Children – Page 14 – My Truant Pen

The less glorious times of parenthood

I think Thane may end up killing me. I debate, as I practice my breathing exercises, whether he’s different than Grey was at the same age or whether I’ve simply blocked it from my mind. I suspect, as is so often the case, a mixture of both.

I’m on my own this weekend. My husband is in Washington DC for a work conference. Thursday night, shortly before said spouse left, Thane spiked a fever of 104. The high fever point actually wasn’t so bad. As long as you were holding him, he was ok. Snuggly even. And he slept a lot. But then Saturday he woke up sans fever but with a wicked fierce grump going. Saturday had great weather — in the 50s and sunny. We went for a walk, went to the park, went for another walk. He was pretty happy in the stroller (I thought maybe this wasn’t the right weekend to start Project Teach Thane To Use His Own Two Feet, Already), but at the park, he just wanted to be held. He pitched a royal fit when I took him out at the graveyard and refused to walk.

When we weren’t walking, there was a lot of screaming. Disconsolate wailing at his high chair when presented with (oh, the woe!) his favorite foods. Bitter, bitter tears when his brother was playing with a toy he desired. That particular episode lasted about 20 minutes. Screeching, wailing and agony.

Then dinner time came. I’d made the mistake of telling Grey I’d take him to The 99 — a treat on par with few others in the 4 year old pantheon. It’s a step below Chuck E Cheese, but a step above even McDonalds, if you can believe it. I should have held my peace — I faced oath-breaking to a 4 year old, or bringing the hydra-handed fury of screech with us. Since I really didn’t feel like making dinner, I opted for the latter. Big. Mistake. Oh, the waiting! The gnashing of teeth! And that was just my reaction to Thane’s behavior! Even Grey was bothered by it.

Pity and forgiveness, fellow diners. At least acknowledge that I got us out of there FAST.

This morning, I permitted myself to hope. Maybe he would sleep late and wake cheery? Such things have been known to happen! Perhaps the sun would rise in his crib, leaving the sturm-und-drang as an operatic memory, washed away by humming the chorus to that silly sewing song in the second act? No such luck. Worse, this morning it seemed temperament-based screaming. He DROPPED a CAR on the FLOOR!!!! Has ever a child known such WOE!

And I’m left to discern whether he’s actually still in pain or discomfort in some way, whether it’s a phase, or whether he’s just arrived at 2 awfully early. Moreover, I can’t really go anywhere, and staying here is driving me nuts. I’m headed to church shortly with the boys. You’d think this would be some nice respite, but no. I’m on nursery duty. I’m contemplating begging someone to switch with me, but somehow there’s something in “Help! My kid’s driving me nuts! You take ’em for an hour!” that seems rather, I don’t know, unChristian.

I’d been hoping the ear tubes would make this sort of tantruming a thing of the past. While they’ve been fantastic in terms of verbal development, apparently they do not fix all. The truth is that Thane is focused. He wants this one particular thing, and he will expend vast amounts of effort to obtain it. It doesn’t matter if he can’t have the thing because he is not permitted to, or if he has simply failed to communicate his desires. Quite often the problem is that he wants something he can’t have (the butter dish at the 99, the toy his brother is playing with, etc.) So the ability to communicate will only eliminate a small problem.

The great thing, though, is that this same trait will be an excellent one (applied correctly) later in life. This focus and determination, turned to a scientific problem, obtaining tenure, running a marathon, becoming an Olympic athlete, or finally writing that perfect gaming system will be a tremendous asset to him. We just have to survive to get there.

On our way to the Children's Museum last week

Edited to add: Then Thane skipped his morning AND afternoon nap. Shortly after being allowed to get up from his attempt at an afternoon nap, as I was on the phone with his father, he fell down four stairs and cut open his eyebrow, leading to lots of blood and a call to the nurse line, which recommends I wake him every 2 hours tonight. (He’s probably fine, but I was alarmed.) Poor husband was totally in the dark about the seriousness (or lack thereof) of his condition for about 15 minutes as I staunched the bloodflow, which must have been really nerve-wracking for him. My cell phone finally ran out of battery. The cat vomited on the stairs. All this is to say: I’m really forward looking to Monday.

On the plus side — Dominos delivers.

Put today in the loss column

I try hard to focus on the positive, the joyful and the thoughtful. I attempt to shift my mental space from the whining (which is easy and natural) to the rejoicing. I have read that rehearsing a litany of wrongs makes you an angrier person, whereas choosing not to do so and not to practice your anger makes you actually happier. I believe this to be true. I suspect, since this is the venue where I do much of my intellectual and emotional processing, that this leads to a rather Polyanna-ish blog of my life. (Although it’s worth reminding you that Polyanna’s optimism worked!)

Anyway, that’s a long and meta intro to say that today? I’m not up to it. I can’t even tell you what exactly happened to make today one to be forgotten. It started ok — I got to sleep in until a near pre-kids hour due to an amazing and loving husband. But Thane is at such a stage. He’s not bad, not at all, but he’s demanding. I probably hauled him up onto the couch 45 times today. He wants things that are beyond his capabilities. He doesn’t really believe that I mean it when I say no. He hits his head on things apparently recreationally. And when thwarted, he throws a back-bending, writhing fit. He is, in short, 15 months old. (Aside: it’s AMAZING just how much progress he’s made verbally since the ear tube surgery. It’s VASTLY different. In the what, week? I swear his vocabulary has doubled. He OBVIOUSLY wasn’t hearing well before and now he’s parroting EVERYTHING. It’s pretty awesome.)

Grey? Well, he’s his own version of demanding. He bounces back between super-capable and frankly lazy and demanding. (AKA: four years old) He and I had a little friction this morning, which I suspect was at least equally due to me being cranky for no good reason. Then, aikido. Oh, he’s been doing so WELL. He knows the names of the techniques. His focus is amazing. He’s energetic. He listens and does well. But today we had an EPIC MELTDOWN.

I’ve always read that you should be very honest and true to your word with your children, and I have tried to be. (I think integrity is important, and I think it’s learned by example.) So if, for example, I promise him he can be excused if he has three bites, he gets excused when he has three bites — not four. I’m starting to wonder if this sets up an unrealistic expectation. Today, he wasn’t doing his rolls properly, and he’s getting far enough along that he needs to learn how to do them right, not his way. The person he was working on (lucky enough to get one on one time!) asked him to do it once more. He did it. Then the person said (apparently) “Again!”. And Grey stormed off the mat in high dudgeon and did not stop crying for about 15 minutes. It took me about 2 hours to get him calm enough to tell me what went on. And what a two hours. I had to carry him out of the dojo. He hit me. He’s getting strong and big — it hurts. I still don’t know what to do when your child hits you and you have to (for example) get out of the dojo and get home. You’d be amazed at how quickly your back-brain steps in when someone, even your own beloved child, hits you in the mouth. (For the record what I did do was pin his hands to get him in the car, not give him his DS, go straight home instead of to our usual post-aikido treat, and send him to his room for the next hour and a half or so.)

We all stumbled our way, grumpy, through the remainder of the evening. We put the boys to bed about an hour and half early, based on their completely exhausted behavior. And then, Grey started throwing up. He threw up while asleep. Now he throws up all the time, but this was something special. (I think the difference is that he usually throws up because of his gag reflex, so he has plenty of time and warning. This was not so tonight. I think this was actual nausea.)

So here I am, bedraggled and patience in rags. What should’ve been a joyful family Saturday was more of an ordeal. I don’t think I was my best self. Worse, I don’t think I discovered in any of this a lesson I could learn or trick I could apply instead next time — no silver lining or lemonade here.

Just the promise that tomorrow is another day.

Post surgery update

Some times of life are just more action packed than others. The last 2 days for me, for example, have been a bit more intense than normal! I did want to make sure to update everyone that Thane’s ear tube surgery went perfectly this morning and he’s now happily playing on the floor. Holding him down so they could sedate him was hard, and then watching him go still. He was terribly upset after waking up (probably because he hadn’t had breakfast yet and he had missed his nap as much as anything else). But we’re all well here now!

Looking chipper after his post-surgery nap and lunch

Thane at 15 months

Thane had his 15 month checkup today. First, the stats.

His right ear actually looks pretty ok, which is a little frustrating given that he’s headed in for surgery next week. At least his left ear looks bad, still.

Weight: 15lbs 5oz (60th percentile) — this shocks me. I could’ve sworn he was over 30. Dude is heavy.
Height: 32 inches (75th percentile)
Noggin: 19 inches (80th percentile)

He seems developmentally right on target, in social, verbal, gross motor and fine motor skills. He got three shots (H1N1, MMR, Dtap/Hib).

Thus, the nitty gritty. But when it comes to the larger question, “Who is Thane”, I’m still in the course of discovery.

Thane is determined. His attention span is breathtaking for a 15 month old. When there is an object of his desire, it is very difficult to distract him or dissuade him. He will crack out his increasing verbal skills, as well as his super-expressive body language to get his point across. Tchz. Tchz. TCHZ! (Cheese)

Words are entering into his world. He will (sometimes) follow simple instructions. For example, if he’s clinging to my leg I can sometimes rescue myself by saying “Car!” or “Ball!” and pointing. And off he goes to get the car or ball, before returning to cling to my leg. He seems to understand many simple instructions, although I always forget he can and don’t use them enough. Regular residents in his vocabulary include: car (he says this ALL THE TIME), book, ball, milk, cheese, cookie (it only takes once….), yogurt, Grey, mama, dada, dinosaur, vroom, up, down, puppy, woof woof. Other periodically expressed words are: blue, noodles, one, two, three, various letter names, leche and agua. He’s getting much better about repeating words back to me. I think he’s hearing much better right now, and I really think he wasn’t hearing well before.

Physically, Thane is the little engine that could. It’s almost impossible to change his diaper. He turns and thrashes and kicks. Not my favorite part. He climbs the stairs. He climbs chairs. He LOVES being up high, and will often demand to be put up on the couch. Then he’ll get down. Up up! Down. Up!!!! He stacks blocks beautifully, and will spend several hours carting around between 2 – 4 little Matchbox cars, carefully passing them from hand to hand, and holding them against his chest. He’s distraught if he loses one of them, and remembers. He loves using (or attempting to use) spoons and forks when I’m feeling courageous enough to let him have them. He eats whatever the rest of us are eating. He loves loves loves playing with water, and will often experiment with the milk served at dinner, to my chagrin. The bathtub is a haven of joy. He is much more patient in the car than Grey ever was, often just clinging to his beloved cars.

The brotherhood of Grey and Thane is an increasing delight to me. Grey plays really beautifully with Thane. Today Grey was blowing on his belly, making him laugh. Then he was playing peek-a-boo with Thane’s socks. Grey often plays much rougher with Thane than I would, but Thane always just laughs and laughs. I’m really struggling, with Thane, to see him as a small person instead of a baby. Grey is way ahead of us in treating Thane as an autonomous person. Last night, Grey decided Thane was hungry, got a cheese stick out of the fridge, unwrapped it and gave it to his brother (after asking me for permission). I mean, how awesome and useful is that? The boys love chasing each other around the house, although there are also the inevitable conflicts when Boy 1 has a toy that suddenly looks fun to Boy 2.

The other night, Grey decided he was a puppy (hardly an unheard of event). As “Puppy” helped me brush Thane’s teeth, Thane started saying “puppy” too, and then “woo(f) woo” just like Grey’s little barks. For a couple minutes, I had two little puppy-boys cavorting around my feet. It was awesome.

As I got dinner ready, Thane was looking particularly cute so I grabbed my cell phone to take a quick Grandma-picture. As I lined it up, Grey came around the side of the high chair and give his brother a quick, sincere hug. I couldn’t wish for a more fun family.

Baby to boy

My weekend was fantastic. It involved talking to lots of people I like on several separate occasions. I think I sometimes forget what a rampant extrovert I am, and how much I enjoy conversation.

In between my social-butterflying, I had a quiet and joyful weekend with the boys. I took Grey to buy new sheets for his bed to celebrate nighttime dryness (which, of course, is the cue for having nighttime dryness all but disappear).

And then on Sunday after church, we took Thane to Snip-Its to have his hair cut. The start was inauspicious… he was asleep in the car. What would happen upon waking? Would he scream and pitch an epic fit? Would he squirm curiously? But the dazed “just woke up” aspect actually helped considerably. He simply groggily sat in his chair, pondering the odd sensation around his ears:

Thane's inaugural curls -- glorious but out of control

They were looking particularly weedy this Sunday

As this mohawk shows, it's still pretty long

Who took my baby and replaced him with this boy?

What having children teaches you about yourself

I’d like to show you something very revealing about my personality.

This is a small portion of my desk at work:

Notice anything? Anything spring to mind? Anything?

Why yes, I might have a pen or two. Or, more likely, around a hundred, with almost no duplicates for style/color/ink type. I have more in my desk drawer. Really. I also have a larger collection at home. Really.

I love variety, especially in color. I love having today be slightly different than yesterday. I love rainbows and bold hues. I think my general taste for adventure and a kaleidoscopic life most clearly represents itself in my love of colors, which most clearly represents itself in my love of exciting writing implements. This is not an aspect of my personality I’d thought much about. I figured that the poor sods with one or two Bics on their desk were too broke to get real pens, or were trying to show off their grownupness, or possibly developed emotional attachments to their pens. (I have certain pens I always use for certain tasks — I figured that’s similar.)

Then I met my son Grey. A while back, we bought Grey these awesome LED nightlights. They come in 8 standard colors, but there’s a setting where you can make them morph non-stop between different colors. I can tell you in a heartbeat that’s what I’d choose, because it’s like not even having to make a choice, like getting them all in constant of variety. I would’ve loved that. So OBVIOUSLY that’s what Grey was going to pick, right? Right? I mean, who wouldn’t? Or at least he’d pick a different color every night, if the movement made him quesy? So teal and then pink and then green and then yellow?

No. That’s not him. He likes the green colored lights. Not the changing, not the pink or the red. Not the white or the yellow. Just green. Every night.

OK, I reasoned, maybe he like comfort and familiarity at bedtime. That makes sense, I guess.

Now I’ve spent time watching him make art. He picks his marker. Often, it’s black, gray or brown. Then he draws with that one color, for the whole drawing. And then the next. He doesn’t color (as in make things colors) ever. He draws. Monochromatically. I can always tell what he did himself vs. what he was “helped” with. Does it have more than two colors? Someone else made him do it.

After long consideration I was forced with a realization: Grey is a different person than I am. Shocking, no? He’s made out of parts of me, was created within my own flesh, has never known a world without me in it. But yet, where my desires blossom out into an infinite appetite for color, he is content with one, the same, not lacking.

I suspect that when he is a grownup, if he has a desk, it will have one or two pens on it. They’ll likely be black, or maybe blue. It won’t be because he’s unaware that there are other colors, but because he does not desire other colors. It is, I have learned, not a universal desire.

This may not seem like a big thing, but it helps me understand just a tiny bit what it means to be human. We truly, really, do not all desire the same things. What is my chief delight may not delight you at all. This is good to hold on to, that we may understand others are not wrong, but only see the world differently.

Boy update

My sons are definitely the greatest source of change and newness in my day to day life, so it makes sense that so many of my posts are about how different they are today than yesterday. But hey! They’re so different!

The biggest milestone moment lately comes with Grey. Those of you who aren’t parents (or wish to be) probably can just skip the entire rest of this post. Really. Because Grey has successfully gone sans-pullups for the last 4 nights without incident! (For those not in the know, incident here means “Having to change the sheets at 4 am”.) The ability to stay dry through the night is actually more a physical one than one he has much control over, but imagine! Having one child completely out of diapers!!! If he makes it to this weekend, I’ll take him to Target (home of all delights) and let him pick out the bedding set of his dreams. I’m thinking it will likely be Spongebob and made of sandpaper, but only because they don’t have Spiderman sheets made of sandpaper.

Grey has been super wonderfully snuggly lately. He wasn’t a snuggly baby or toddler, but he’s an extremely affectionate preschooler. The best part is that it’s not only directed at his father and me, it’s directed at his brother too. He plays very nicely with Thane, bringing him toys, using this hilarious voice to try to talk him into things “Daaaane LOOK! It’s a caaaaar!”, tickling his belly and playing peekaboo. Sometimes when Thane is dead-set on getting into one of Grey’s toys conflict occurs (which, to be fair, a dead-set Thane is a very difficult commodity). The other day I watched Grey sort of herd his brother with these not-quite-pushing body-checks all the way across the room away from Object Of Desire. I’ve never seen Grey do anything unprovoked to his brother, and he usually withstands a great deal of provocation before behaving inappropriately. (And hey, sometimes a guy wants to build a transformer out of blocks and not have his baby brother ruin it. I can dig that.)

On the flip side, Thane is actually pretty solicitous of Grey, when not attempting to eat his block-transformers. The other day Grey was playing with a Bakugan card and then turned and played with something else on the other side. Thane picked up the card and brought it over to Grey and gave it to him. Awwww!

So generally, the whole brother thing is going well.

Thane is driving me less nuts. I think he’s not sick at the moment, which is a great boon. He has two major passions in life right now: cars and dinosaur books. He often carries a Matchbox car in each hand. Yesterday when I took him out of the car to go to Abuela’s, I removed from him his two cars. When I picked him up, as soon as I put him in the carseat he started saying “ca! ca! ca!”. He wanted his cars back. He remembered. The dinosaur books are specifically the “How do Dinosaurs…” with his favorite being “How Do Dinosaurs Go to Bed”. He adores the page “Do dinosaurs ROAR?” and does his own little roar. He also loves the page “Do they up and demand a piggy-back ride?” and always says “Oh!” If you are not fast enough to volunteer to read dinosaur books to him, he will hit you in the head with it, then turn around and plop his heavy little butt into your lap. That, my friends, is clear communication.

His verbal skills are taking off. He can request his favorite foods. He says “Vroom” when playing with his cars. “Up” “down” “more” and “all done” are awfully helpful, but his main discourse is around those two passions of his. I’ll give a more complete update next week for his 15 month checkup!

RANDOM:

My mother-in-law bought me a reading chair for our bedroom (from afar) and here’s a picture of how it looks!

I wish I were a Mongol warlord

Last night after a crucible-like evening of thrown food, chores, decisions made on empty stomachs, and children who live in alternate universes in which they are Heat Blast (who does not, it turns out, generally like to sit at the table and eat his dinner politely) my husband turned to me and said, “I wish I were a Mongol warlord. I bet they didn’t feel guilty all the time.”

Practicing his Mongol castle attack skills, in case

I imagined him perched on his piebald horse, dripping in furs and beads with a menacing look. I looked at him, eating the split pea soup he’d made with a crusty loaf of whole wheat bread he’d made. “I bet that Mongol warlords don’t actually see their children very much,” I replied.

He glumly agreed with my analysis of the Warlord solution to parenting frustration problems, dipping his bread in his soup.

This morning on the way in, I was caught between my compulsive drive to listen to the news, and my great desire not to want to actually hear the news. Wrestling a heavy and recalcitrant 15 month old (almost) out of his carseat to drag him in to preschool to drop Grey off, I marveled at the complexity of my own life. There are so many moving parts and conflicting priorities.

On the average day my life is filled to the brim with problems minor and major. I wrestle with providing my children with all the things they need across a wide spectrum — from appropriate discipline to making sure that Thane has clean clothes at daycare. I work very intentionally to be a good partner to my husband. I try to eat well and exercise in order to keep my body in good enough condition to do the rest of the work. I have a smorgasboard of church tasks that I try to keep up with. In addition to that there’s my spiritual adventure – not the same, but related. Then we get to the fact people expect me to work a job and do complicated stuff and answer emails and write code. On top of that is managing my career, which isn’t at all the same thing as doing today’s work. And there’s handling the finances responsibly — have I gotten all my W2 forms yet? Can we afford to just order pizza tonight already? Do we need to rebalance our retirement portfolio? (Answer: yes, but I’m too lazy). And of course there are my responsibilities as a citizen, which range from being well informed (people tend to ask me questions, so it behooves me to have answers), to voting, to sending contributions of money and effort to wracked Haiti.

Wouldn’t it be simpler to be the harem-mate for a Mongol warlord? If not Mongol-centric, what other, simpler time might I have lived in?

I indulged the fantasy for a few minutes: maybe a Victorian lady, or Medieval peasant. I could’ve been an Anchoress.

You could argue that my degree in Medieval studies was completely self-indulgent. I rarely encounter a burning need to tackle middle English texts in my role as a software engineer. But one thing I learned about life as a Medieval scholar is that people are people, and the broad outlines of our lives have not generally changed.

Victorian ladies had wildly distorted body images, and had to work really hard to cripple themselves appropriately. They also navigated highly political lives with great opportunities for social humiliations. Medieval peasants woke with dawn, had complicated relationships with their finite communities, and had little recourse or opportunity for change and pretty much no privacy. And I really can’t imagine that being in the harem of a Mongol warlord was fun and games, even if you managed to produce some nice little male heirs. Most of all, in all those imaginary past roles, I would face a much greater risk of burying one or more of my children.

I was reading a summary biography of John Donne the other day (don’t ask). His wife bore him 12 children. Two of them were stillborn. Three of them died before they were 10. His long-pregnant wife died 5 days after birthing her final child. “In a state of despair, Donne noted that the death of a child would mean one less mouth to feed, but he could not afford the burial expenses.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_donne) He loved his children as deeply as I love mine. The poetry he wrote about them is breathtaking.

I bet Mongol Warlords don’t get to sing showtunes with their kids, either

I think I’m content to live in this busy age, when I have the most opportunity to choose the path of my own life, and when my children have the best chance of living to ripe old age of any generation ever in all history. So, after long consideration, I’ve decided that my plan of going back in time to become Mongols is right out, love. Sorry. Have you ever considered getting lost on a desert island?

A quick update on ear-related issues

At 8:40 am on a bitterly cold January morning in New England, I bundled my 14 month old into his winter gear – with practiced negotiation passing the beloved cars from one hand to the other. Our journey was short – maybe a quarter of a mile. If it hadn’t been 15 degrees and windy with snow-covered sidewalks, I would’ve walked. Even 25 degrees and moderately clear sidewalks. But no.

I wrestled him out of the car and into the clinic. I think that until he can walk, I need to leave the coffee cup at home. If you know me, you know how much it PAINS ME to admit that there is ever a circumstance before noon that I might be parted from my beloved beverage. But 30 pound squirmy 14 month old makes it unusually challenging to keep my coffee upright.

I digress.

Thane was actually lovely in the waiting room. He played with his cars on the table “Vroom vroom!”. He lost a car behind a chair, managed to reclaim it, but was unable to extricate himself. I did not laugh, but politely extracted him. The ubiquitous office ladies with perfect manicures were unable to find our referral. I suspect this has to do with the fact it was submitted on one of those new-fangled computer thingies. My pediatrician verified that the information had been submitted and accepted, so I’m unconcerned. He has an iPhone and a brand new computer system and enough savvy to go around.

Then we went to wait in the office, and this was less lovely. The number of exciting things at boy-height made it imperative to keep him off the ground. Thane does not like to be kept off the ground. I contemplated the brightly lit “on” switch for the auto-clave and the child safety covers on the power strips and decided that someone around here wasn’t aware of just what would attract a 14 month old’s eye.

The doctor came in a very long 10 minutes later. Thane’s tonsils were pronounced “tiny”. (I think that’s good.) He looked in both ears. Shocking, he found fluid in both ears. (Duh!) He recommended surgery for ear tubes. He said that we’d schedule in 3 to 4 weeks for Boston. Done! I spent more time doing the exiting procedures than we’d spent in the exam.

And there it is. Sometime before Valentine’s Day, Thane will likely go into Boston for a very quick surgery. Apparently children are only “out” for about 10 minutes. They cut a tiny hole in the outer skin of the ear drum, vacuum up the offending liquid and insert a little tube to prevent the cut from healing over. Sometime in the next 6 – 18 months the tube will fall out of it’s own accord. The procedure is meant to help prevent ear infections (by preventing the buildup of fluid) until his face lengthens and the Eustachian tubes start going down instead of straight across.

I hope that this will make Thane slightly happier. Where he is right now, he can be a delight but… I am unwilling to take him anywhere. Dinner out is disastrous. The library was extremely hard to manage. He bolts, he pulls things off, he has a very firm idea of what he wants to accomplish and if thwarted will pitch a fit. He’s ok in the safety of our own home, or in any area where it’s acceptable to put him down and let him wander. Most of the time. Except last night, where he was 100% crying if he wasn’t being held and only 30% crying as long as I had him on my hip. Not Daddy. Not Emily. Mommy.

On the other hand, he is absolutely adorable. You should hear him say “cheese”! It’s awesome.

The state of the boys

At this point in my life, the bulk of the things I have to talk about come from the kids. This isn’t a desire on my part: I keep attempting to read books, think deep thoughts, and have exciting experiences. But no kidding: it took me 45 minutes of concerted effort to manage to read a four page spread in the Holiday Economist about the last of the WWI vets. I had to insert several chapters of Danny Dragonbreath and about 20 up and down off the couches and at least one bribe to get that far — and that was with TWO other adults in the house.

Anyway, with five straight days at home, most of which were dominated by falling snow, I had ample time to familiarize myself with the two small people who rule our house.

I look perfectly happy here! You must be exaggerating.

Thane is at a really unpleasant stage. He screams. All the time. And demands to be picked up. He weighs a ton. And wiggles. This morning, for example, I had a few small goals. Namely, to eat a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, pack my lunch and pour my coffee. None of these things is done easily while holding 30 pounds of squirm. So there he is, weeping bitterly and banging his little hands against my thighs while I attempt to read the Economist article on politeness and eat my Cheerios (he was ignoring my MIL who would be happy to snuggle him). I pick him up, soothe him, and give him his favoritest toy ever: the empty milk jug and lid. He is happy. Then – oh horrors! – I move! To pour my coffee! He trails after me, milk jug in hand, weeping bitterly. I pour my coffee, pick him up, snuggle him, and place him on the floor next to a large pile of fun, plastic devices. He is happy. Then – the humanity! – I move! He tumbles after me, falling down as my legs move instead of staying where they belong (which is to say: with baby arms wrapped around them).

I give up and carry him, attempting feats such as “putting a coat on” and “packing my thermos” which really, really are better done sans baby.

And sometimes nothing I do helps. The other day I was attempting to (get this) put my clothes away!!!. I had Thane in my bedroom. One-handed, I gathered together a variety of toys, including the beloved milk jug. I sat next to him on the floor, touching. Bitter weeping. I picked him up. Bitter weeping. Nothing I did eased the heartache. ALL DAY. For FIVE DAYS.

I don’t know what’s up. Or rather, I don’t know which of the things is up. I called this morning to make an appointment to start the process of obtaining ear tubes. I suspect we might actually GET the ear tubes some time around his 18th birthday. Anyway, I really don’t think he’s feeling well, and I think his ears hurt a lot. But Tylenol + the analgesic drops I begged off the covering pediatrician over Christmas don’t seem to make much difference (although now my lips go numb whenever I kiss his fuzzy little head). I think it’s also a Stage. He wants Mommy. He wants 100% of Mommy, all the time. Daddy and Meme will do if Mommy isn’t in the room. But he just wants to be held. I don’t know if there’s anything else too… separation anxiety or 14monthishness or something, but it was really no fun. I had like 3 nice hours total with him, when he wasn’t horribly upset and was awake and playing quietly. I’ve already taken him to the doctor several times for “irritability”. I’m not sure if this is ear infection, normal stage, or if there’s something else wrong. Also, the kid is eating his body weight daily, and seems happier after he’s eaten more than any of the grownups. This is going on a bit long to be a growth spurt.

In happier news, he’s made a lot of verbal progress. I’m not convinced he’s hearing properly (see also: chronic ear infection), but he’s started pointing enthusiastically at the books he’s being read. He said “blue”, “Thane”, “Amen” and “Cheese” this week. (The cheese is HILARIOUS. The kid won’t say nose, but Mr. Moon sure will say cheese!) It seems like he won’t attempt many words he’s uncertain about, but he’ll use a word once or twice and then refuse to repeat. But I’m pretty sure he is using it once or twice.

Also, no kidding, the rinsed out milk jug is the BEST TOY EVER.

So if Thane has been a source of angst for me, Grey has been absolutely the best kid ever in the whole universe. Although well anesthetized with various screens and treats, Grey has been a delight. He’s been listening, and complying politely with requests. He played for like two hours out in the snow. He’s been super snuggly, requesting hugs and bestowing kisses. (Although usually when he gives me kisses they’re accompanied with instructions that said kisses are to be saved for his cousins Baz and Kay.) He’ll cuddle up while reading, and when I seem tired, he comes up to give me a “massage”. When eating a meal he doesn’t hate, he’ll say something like “Thank you, daddy, for making us this nice meal. It is super tasty.” I kid you not. We’re working on Christmas thank you notes, with me taking dictation, and they’re awesome. “Dear Grandma Jones, Thank you for the blocks. I like them a lot. They are awesome. It was very kind of you to give us such fun blocks. Dear Grey.” (Ok, so he hasn’t quite gotten the “sincerely” bit yet.) He and I had a fantastic time doing his new science experiments. He even helps with his brother — making funny faces to make him stop weeping.

In general, I’m having an AWESOME time being Grey’s mom. I feel like I’m falling down on the job being Thane’s mom — I just haven’t figured out how to help him. I hope I figure it out.