Summer is almost over...

 

School starts in 30 days.

The Butt Scooting Problem

Oh, mother. Who cares if my butt is always black? I's adorable when I's scootz!

At 15 months, Elodie doesn't walk.  Or pull-up on her own.  In fact, she struggles to get into a sitting position.  She lies flat on her back--like a turtle--and yells until an adult helps her sit up.  From there she butt scoots around until someone grabs her hands and pulls her to standing/walking.

Just call me The Puppet Master.

I've been worried about her lack of movement for months.  The butt-scooting thing means she's always sitting Indian style (or crisscross applesauce - the pansy way of saying it) so when she tries to pull-up, her legs and feet are all tangled up.  For a while she refused to straighten her legs when I'd dangle her above the carpet--she'd rather scream in floating Yogi position--and I was terrified there was something wrong with her legs.  The doctor frowned and wrote a referral to a developmental pediatric. 

Then!  She tolerated standing!  She took wobbling steps!  She high stepped around the doctor and muttered baby insults at him!  He tossed the referral and diagnosed her as STUBBORN.

Great.  Another one.

Elizabeth at 13 months.  She was walking--and giving me attitude--and growing MAD hair?!?  Wow.  Elodie does not have flippy curls.  Sorry.  Just noticed that.

Elodie demands that I hunch over and walk her around the house--or else she'll scoot around behind me, moaning and reaching for my pants.  (Cooking dinner is awesome, let me tell you.)  She's bored with scooting, frustrated that she can't pull up on crossed feet, and screams to be put down on the dirty public floors where she scoots and...gag...I can't even talk about the yuck that sticks to her pants...

But she's FAST!  If she wants something, she is scooting like mad, practically jumping up and down on her butt, flying across bare floors and squealing in delight.  She just won't stand up and WALK.

All the other babies in the nursery are walking.  The little neighbor girl who is 2 months younger took her first wobbling steps last weekend.  And then there's Elodie...just butt scooting along.

She'd find a whole new world (and stop moaning out of boredom) if she'd just pull up and give it a shot.

Maybe she'll be walking by fall?  Christmas?!?

The Kirkland's Rage

Me:  I'm going in Kirkland's.  I want a pair of lamps to go beside our bed.

Kevin:  Oh, god.

Me:  I'm here.  We're looking.  STFU.

Kevin:  Ugh!  This place stinks!  What the hell is that smell?

Me:  Elizabeth!  Get off that bench!  You keep your hands to yourself and stop rolling around like a fool.  Here. *hands over Elodie*  I want to look without her hanging off me.

Kevin:  *trials behind, muttering*  I hate this place.  I'm getting a headache.  Why does it always STINK in here?

Me:  It's just candles or potpourri, Kevin.  GAWD.

Kevin:  IT'S. GIVING. ME. A. HEAD. ACHE.

Me:  Ooh!  Do you like these lamps?  What do you think?  Will they look good beside the bed?

Kevin:  Sure.

Me:  Do you like them?

Kevin:  I don't care.

Me:  Why are you so pissed off?  We've been here for three minutes!

Kevin:  This place stinks and IT'S GIVING ME A HEADACHE.

Me:  Well...MAN UP because I'm digging through that pile of clearance stuff next.

Kevin:  *follows me back to the clearance, glaring*

Me:  Bwahahahaha!  Look at this!  Who would buy this?

Kevin: *evil glare*

Me:  Kevin!  You can't put Elodie down here!  Wha--  Come get these kids!  They are getting into everything!

Kevin:  Who cares?  It's all ugly shit no one wants.

Me:  *trips over Elodie*  Argh!  Fine.  WE'LL LEAVE.  You have to buy these lamps.  I left my purse in the car.

Kevin:  How much are those????

Me:  $25, Kevin.  They're on clearance.  You can afford it.

Kevin:  EACH?!?

Me:  No, dumbass.  They're a set.  $25 a set.  Here.  You can carry them.

Kevin:  GREAT!  There's a LINE.

Me:  Well, have fun with that.  I'm taking the kids to the car.

Kevin:  *stare of death*  (overheard, on way out the door)  I don't want the box.  I just want the lamps.  No, don't leave and go get the...  Fuck.  *loudly*  I hate this place!

Intentional Living Exhausts Me

Kevin and I made a New Year's Resolution to live intentionally because it sounded awesome while we were pontificating over our bottle of wine.

Basically, it means that we want to take charge of our weekends and not spend them sprawled across the floor in pajama pants, unshowered and scratching our butts, saying, "So what do you want to do today?"

"I don't know.  What do you want to do today."

"I don't know."  *scratch*

Before we know it, the weekend's gone, no one brushed their teeth, and we all feel like crap because we didn't do anything but watch our entire DVD collection.  Again.

(I hate those weekends.)

As part of live intentionally, Kevin and I brainstorm activities that we'd like to do/need to do/really want to take the kids to months in advance.  Then we Google things that are going on in our area (plays? museum exhibits? special programs at the zoo?) and schedule them. 

(I know.  Schedules.  GROUND BREAKING.)

All that what-do-you-want-to-do crap is a thing of the past.  We can look at the calendar and say, "Hey, we're painting the family room this weekend," or "Next weekend is the zoo.  I'll pick up bottled water when I run to the store."

It took 8 years of butt scratching to get here, but finally!  FINALLY!  We have a life!

Recap since May:

• Painted family room
• Freezer Cooking
• Elodie's Birthday Party
• Sorted/sold/stored baby gear and Elizabeth's too small clothes
• Garage Sale 
• Bought huge inflatable pool (and used it)
• Pittsburgh Children's Museum
• Visited family
• Planted a vegetable garden/landscaping
• Painted master bedroom
• Hosted 4th of July party
• Vacation Bible School
• Moved (and painted) Elizabeth's new bedroom

ZOMG I'M FREAKING EXHAUSTED!!!!!!!!!!

We've gone from one extreme to the other.  We're squeezing so much into our lives that we end up slumped bleary-eyed on the couch every night, too tired to do anything but stare.  Weekends aren't a relaxing break--they're a 2nd job.

We scrawled DO NOTHING! over this upcoming weekend (and the rest of our weekends) and fully intend to DO NOTHING.  Pajama pants.  Dirty teeth.  Lord of the Rings DVD marathon.  Bring it.

On My List

1. Booster Seats

I'm taking four elementary school girls to Vacation Bible School.  Their parents--who let them ride on a school bus with no seat belt at all--send them out of the house with 3 ft. wide hunks of plastic under their arms like saddles.  The seats won't all fit.  And?  We're going 3 blocks down the street.  I roll my eyes and move Elizabeth to the DEADLY!!! front seat, thanking God that I had my children now and not 3 years from now, when all parents will be required to drive a Popemobile.

2.  Day Light Saving Time

Obviously.

3.  My Suddenly Tight Pants

I don't even want to talk about it.  Okay--I do.  But I hate myself when I whine blog about weight issues because I'm just feeding into the whole HATE thing that women already have going for themselves and perpetuating a legacy of nitpicking, dissatisfaction, and shame for my own girls.  So.  I'm going to simply say my pants are tight and it annoys me.  Then I'm going to STFU and move on.

4.  Netflix  Price Hikes

Streaming only?  Have you seen your streaming options?  Howard the Duck, Uncle Buck, or all 9,000 episodes of Caillou.  Mmmm.  Tempting, but...  NO.

5. Internet "Mean"

It doesn't mean "mean", like "spiteful" or "vicious".  It means, "I don't like what you said" or "You didn't preface your opinion with lots of apologies and 'respectfully disagree' and butt sucking, therefore you are MEAN".  And?  AND?  The people who call other people "mean" are, by their own definitions, MEAN THEMSELVES.  And is this 2nd grade?  Should we all hop in our booster seats and scream, "She's being mean to me!" from our Pope Bubbles?

EDITED TO ADD:

6. Anonymous People Who Think I Should Walk to Solve the Car Seat Issue

Sure.  That makes sense.

After all, what's an hour (total) walk in July heat with 4 spastic Kindergarten/1st graders tacked on to the 3 hour long VBS!  At night!  So what if you have to drag everyone's Food Pantry Donations and your own teaching crap?  You're getting exercise, you lazy cow.

And who cares if your point was the absurdity of 4 small children not fitting into your SUV?  I mean, really!  It's more fun to dole out snide assvice about fitting back into your pants. 

Separate But Equal

Elizabeth is moving into her own room.

I tried switching their beds around, first.  I had Elodie's crib by the door and Elizabeth in the corner (newborn/nightfeeding arrangement) and never thought to change it. 

(Why?  Probably because I'm sleep deprived.)

It helps.  Elizabeth can slip in, Elodie is oblivious, and all is right with the world.  For now.

But once we hit September, Elizabeth will need to be tucked in early.  She needs 11-12 hours of sleep, and right now she's getting about 9.  With no nap.  Trust me, she's a joy to deal with after dinner.

Which brings me to my next point: I miss tucking her in with stories, devotions and prayers.  Since Elodie arrived, that whole routine has disappeared.  Kevin and I should do all that stuff in the living room before taking her upstairs, but Elizabeth is usually overtired and melting down.  All we do is manage behavior and shove her in her room when we think it's safe.

That's not right.

Separate rooms mean I can give Elizabeth the same tuck-in routine Elodie gets: kisses, cuddles, stories, lullabies.  Plus she wants to tell me about her day...or laugh and squirm in bed...or lay out her clothes for the next morning...or just turn off the light when she's ready...and she can't do that with a screaming toddler in the room.

I asked her if she liked sleeping with Elodie, and she said, "No. She wakes me up a lot."  When Kevin heard that, he stopped pushing the Sharing Agenda.  No one wants to share a room with Screech.

Then Elizabeth perked up and screamed, "Now I can have sleepovers!" which baffled us until I remembered I used that as an excuse to get her to shut up about sleepovers.  I thought I didn't have to deal with that crap until 7?

We're fighting over looking through paint chips...

...and gearing up to turn the trashed playroom into Pure Awesome.

If it's done by the 1st Day of School it will be a miracle.

Shared bedroom? I'm so over it.

Elizabeth and Elodie have shared a bedroom for one year now.  It has not been a success.  In fact, it's been a constant source of frustration.

We all survived the hell of night feedings and middle of the night screaming.  Elizabeth learned to sleep through it--eventually--but did she get a good night's sleep?  Doubtful.

We lived through the Spring of Ear Infections only to move into long summer days and short periods of darkness.  Elodie goes to bed at 7:30 and is happy to roll around chewing on blankets and catnapping until dark--but only if she's totally alone.  

We end up entertaining Elizabeth until 8:30...9:00...9:30...10:00...waiting for Elodie to be fully asleep before we sneak Elizabeth in.  And then we're hissing at a 5 year old, "Shut up!  SHURT UP!" and if Elodie wakes up, Elizabeth gets yanked out of her room to sleep on our floor until Elodie stops screaming and passes back out.  10:30...11:00...11:30...

Naturally--NATURALLY--Elizabeth knows that waking her sister up means she gets to stay up longer! And sleep on Daddy's pillow! And be carried like a baby back to her own bed at midnight!  So she is rarely quiet sneaking into her bedroom--and Elodie is always half asleep because it's shining daylight at 8:52.  Every night is a disaster.  

So why are we doing this to ourselves?  Especially when we own a three bedroom house?!?

Because it's a Cape Cod, with two huge bedrooms upstairs and a small one on the main floor.  Who goes downstairs?

It can't be Mom and Dad.  Our bed wouldn't fit in that room, and it doesn't have a closet.  It can't be Elodie, because I still need to get to her if something upsets her at night.  So that leaves Elizabeth, who Kevin still sees like this:

...despite the fact that she's almost 6, can set the dinner table, fold her own laundry, and shove NetFlix movies in the mailbox for me.  Leave The Precious all alone on the main floor?!?  That's just *sputter* NOT SAFE!  No!

He sees it as being "excluded from the family".  (The redheaded stepchild? Bwahahaha!)  I see it as "solving a problem so we can all get some damn sleep".

Kevin and I are fighting about it, while Elizabeth casually hints that her friends have TVs in their bedrooms and purple is a nice paint color.  I think she sees it as her own Purpley Big Girl space, and she'll only see it as exclusion if Kevin pulls sad mouths around her and weeps for his abused little girl. *evil stare at Kevin*

And...okay...she doesn't have to stay downstairs FOREVER.  I want the girls to share a room and live that whole Beezus and Ramona thing that my parents never forced my sister and I to do because we hated each other and she called me Pig Head and made me cry by saying my dead hamster was cold buried outside in the snow then moaning, "Jaaaaaciiii! I'm coooooold!  Ooooohhhhh!" while spraying her 80's hair with AquaNet.  

But that can come later, right?  When both kids can be tucked in together without screaming sobs.