

H, sitting in car, looking out the window.
S, "NO H, That MY window. You NOT look out my window."

The purple spoon

I was expecting my neighbors to stop by, one by one, holding a purple spoon as an offering to the demon child who screamed for one for an hour this morning. I am quite sure S's screams and demands could be heard for miles.

I could have just washed the purple spoon.

That would have been much easier. We had been awake for mere moments before the demands started. I negotiated getting dressed. I compromised about lemonade. Then I was sick of it. No. No purple spoon.

H, who used to love the purple spoon too, has relinquished it because her sister has such a fit if she doesn't have the purple spoon. Its not even about the purple spoon. S will act the same way with whatever color H chooses. The turquoise cup, for example. I fight this battle becasue I know it goes way beyond the color of cups and spoons. It is wearing me down. I know its for the greater good.

There must be a color stealing villain in some story somewhere- I imagine myself to be said villain. No! No color for you! I threatened once, when H was going through a similar color insistance, to replace all the colored place settings with white. No more colors! I yelled. H, not impressed at all, quietly said, "White is a color too."

H sets the table and will go to great lengths to find "not fighting" place settings. "Look!" she says excitedly, "both pink plates! No fighting!" I am at once impressed by her peace keeping skills and annoyed that she needs them.

S refused to eat breakfast with out the purple spoon. I am not exaggerating the hour long screaming. We had to take H to school, I had to drag S out to the car, couldn't get her coat on. Didn't care. S screamed half way to school then finally stopped.
"Look at the birds" she said.
I told her I saw them.
"NO" she said. "I talkin to H."

Priorities

What S brought home from school last week.

Synchonized tantrum

Just when you think you've figuring it out, is all goes sideways.
Case in point, S's tantrums.
I am being yelled at because I don't want any popcorn.
"NOOO!! You WANT COPCORN!!!"
"No thanks, I just had some. Would you like some more popcorn?"
"NO! YOU! WANT! COOOOOPPCORNNN!!!!"
I am getting a little concerned at the control freakishness that is growing and growing with no end in sight.

***
Last night, we had a fantastic duo tantrum. S wanted a tissue, but what she started screaming about was that I wouldn't let her get in the refrigerator. H was freaking out because she wanted to print. Its a bit out of context if you don't live in a printmaking home like we do, but yes, she said she wants some ink. Right now. And no, I don't condone talking to me that way- which I have mentioned time and time again. But I do understand wanting to print and not being able to, so I let it slide.

This is just a drop in the bucket- the entire video goes on for a while. This was taken at the end of the day, right before dinner. The craziest hour in this house. I was all tapped out of patience and words, so decided to record the mayhem. To step away from the situation, documentary style.

I think the tantrums dissolved earlier than they might have. I played it back for H, do you see how silly? I asked? I'm not sure she did.

(And just so you know, I did listen and explain why we couldn't print at that precise moment, but that we could after dinner, and why we couldn't hang out inside the refrigerator, but that I'd be happy to remove something from the refrigerator and present it on a plate. No children or animals were harmed, I promise.)

Why I not runnin?

We live a few blocks from a park. I take my kids there, take the dogs there, every so often I take them both there at the same time. H and I walked to the park nearly daily when she was younger. These days, I am so often on my way to or fro somewhere that I find myself driving S to the park more often than not. It was a rare day yesterday when I felt I had not only time to walk to the park, but time to encourage S to walk too, instead of strapping her into the stroller and hurrying some more.

We did stop to pick flowers of each color, and leaves, and grass- but when we weren't collecting nature we were running. S with her arms chugging, shoulders hunched up around her ears- an animated run. We got to the park more quickly than I expected, I was planning on more of a dawdling stroll, not the bolt it turned out to be. After we were there for a while and lunch time was drawing near I had a brief panic about how I would get her to leave the park with out the restraint of a stroller or car seat. I talked myself down and did reverse bread crumbs all the way home (lets walk to the gazebo, lets walk down the hill, lets walk to the silver car) we were half way home before S had her "hey...wait a minute, we actually ARE leaving the park" moment.

S wanted to run the whole way home, and was annoyed with me for holding her back at the street crossing. Once we crossed the main street on the way home, we hit a steep uphill. S asked if she could run, I said she could. She geared up, got her arms ready and gave it her all, started running up the hill. She stopped, frustrated that the hill was slowing her down, looked at me and demanded, "Why I not runnin?!"

I tried to explain the physics of running up hill, and tried not to laugh too hard, S is very sensitive to being laughed at, or even with. Though boy can she dish it out.

J and I were talking last night, after the girls were in bed, about the many things we're working towards, the many things that overwhelm us. He said, "Why I not runnin?" and we laughed again.

Its hard to be 2. So hard.

My 2 year old is not the boss of me. My 2 year old is not the boss of me. My 2 year old is not the boss of me.

S is screaming right now because her doughnut is in 2 pieces. Doughnut! I know! We don't eat the doughnuts around here very much. You'd think the doughnut existing on her plate would trump the fact that it dare split in 2, but sadly that's not the case.

If anyone were to walk by my window right now they may wonder, why is that mean mean lady typing while her 2 year old boss is writhing and screaming on the floor? Clearly very unhappy about what certainly must be extremely important? Why isn't she caring for that poor tortured child?

I have gone down the route of yes, I understand. How frustrating it must be for you that you have two pieces of doughnut. Do you want to talk about it? Yes, kick the floor. Let it out. But try not to eat the doughnut while your lying down crying.

This is the part where I feel like a trained monkey. When I get up, go to her- manage to pick her up through the flailing, and sing twinkle twinkle little star about 20 times. Then give her the other half of the doughnut that I had saved.

The joke is on S. Her doughnut was broken to begin with.