girlfiend

F is currently reading about 6 different books. Some for the 2nd or 3rd time. Today, after exclaiming, “King Arthur!” when I was baking some instantly rejected breakfast cookies, he told me that the Magic Treehouse book Earthquake in the Morning is where he learned about King Arthur from Camelot. I thought for sure he just wasn’t getting it. He has Christmas in Camelot from the same series in his current rotation. I pressed for more details and he told me that Jack and Annie meet him in Morgan’s library. I chalked it up to his technical reading skills being greater than his 5 year old comprehension, especially since these are books he is reading solely by himself. I’m not reading any of them aloud, sticking mostly to the occasional chapter of the Beverly Cleary books he’s devouring. Later I flipped through the prologue of one of the other Magic Treehouse books. Sure enough, Morgan, who is a character in the books, works in Camelot’s library and time travels. In the Earthquake book the characters did meet King Arthur for the first time. As usual, I’m underestimating one of my kids.

T started preschool today. Loved it. It’s at the Jesus-y place up the street. I fear for the religious indoctrination, but they are really nice and he’s already pushing to eat lunch and nap there. He is pretty awesome these days, other than the fact that he is three. I am not a fan of three year olds, but he is nowhere near as bad as F was at the same age.

Miss N is walking, talking, charming, and oddly obsessed with shoes. I don’t know where she gets that. She also insists on sitting on the potty several times a day. She does not actually use the potty, and as she’s not yet 16 months I don’t expect her to, but she seems to want to. Today she said twice while reading and rereading an Elmer book that her favorite color is yellow.

Our basement is flooded, I am kind of itching to go back to work, I cut my hair short again so I’m wearing earrings more often, and F told me my belly is getting a little fat. That’s about all for now.

Yesterday at the Fun Fest at Journey’s End (no, that’s not really the name, but it’s close), the neighborhood senior center, F wanted to get his face painted. He ended up getting both arms painted instead. A rainbow with matching cloud ends on one arm and a butterfly on the other. Right now he is watching the Care Bears. I’ll reserve judgment for later.

T has been wearing underwear for 3 months now, all of his own volition. I did not suggest the move out of diapers, he insisted upon it. He is awesome at peeing in the toilet and has hardly had any accidents. He’s even been sleeping in underwear for the past several nights and waking up dry. Unfortunately he hasn’t yet made the decision to shit in the toilet. It’s a good thing we use cloth diapers or I’d be throwing out a lot of underwear.

Miss N, is now 1 and it was the most emotional of all of the first birthdays. She is delightful. Sunny, happy, sweet, cuddly, everything you want in a baby. She is still not walking, which is kind of a pain in the ass, but it keeps her firmly planted in the baby stage. I’m not emotionally prepared for a toddler.

My girl cousin, did I have a name for her on this blog? Whatever, girl cousin- damaged, called a few weeks ago to get me back together with my mother. When I last posted I wrote that I was tempted to talk to her about everything, but I feared she’d side with my mother. I was sort of right. She does think I should let my mother back in to our lives and that I’m being cruel by not allowing her to see the kids. But she gets where I’m coming from and understands why I won’t. I don’t really understand her loyalty to my mother since my mother has never had anything but shit to say about her, but I didn’t tell girl cousin that. I passed on a few links to her, figuring that her mother was just as bad, if not worse than my mother. She was enthusiastic about the links, even ordering a book from Amazon. So, there’s that. I don’t know if we’ll talk again. I don’t really see the point. She’s 15 years older than I am, so we’ve never been close.

She thinks I’m doing the kids a disservice by keeping my mother away. I disagree. But at the same time I wonder. Am I?

Now that he’s talking, and I mean really, really talking, T is even funnier than he was before. He has always had a good sense of humor. (At least we assumed he had a good sense of humor- he was a baby and all.) But now he is outright hilarious. I wish I had video to post of his comedic genius. It’s difficult to get on camera because he’s so aware of it.

Miss N seems to take after T. She is a laid back baby like he was and super-smiley. She is all baby pudge now, eating her toes, blowing raspberries and babbling. Or is it cooing? I don’t know the finer points of baby noises, even with all of my practice. She is so pleasant, so good, that when I took her to the doctor for a rash on her back yesterday I learned she had an ear infection. Or maybe it’s less about her being good and more about me not noticing she was probably up all night for a reason. Hmmm.

F is going through another giant pain in the ass stage. I won’t dwell too much on it because he’s being okay this morning. His pre-k classroom has them ability grouped and I’m proud to say he’s in the top group. Maybe I shouldn’t be too proud. He does have a non-English speaker, several young three year olds, and several kids who look like their parents are a dozen years younger than me in his class. Which means they probably had their pre-kindergartners when they were 16 years old. We were at the Harvest Festival at the park two weekends ago and he was playing in the hay with a bunch of kids. I said to B, “Guess which one is in F’s class.” Jokingly he replied, “the kid in the wifebeater?” But he was right. F goes to school with the kid in the wifebeater. But I’m still proud. He read the entire cereal box last night after dinner. Kid tested, mother approved. He’s still a shit head though. The whining is enough to make me want to punch him in the face. I don’t, because that would be wrong, but I want to. When he is not filling me with rage he is still sweet and polite. He says things like, “Mom, Mama, may you please get me more cereal?”

I need to start writing things down as they happen. There is so much going on that I’m afraid I’ll forget. At the same time I want to experience things as they happen, not photograph and craft blog posts while they are happening.

My (asshole) mother stopped by the other afternoon. I didn’t remember that she was planning to until she called half an hour before I needed to pick up F from school to tell me she’d be here soon. It was B’s birthday. She did not bother to wish him a happy one or tell me to extend the greeting. Instead she took a moment to congratulate me because T was wearing a disposable diaper. He is wearing a disposable diaper because his butt, which has always been large, grew out of all of our diapers. Once I started replacing the elastic I realized they only fit him because of the stretched out elastic. Once repaired, they were tiny on him. A friend gave us a ton of other diapers that her kids grew out of, but the covers were too small so I had to buy disposables to fill the gaps. It was not because cloth was inconvenient or because disposable diapers were easier. He was wearing a stupid Blues Clues paper diaper because I didn’t have enough cloth diapers to get him through the day. Once my mother congratulated me I immediately got on line and ordered more diapers. I don’t want her approval for creating more trash.

F is waking up at night again and wants to sleep in our room. He says he’s having bad dreams. We’re back to a sleeping bag on the floor. Otherwise he’s adjusting to school pretty well. The week or two before it started he had several accidents but that passed pretty quickly. The waking, however, is really interfering with my sleep. So is T’s waking. T isn’t waking as often as F does, but he is waking up in the middle of the night or too early in the morning and, again, really interfering with my sleep. It is totally fucking ridiculous that I have a four month old baby who sleeps through the night and my two year old and four year old do not. I am tired and grumpy this morning.

The schedule is easier than expected. We walk F to school between 8.30 and 9 then walk home. If I had to wake her for the walk I’ll feed and change Miss N before we head out for the morning. We go to story hour, the Y, the playground, the doctor, the supermarket. I clean a little, cook a little, clean a little more. We eat lunch. Sometimes the little ones nap, sometimes they don’t and we drive around for some quiet. Then we pick F up at 3. It feels busier than it is. Probably because of all of the cooking and cleaning I am attempting to squeeze into days where children don’t nap at the same time or at all. Then, of course, there are the days when they do nap and I’m forced with the decision to hand a monitor to a neighbor and run to get F before they wake, or to just wake them up and go. It is a lousy decision to make. My neighbor can basically only be trusted to ensure that the house is not robbed and that it doesn’t burn down. He does not know what to do with a child. But waking a sleeping child is just wrong. It pains me to have to do it.

I started writing this last week. I don’t know why I haven’t come back to it.

Last night T came into our room at 12.30. I had fallen asleep only an hour before and was too groggy to get him back upstairs. He climbed onto the bed and spent the the night with a body part on top of me. Sometimes it was a leg, other times an arm, at one point it was his head. I think he may have been completely on top of me in the morning. I was not well rested today. Even so, by 8.30 I’d made a batch of pancakes, a loaf of bread, mixed (but not baked) a banana bread and gotten the children dressed and F to school. As the day progressed I made it to the Y, the supermarket twice (I forgot my wallet the first time which I was lucky enough to discover before I went in), T’s gym class, and home to cook 3 lbs of sausage to add to a batch of meatballs and sauce I started yesterday and a bunch of quesadillas for us and for B’s pregnant sister-in-law. I don’t know where the motivation is coming from. It won’t last.

Tuesdays are cleaning days. Toilet Tuesday. If nothing else I clean the bathrooms.

Tomorrow T’s speech therapist, who is always late and a little bit crazy, comes. It will be a year since he started services. He talks a lot now, speaking spontaneously and repeating just about everything. F was so advanced language-wise that I don’t know if T is caught up or if he’s still delayed. It is still difficult to understand him, but he’s talking. He talks about things he does and things he’s seen and things he wants. He finally uses complete sentences, only he omits the beginning sound of just about every word he says. “ant osht in ing oom, mama” = “want toast in the dining room, mama.” It’s cute, but it takes a while to get the hang of. If he hadn’t pushed the step stool over to the fridge and gotten it himself I never would have figured out that “ushup urt” meant he wanted a crush cup of yogurt.

F can read now. He’s been flirting with it for months, but never wanted to try until recently. He knows a surprising number of sight words and can sound out multisyllabic words if he concentrates. He’s committed a number of the tricks that I’ve taught him to memory, like if you see “th” put your tongue between your teeth, and “sh” says “shhhhh.’ Right around the time he started reading he started drawing pictures that actually look like things instead of scribbles. He draws people with heads, faces, arms, legs, fingers and toes. His pictures have trees, suns, grass and roads and cars have wheels. He tells stories about his pictures and writes the names of his friends and family. He’s sleeping better now than he was over a week ago when I started this.

Miss N is a real baby now. The lumpy newborn stage is over. I love that she is a happy, giggling, foot-grabbing, toy-eating baby, but I am so sad that it went so quickly. I love the newborn stage. I love her. She rolls way more than her brothers ever did. Every time I turned around this morning she had rolled from her back to her belly then from her belly to her back. She has two teeth and more on the way. She laughs uproariously when you throw her up in the air or tickle her armpit or kiss her under her chin. It took T forever to warm up to F, but Miss N can’t get enough of her brothers. She adores them and they love her too.

We put in two bids on houses in the Poconos. Both were rejected. Now B wants to buy a pop up camper. I don’t relish the idea of having it parked in my driveway, but it’s not a terrible idea. He gives me the rye chips from his chex mix. He’s a good husband.

I’m in the middle of replacing the elastic on our cloth diapers, I’m trying to take free, stupid classes online to get the Act 48 credits I need to keep my teaching certificate (which I should have put on hold 5 years ago) active, I am tired and not always in such a good mood. But I like my kids and I like my husband and it’s all going better than I thought it would.

Miss N is almost 3 months old. She is less of a squishy, lumpy, newborn and more of an actual baby these days. It is a little bit heartbreaking.

T is speaking more and more. I don’t believe his nutty speech therapist has anything to do with it. I think he’s just ready. He isn’t always clear and with new words it often takes a while to figure out what he’s saying, but he’s talking. Sentences even. He is hilarious and sweet and a holy terror these days. He is exhausting. Not too long ago he asked for a lollipop and I told him no. He pushed his chair over to the door by the basement stairs- we have a little pantry behind the door where I can lock the treats away. He couldn’t figure out the lock on the door and turned to his brother for help. He said, “F, help, please,” only it sounded more like “[F], ep, eese.” Because he had used words and asked so nicely I didn’t stop F from helping.

F is such a big kid now. He is tall and skinny and makes poop jokes that aren’t even slightly amusing. He is funny and charming and smart. He spent the better part of an hour writing the alphabet in the sand on our vacation. He can be sweet and polite without prompting, asking our friends how they have been and thanking me repeatedly for the watering can I bought him because he just really likes it. I want to say more nice things about him, but honestly, he is being a complete asshole today and I’m so blinded by rage that I can’t think of a single thing. But other people like him and have lovely things to say about him. Just not me right now.

A few weeks ago my mother emailed to tell me she was sending movers to my house to pick up my dining room furniture. The furniture was my grandmother’s and was at my mother’s shore house up until a few years ago when she decided the salt air was no good for it and she wanted to take my more casual dining room set and replace it with my grandmother’s. She spent who knows how much money for a guy to move the furniture to my house and swap it for mine. There was no fucking way I was going to let her take it back just because she was pissed off. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I would have said okay just because she is my mother and I don’t know how to respond to any of her insane shit, but B’s immediate “no” response snapped me out of my stupor. Rather than putting anything in writing I called her and told her no, I would be keeping the furniture. She told me we would discuss it further. I haven’t heard anything since. It is strange not talking to her, F tells me that he misses her. This is the week the movers are supposed to come. We changed the locks preemptively.

Aside from the crazy the summer has been relaxing and nice. Well, relaxing except for the children because children are anything but relaxing. We’ve gone to the beach and the mountains the art museum and playgrounds. We’re trying to cram in as much as we can before it’s over.

I made a stir fry for dinner. Bok choy, green onions, sugar snap peas, carrots and steak over rice. F ate two bowls of the veggies and three servings of rice (separately, of course) and T ate three servings of rice and possibly a vegetable and maybe even a bite of steak. Either way I count it as a success.

Little Miss N is four weeks old today. She is suddenly huge. I had to pack away all of the newborn size clothes that she’s outgrown. She has even grown out of the newborn diapers- I had to switch from orange edge to yellow. She’s waking up some and holds up her head and looks around. I hung a few toys from the play mat today and for a moment, after looking through the rest of the box, I wondered if I should get some new baby toys for her to play with. Then I remembered that she is a baby and will most likely shun 90% of age appropriate toys in favor of choking hazards and my cell phone.

I failed my middle child in two ways today:

1. He wanted to use the potty after his bath while I was giving Miss N her bath. He took the potty seat and tried to put it on the toilet but got it backwards. F fixed it for him, but T needed help getting up to sit. By the time I was able to get to him, at least a minute or two after he told me he wanted the potty, he was peeing on the floor next to the toilet.

2. A few minutes later I was getting Miss N into her pajamas. T followed me in the room and sat on the glider/recliner which was in the reclined position. Somehow he managed to get his leg stuck in the chair’s footrest. Really stuck. I tried to get it out, but couldn’t- I’d already broken one child’s leg and was afraid I’d break his too. I had to call for B to come up and get him unstuck. Nothing was broken, but there is a nasty bruise on both the front and back of his leg.

It’s getting easier. I wouldn’t call it easy, but I’m managing. I keep forcing myself to get out of the house and take the boys places so I can prove that I can do it. Not just the easy places like the library or the playground, but hard places like when I took all three out to get the boys haircuts and when we went to the Please Touch Museum and to the zoo. It’s hard, but it’s not as bad as I’d anticipated. The transition from two children to three isn’t nearly as difficult as the transition from one to two. I wouldn’t recommend having three kids so close in age, ages four, two and zero as F likes to tell people, but it’s okay.

It’s been two weeks since we got home from the hospital and I am having a tough time adjusting to three kids.

Like his brother before him, T has decided that napping is for babies. With F it wasn’t that much of a surprise- he was barely napping to begin with. But T was napping for 2-3 hours a day in his crib before this nap strike. Now that he learned to climb out of his crib- the day we got home from the hospital, of course- it’s a lost cause. I put him in his room and he plays quietly for an hour, but he doesn’t sleep then he is tired and cranky. I hope it’s just a strike and he’ll go back to napping, but I fear that this may be permanent and I may lose my mind. He’s only two. He needs a nap.

The Fiendling is doing well since he adores his sister. But he’s been regressing in a lot of ways, telling me he doesn’t know how to put on his clothes or shoes and he’s been speaking this irritating brand of baby talk, either speaking nonsense (WTF is Safa and why does he keep insisting it’s on the dining room table) or adding the long e sound to everything(I want the greenie platey). I am trying to be patient, but I am not. Especially when he takes his goddamn sock off after I put it on him because even though he gave me his left foot, he wanted me to put the right sock on before the left.

The new baby is wonderful. I love newborns and wish I’d known how easy they were when I had the Fiendling. She is sleepy and hungry and has gained more than a pound in two weeks. She is up a pound and a half from her discharge weight. She is starting to wake up a little and act a little fussy, but she’s a newborn, so she’s easily soothed. I wish they were all so easy.

My mother is out of her goddamn mind and we’ve only spoken twice since she stormed out of the house 2 weeks ago. The situation is not good, and it looks as though we won’t be spending much time at the beach this summer. Which sucks for the kids, but is good for my stress level. I will write out the story one of these days, cutting and pasting from emails, but I need a good chunk of time to compose the story because it is lengthy and crazy and infuriating.

It’s tough getting out of the house and it’s tough rounding them up and getting them home. It’s not easy feeding and watering everyone and keeping everyone content. The lack of T’s nap is making it incredibly difficult for me to get things like housework and laundry done. Thank god for my friends who have been delivering meals, because we’d be eating pretzels and nutella for dinner without them. I am tired and I wish I had more time to myself. I am sick of the tantrums and one child starting to cry after another has stopped. Mornings like today, when all children were crying at the same time before nine are morale killers. I just want to get back into bed, but I can’t, because my door doesn’t lock and the kids just follow me in, crying even harder. My sister-in-law, who has been very helpful, said that she didn’t want to bother me by calling because it looks like I have everything under control. I do not. I have very little under control, but I’m trying.

I either have four or five weeks left before B is home from the summer. I hope I can make it.