Thoughts on two

Today is the G-man's second birthday! He doesn't seem too fazed by it, but I, for one, am amazed. 

Of course, I knew I had to do a posting to mark this momentous occasion. But there's so many directions I can take this and I thought about it this weekend as we celebrated. Should I talk about how it's all gone so fast? How he's changed so much? How I've changed so much? What I'm looking forward to this next year or what I liked best about this past one?

I'd almost settled on a reflection of how I've never been bothered by toys that make noise until we were bombarded with a seemingly endless supply of LOUD sound effects when he opened his many, many noisy gifts. Seriously, he has a puzzle that could make you want to blow your eardrums out. A puzzle. Let's not get started on the tractors, trucks, airplane, magnets and more that make the THX sound test at theatres seem like a whisper. And when the clamor dies down, where to put them all?!

But then, as I was cuddling and rocking him at bedtime, my last thoughts were how lucky he is and how lucky we are. 

For two years, he's had plenty of food, toys to educate and entertain, an extensive wardrobe, friends and activities to enjoy, a comfortable, safe environment and an enormous amount of love showered upon him. We, in turn, have had the privilege to provide these without hardship, be with him at the big and little moments in his life and feel love in return. 

Sadly, not everyone can say this.

There are children his age that don't have enough of one or more of these, be it love, money or safety. Who aren't rocked to sleep because their parent is at their third job of the day, or they don't have a house of their own or they simply don't have someone that cares to do it. 

There are parents that dream of more for their kids - not the dream of upgrading their bedroom to a play suite, but the wish for comfort, security, good health, a full tummy and the opportunity to spend more time with them and see them thrive. For these parents, the challenge of finding space for all of the toys is one they'd gladly take on if it meant having toys for their little ones. Perhaps they wish to be woken in the middle of the night a million times to bring yet another drink of water instead of saying goodnight as they leave a child in a hospital.

With everything going on in our lives, it can be hard to remember that others aren't as fortunate. As G-man's birthday is near xmas, it's a little more on everyone's mind at this time of year, but I'll admit it's a topic that I've thought of many times as I've held him or shopped for him or wondered about his future. 

These past two years have been an eye opening experience. While not every moment can be called blissful (hello colic! good morning tantrum! ooh, blowout!), every moment is ours to cherish, share and build upon. I thank the G-man for helping me connect more with myself and my world, and I look forward to what tomorrow brings, as long as we're together.

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Sweet melody

One of my fantasies is to be the lead singer in a band. At the very least, maybe a member of a show chorus or have a decent voice in the shower. I don't think any of these will ever be true. But I've loved being a mom, partly because I can sing unabashedly whenever, wherever and not have to worry about what I sound like. If someone at the market hears me, so be it. I don't care what they think and I have license to croon. 

Until now.

The G-man used to love it when I sang. He would calm down as a baby, and then as he learned to talk, he'd ask me to sing certain songs. It was wonderful. I don't care if it's the same song over and over and he didn't care if I only knew one verse and it was out of tune. Then one day, he said no.

No sing. NOOOOO! (feet kick, hands thrash)

Now my go-to distraction and my feel-good parts of the day are gone. I knew someday he'd realize mommy can't sing, but I never thought it would be so soon. Does this mean he's a musical genius with a keen ear for melody? Or that my voice can make a toddler, who thinks the sound of a trash truck in reverse is glorious, cringe in despair.

So now I guess my only outlet is serenading the dog and cat, and trust me, I do this already. I can only hope they don't file a petition with the ASPCA over it.

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The Great Mitten War of 2009

Lately it's been freaky ass cold here. Mid/late January cold when it's only December. Below zero wind chills and all that jazz.

Still, the dog has to be walked and the G-man isn't old enough to stay home on his own with a cup of cocoa and crossword puzzle yet. So every morning, we pack into the stroller and head out. For these freezing days, he's been squished into a variety of layers, coats, hats, pants, sweaters, then tucked into a few blankets. Which he immediately kicks off. 

And there lies the problem.

Turns out, G-man doesn't like blankets. Or hats. Or shoes and socks. And most of all, he hates mittens.

Just mentioning mittens can toss him into a frenzy. I tried to tell him once that they kept his hands toasty. Now he loudly complains, "No toasty! No toasty!" if I even bring them out. I have three different pairs for him and all are met with overt distain. 

Every low-temp day is another battle in the mitten war. Let's face it, I need to win. Not for pride, but for his own safety and my sanity. I simply can't let his fingers freeze off. He's going to need them. Actually, he needs them now, he just doesn't realize it.

I'm not an ogre. For trips in the car or going in and out of places, he can be mitten-free. But the walk? That's a long time, made longer when I have to stop every three feet and either replace the mittens on his hands, pick up the mittens, quell the screaming dervish rebelling against the mittens or wait for the dog to find the perfect blade of grass to pee on. There's a reason we need an hour to cover 2.5 miles.

One day, while being annoyed by insomnia, I realized if I walked the dog before G-man woke up, I could avoid the daily drama. So that's how super-pooch and I came to be roaming the streets at 4:00 in the morning. Poor Tino, not only did I wake him up and get him out from under his warm covers, I didn't even offer him mittens.

Lately, we've reached an unsteady compromise: he wails, fights and wriggles for a while, then succumbs to wearing my mittens. Sure, he can still shake them off, but it takes longer. And I have the patience to keep at it. Sometimes I can even distract him for the first few moments and he'll forget he's wearing them. But really, I just need to book it and get this over with, knowing that spring is only three months away.

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Happy, healthy, safe and sound

There's a superstition that says when you see that the time on the clock has all the same numbers (2:22, 3:33, 4:44, etc.), you make a wish. I didn't really start doing it until the G-man. Now it's the same every time: that he's happy, healthy, safe and sound. 

Why is that my wish? There are so many other things I could wish for; for the world, myself or G-man. But it comes down to those four things. I think it started when I was still pregnant - that was the wish I had for my baby. It covers it all.

Happy

Of course we want our kids to be happy. But I'm not talking about the "got what I wanted" happiness, but true internal joy. I wish for him to be happy with who he is, the kind that is secure in the knowledge that he is loved and he is worth it. It's first because I think it is my overarching wish for him. Even if the other three didn't really materialize the way I think they should, I want him to enjoy his world, whatever that is, and simply know happiness.

Healthy

Truth be told, sometimes I do switch the order with Happy because I selfishly want Healthy first. If he's healthy, that's one thing less to worry about and then I can focus again on happy. But this one is pretty obvious. Other than those, uh, unique people that inflict Munchausen's by Proxy, no one wishes for their loved ones to be sick. While I know G-man is going to come down with his share of obnoxious germs, I wish I could spare him from the smallest cold to a catastrophic illness.  Above all, I hope he has a strong immune system and that sickness doesn't rule his life and, you guessed it, make him unhappy.

Safe

Another broad topic that covers the big and the little. I wish for G-man to have a safe environment, from stuff like splinters in his finger to toxins in the air. I want him to feel safe and be safe. I try not to let this turn me into an overprotective parent (in fact, my mother says I act more like I'm on my sixth than my first). I do the "right" things of babyproofing and keep him from running into the street, but I'll admit I let him eat off of the floor and run on concrete. Yet one of my biggest fears is that he'll be in a situation where he's scared and doesn't feel safe...or gets hurt/sick (unhealthy) or is not happy.

Sound

At first, this point wasn't Sound; it was Strong. But when I really thought about it, I realized that while being strong (in character, spirit and maybe physically) can be important, I'd rather he be sound. Sound in mind, sound in body. I hope that he is able to think, learn and do. Knowing who he is, how he can grow and having the ability to achieve his goals can make him safe, keep him healthy and lead to happiness.

So now you know what I really want for xmas...and beyond. 

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Chugga...chugga...chugga...chugga...

Earlier this year, the G-man had an almost unnatural affection for hoses. If we went anywhere that had a hose, he was hooked. I started compiling photos of him with the hoses about town. He talked about them in the stroller. He thought (and kind of still does) that anything resembling a hose - an electric cord, piece of rope, the phone lines - was a hose. It was cute. Odd, but cute.

Then came the lawn mowers. Oh, to see a lawn getting mowed! Professional crews amazed him. A neighbor doing a trim was fascinating. We scheduled time for scott to mow so G-man could watch. All around the neighborhood he spied mowers, heard mowers, talked about mowers. We ordered him some mower brochures from Honda to "read" and he loved them. He still gets a kick out of the lawn mower but it's nothing to call an intervention on.

After the lawn mowers, I learned he loves tractors. LOVES tractors. Needed to see them on his farm video. Was a bit wary but still mesmerized by them at the pumpkin patches. His nana and pop-pop brought him a bunch of brochures from a John Deer dealer and he perused them at breakfast and then spread them out in the living room for endless entertainment. He delighted in finding tractors in books and on toy displays. I thought this was the beginning of an obsession.

Then came...the trains. The mighty choo-choos. Seemingly overnight, he's gone from a normal toddler to one with TRAIN ON THE BRAIN. Trains are his all-consuming reason for being. I am amazed. I have never seen anything occupy his every thought like this. Such sheer focus would be almost incredible...if only...I didn't find it...a little...annoying. 

Ack, did I just say that?! His favorite thing annoys me? How can that be? I revel in every moment of his life, especially the ones that offer such unreserved joy. Finding something to make him smile makes me smile. But sometimes it goes too far.

He drifts off to sleep at night singing about trains. He wakes up talking about them. The train book is on its millionth reading. He constantly asks, "Watch choo-choo?" or "Play choo-choo?" He wants to take a toy train to Gymboree, to the dinner table, to bed. Anything lined up - a row of hedges, the dock bar on my mac, the baggage cart at the airport - draws an exclamation of "CHOO-CHOO!" I have to sing 'I've been working on the railroad' at nap time. 

He's so keen on the idea of trains that we gave him the big birthday/xmas gift from my parents last week. A train table! With three trains, loads of track (that regrettably makes sounds), a tunnel and a crane. The first day, he played with it for 10 hours. Ten. A few small breaks for food, nap and bedtime were all that stood between him and a non-stop 24-hour railroad experience. 

Since then, he's played with it, well, constantly. It's like G-man crack. I fear he has a true addiction. Nothing is as important as this train set. And before you think, well, you got a break at least while he's occupied, oh no. Not true. Mommy also has to love trains. There is a mommy choo-choo. Usually reserved for the lesser, lower track, but required to be in motion at all times. But motion according to G-man. Move it when he doesn't want you to, nudge it backwards at an inappropriate time or touch his train with it at all and suffer the consequences. The screaming, possibly tearing up of the track consequences. This activity can simultaneously bring out the best and the worst in him.

We've been humoring him, letting him set the rules and pace of the train world. Even encouraging some of the love by showing him train pictures or pointing out when the whistles blow in the distance. Today we took him to Union Station to see the huge model train display, the kid size ride-on train (at $5, it's a rip), and actual trains pulling into/out of the station. How did he thank us? By pitching a fit when it was time to go. Ok, I get it, he is thanking us by showing how much he really enjoyed being there. But is a pleasant little good-bye choo-choo instead of hello tears so much to ask for?

So now what? Do we let him overdose on trains, like when kids try cigarettes and you make them smoke the whole pack, so the mania will die down faster? Or do we enjoy that he has a "thing" that he loves and wants the world to know and see where it goes?

I kind of have my decision. I give him total train freedom but still remind him of other things to do, like his blocks, push toys and aquadoodle (where I am forced to draw many different choo-choos that, frankly, all look the same) to avoid a glassy-eyed coma at the train table. After all, there is a part of him that is not, pardon the pun, on board. I know this because I still have to set the world-record daily for listening to Five Little Monkeys; I spend large portions of my afternoon looking for the right Little People "neigh" to go with a cart; and my lap is often occupied by a wee kiddo with an impressive list of book demands.

For the most part, though, there is a train thundering down the track in my head and I'll just have to ride this one out.

What's next? Please don't let it be crickets.

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What was I just talking about?

When I was pregnant, I heard all about "pregnancy brain," the complete inability to remember anything, ever. And yes, it was as if a switch had been turned off inside. Short-term memory was but, well, a memory. At least, I think it was. 

You could get away with a lot when you claimed pregnancy brain. Lost keys. Missed appointments. Repeat conversations. It was deemed cute and so were you.

After I had the G-man, my mind didn't miraculously bounce back overnight. I attributed this to sleep deprivation, a laser-focus on keeping him alive and being overwhelmed that the hospital would send someone so obviously ill-equipped for this great responsibility home without so much as 24-hour supervision. We forgot about opening our xmas presents. We almost forgot our anniversary. We barely remembered his name or ours. Clearly, this was not the time to go on Jeopardy.

I assumed that at some point, my mental capacities would return and there would be peace in the land. Or at least eggs in the fridge. Much to my dismay, it's been almost two years and I still feel like my mind is a sieve. Sure, I remember some things, but usually around 3:00 in the morning and by 6:00, they're gone, too. I've realized that this isn't temporary. I'm suffering from Momnesia. 

Maybe it's the crapload of new information entering our brains every day from web sites, books and personal conversations. Maybe it's having to think for two. Maybe it's just that the only way we can survive some days is to have a little black hole suck out random thoughts to make room for more. Whatever it is, it's annoying. I would like to know what I came into a room for; whether or not I gave the dog a snack; what Scott's mobile number is; and how to get out of the house without having to go back in three times for something I forgot.

Too much to ask?

I was at a birthday party for one of G-man's friends this afternoon and invited myself into a conversation about this phenomenon. Turns out, I'm not the only one. The mommies in our group feel like we are all entering the early stages of dementia. How will we know if one of us really gets alzheimer's? Chances are, even if we did figure it out, we'd forget. 

I try to stay sharp but it's a losing battle. A little ground I can concede, but this is erosion on an epic scale. Sadly, you, my lovely readers, are losing as well. Momnesia sucks the ideas I want to talk about right from my mind. I have composed what I'm sure is Pulitzer-caliber material in my head only to have it shrunk down to a vague thought by the time I get the computer to wake up. I'm not talking about one amazing line I wish I could have shared, but entire topics that have vanished. Even this paragraph was better an hour ago but there was bath time to attend to and it seems my word choices went down the drain as well.

How to battle this no longer cute affliction? I could definitely, uh, wait, um...what the hell was I just saying? Who knows. But there is some cocoa calling my name. Was that it? No. Oh well.

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What a difference a day makes

They say toddlers change every day. I've found it to be more like every hour. I'm always seeing the G-man do something new or he's always discovering a great talent (like, picking his nose) for the first time. This weekend was no different, although we did have the experience of his second Halloween. 

Facebook used to have a thing about writing 25 surprising items about yourself. I'm going to modify that with 20 things I've learned in the past 24 hours.

1. I will wait in line in the cold for 2.5 hours for G-man to get his H1N1 shot

2. G-man will wait approximately 1.5 minutes before becoming bored in line

3. To some, crackers are more appealing than pizza

4. Toddlers do not like to get into costume

5. G-man likes twizzlers

6. Cute costumes get more loot

7. You can eat a kit-kat without unwrapping it first

8. If you give G-man a lollipop, he will make an epic, sticky mess with it

9. You'll never get a lion costume's mane to look good again after you wash it

10. Do not use your good brush to fluff up the lion's mane

11. If you leave a basket of candy out on the stoop with a sign saying help yourself, all of your candy will quickly be gone

12. You really can eat too much chocolate

13. Toddlers do not care about daylight savings time

14. I make lousy coffee

15. The demand for a waffle is in indirect proportion to how many waffles you have left

16. Sidewalk chalk can be used to color the dog

17. Power Wheels are more fun to push than ride on

18. If there is a puddle available, the G-man or I will sit in it

19. Anything can cause a tantrum

20. Thomas the Tank Engine is truly a terrible show

Now I wonder what I'll learn tomorrow?

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