What's it going to take?

After 9/11, I remember seeing a lot of people putting flag bumper stickers on their cars and talking about patriotism and even being nicer to each other, especially in NYC. While all that was great, all I could think was, why didn’t everyone act like this sooner? Why did we have to endure a national tragedy for our citizens to be proud of their country? And why does it take something awful like hundreds of innocent people dying to get those of us living to treat each other with kindness?

This thought occurred to me again on Friday as news broke of yet another school shooting. All day I saw posts on Facebook about how the events that happened in Connecticut made parents want to go home and hug and hold their kids. What I don’t get is… don’t you want to do this every day? Don’t get me wrong; I get it. I know that when an awful tragedy like this occurs, it makes each of us take a second to really appreciate what we have and we realize how fragile life is. But we need to remind ourselves of this all the time; not just when something bad happens. I can’t wait to get out of work every day and get to my kids. Their faces are my little piece of heaven and make me feel like I have a purpose in this world. I don’t wait until I hear about a school shooting or a kid getting abducted or a massive hurricane to love them. I smother my kids with hugs and kisses every chance I get. They hear “I love you” from me and their dad constantly.  In several years, they will be “too cool” for all of this, and I will still make sure that they never question how much they mean to me.

A Facebook friend posted that her kids’ school contacted the parents to let them know that starting this week, they were putting more security measures in place. Why did they wait until now? We have been hearing about this type of thing for years now.  I recently posted a status about the security when I had to visit a few local schools. What I didn’t comment about was the one school that I was able to walk right into. No buzzer or locked doors or anything. That is scary. Unfortunately, we live in a world where these things can’t be ignored.

And what about our teachers? I am seeing posts about how wonderful teachers are and how they should be appreciated. Shouldn’t they have been appreciated last week? Before we had to be reminded how wonderful they are by losing someone like Victoria Soto who died trying to protect her students? How about we all take the $1 we would have spent on a lottery ticket and buy a box of pencils for those amazing teachers who every year purchase supplies from their own money. Or we could stop overpaying professional athletes and put some of those millions into retirement funds for our educators. Just a thought…

Now that I’ve probably made a lot of people mad, I’m going to step down from my soap box and go home and hug my kids. Just like I do every night.   

Church Talk

I am not the most devout Christian in the world, and I don’t know everything that the Bible says, but Kevin and I were both raised Catholic, and we are bringing our children up that way, too. We try our best to attend church every week, and we are slowly teaching Cole (and one day, Chloe) about religion. He knows the Sign of the Cross (kind of) and that we take turns standing and sitting and kneeling (Catholic Olympics, as a friend calls it) and that he blesses himself with holy water when we leave. In his growing quest for knowledge, Cole threw me for a loop in church this past Sunday.

“Who is that man?” Points to the large Jesus on the cross at the front of the church.

“Jesus,” I say, hoping that is all he wants to know.

“Why is he standing there?” Hmm, good question.

“He’s on the cross.”

“What’s that stuck on his hands and feet?” Points to his own hands and feet.

“Nails to keep him on the cross.”

“Why they do that?” Oh, boy. How do I handle this one?

“Well, a long time ago, people were upset with Jesus, so they put him on a cross with nails and he died there. But he didn’t mind because he loves us. And it was okay because he woke up 3 days later and went to live in heaven with his daddy.”

“Oh. I want a donut.” End of conversation. Thank God. (No pun intended.)

I’m looking forward to many, many more questions in the future about religion and a ton of other topics that I won’t be fully prepared for. Kind of.  

How is he?

Since Chloe was born, a question that we get all the time is “how is Cole with her?” This is a relationship that was much anticipated for us, and we have found the answer to be quite simple.

He absolutely loves and adores her.

I have to admit that I was a bit worried about issues like jealousy or my rough little boy not knowing how to be gentle with a baby. Yes, sometimes he wants to be picked up when I’m holding her. “You can have 2,” he likes to tell me. And sometimes he thinks it’s funny to poke her in the face or try to pick her up. But while these things do come up, I couldn't be happier about how sweet and loving Cole is towards Chloe. And she just adores him. Everything he does makes her smile and stare and now she has started actually laughing out loud at her big brother. It’s the best sound in the world. I know that as the years go on, there will be plenty of fights, but I hope that they will always love each other as much as they do now.

Meeting- Love at 1st sight!

He loves giving her kisses.

She loves looking at him.

She thinks her big brother is pretty funny.

And a little bit of torture. 

Pure Imagination

I'm loving this 2 1/2, almost 3, age with Cole. Granted, he tests us about 100 times a day, but his imagination is running wild these days, and it is thoroughly entertaining.

Example for tonight:
Leaving Giant parking lot.
Cole: Daddy goes that way (points opposite direction from where we turn).
Me: Well, we live this way. Why does Daddy go that way? To see a girl? (Haha.)
Cole: Yes. (Um, okay.)
Me: Is it his girlfriend?
Cole: Yes
Me: What's her name?
Cole: Keisha
Me: What does she look like?
Cole: A princess
Me: What color is her hair?
Cole: Blue. No, orange.
Me: Does she give Daddy kisses?
Cole: Yes. I like her.
Me: Well, that's great, Buddy. (Laughing)

I can't wait to see what that little mind comes up with next.

Home Sweet Home

When I was 8 or 9, I was walking home from school one day and saw a man taking pictures of our house. I went inside to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table, and I asked what he was doing. I remember her words - that man is taking pictures because we are selling our house. I was devastated. Nothing could be worse to me at the time. I wish I knew then what I know now.

Fast forward to April 2011, and my parents told me again that they were selling our house. Only this time, I’m not a little girl. I’m married and a mom, and I don’t even live in that house anymore. So why am I just as upset?

Over the course of the last couple of months, as my parents finally got an offer on their house, had an offer they made on a new house accepted and started the process of packing and moving, they have both said to me something to the effect of “the bricks and mortar don’t make the memories.” I must respectfully disagree. That house that they are leaving holds countless memories in its walls and oh, if those walls could talk.

They would say that for 22 years, a family lived there, loved and fought there, laughed and cried there. We had good times and hard times and a lot of time in between. There were birthdays and celebrations. Parties that our friends still talk about. We welcomed new people into our family and said goodbye to others. Sundays were for watching football and family dinners. My siblings and I moved out and came back and then moved out again, finally leaving my parents with an empty nest. I got ready for my wedding there and my brother was married in the backyard. A whole new generation of our family started. It was a home for not just the six of us, but for so many others who were welcomed there, so many friends who became family.

I have my own home now with my husband and children, but this change still makes me sad. Sad that I’ll never drive down New Castle Lane again and pull into the driveway at 310. Sad that I’ll never again wonder why we only open one side of the garage or why the builder put the light switch so far back in the powder room. Sad that my parents will no longer be residents of Logan Township. Sad that my kids won’t remember the house that I grew up in and that I’ll never be able to show it to them. But if God is closing the door of our old home, I guess I’ll have to peer into the window of the new one to find out what lies ahead.

“There are places I remember 
All my life, though some have changed 
Some forever not for better 
Some have gone and some remain 
All these places have their moments 
With lovers and friends I still can recall 
Some are dead and some are living 
In my life I've loved them all.” 

 

A Baby Story

In the vast list of things that I wanted to accomplish while on maternity leave, blogging was definitely one of the top. I like doing it but never make the time and thought while I'm "off" for this time, I would be posting new blogs all the time. Needless to say, that hasn't happened even once, so I'm going to backtrack a little bit here.

It's been 7 weeks now since Chloe was born, so I'm going to now tell the story of that day. This is as much for me to remember (one of my original intentions behind blogging) as it is for anyone else who might be interested.

On Friday, June 29th, 3 days after my due date, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning with a contraction. These lasted for about 2 hours but were inconsistent, so I decided to go to work in case it wasn't the real thing. (Fast forward many hours, and I would find out it was very real.) I had Kevin and my mom on notice and went to work. My officemate thought that I was crazy when I told her that I thought I was in labor but said to keep it quiet. I didn't want anyone to know in case it wasn't real or in case my boss caught wind of it and tried to send me home. (I didn't want to waste one single day of my leave.) I worked throughout the day having the occasional contraction and causing my officemate panic at my every sound. I got myself caught up on everything I could (just in case) and left about 2:30. I called Kevin on the way home and told him I still wasn't sure but that just in case this baby was coming, I thought I should go get my eyebrows done. (Yes, I may be slightly crazy, but a new mom with 2 young kids doesn't always have time for that type of thing, so I thought I should take my chance to get it done.) The contractions started to get worse by this point, and I almost had to leave with only one eyebrow done.

When you already have a kid at home and you're pregnant, you do your best to plan for that child, but there is no way to really prepare. Sure, we had someone on standby to watch Cole, a bag packed and his Big Brother shirts cleaned. But I never thought about how he would react to Mommy being in labor. At first, it was pretty funny. He copied me as I breathed through contractions and laughed at my odd behavior. Then the contractions got worse, and as my little boy could tell I was in pain, he got really upset. It honestly broke my heart to worry him like that, so I just tried to assure him that I was okay.

With my contractions still irregular, I debated calling the doctor. And something else delayed me, too. Kevin had an important school board vote at 6pm, and I didn't want him to miss it. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm still sounding crazy.) As the pain was getting more intense, I told Kevin to go to his meeting and that I would call the doctor while he was gone. With my contractions still all over the place, the doctor told me that I could come in or not and that the choice was mine. I told her that I would come in when Kevin got home which would make it another hour or so until I could get there.

The ride to the hospital was not fun as I was in a lot of pain by that point. We got there around 7pm and went up to Labor and Delivery where I was checked. If my irregular contractions cast any doubt on the reality of my labor, when they found me at 6-7 centimeters dilated, all doubt was gone.

The next hour or so was not my best. You know when you watch those movies where the woman yells and pleads for drugs and you think that no real woman ever acts like that? Well, I did. No exaggeration. It was bad. I cried and screamed and begged my mommy to help me. (Meanwhile, my mother didn't really think I was in labor and had shown up dressed to go out to dinner with my dad. Jeez.) Kevin and my mom found my antics quite amusing and found it hard not to laugh in my face. (Nice, guys.) Waiting for the anesthesiologist to arrive, I was checked again and after being at the hospital for only an hour, I was at 9 1/2 centimeters. I couldn't believe how quickly I had progressed and of course I was worried that it was too late for an epidural. This is something else you see in the movies. The reality is that even that far along, I was still able to get the epidural. The doctor tried to tell me that we should just move forward without it, but there was no way. I pushed for 2 hours with Cole and if I had to repeat that, I insisted on doing it with an epidural. I would have liked to be tough about it, but I'm not tough. I don't like pain. I told them to get me the drugs asap. Even if that meant the baby would come a little later. Everything was smooth sailing (besides a very brief drop in the baby's heart rate) after I finally got the epidural and after less than 3 hours at the hospital and a few pushes, our daughter arrived!

Chloe Audrey Tinsley
June 29, 2012
10:06pm
8 lbs, 8 oz
20 inches
Perfectly healthy!

Yup, still pregnant.

It’s been a few years since I was last pregnant, but I feel like I remember most things. The kicking and feeling the baby move. The sensitivity to smell and wanting to eat everything in sight. What I did forget is how being pregnant somehow opens you up to everyone’s opinions, questions, and comments. And I don’t just mean your family and friends who get on you about how much weight you’re gaining or what you’re eating. Or ask what you plan to do about daycare or what you are going to name the baby. For some reason, when people see a pregnant woman, even if she is a complete stranger, they lose any filter that they may have. Here are just a few examples of things that have been said to me.

1-      A male student at my school: “I guess you’re almost ready to take a nice, long vacation, huh?” (As he points to his own stomach). Yes, buddy. Labor, delivery and a newborn are definitely equivalent to sitting on the beach with a cocktail in hand. You got me there.

2-      Several people who are apparently parenting experts: “How are you going to have 2 kids in one room?” This is usually said with a frown or skeptical look on the doubter’s face. Sure, having 2 young kids in the same room isn’t completely ideal, but that is our situation for now, and unless one of these naysayers would like to buy us a house, then I’d prefer these opinions to be kept quiet. A special thanks to a friend who is in a similar situation and made me realize that it can work and even work really well and bring the kids closer!

3-      Someone new everyday- “You got bigger!” Ask any pregnant woman if she wants to be told on a daily basis how big she is. I can pretty much guarantee the answer will be no 100% of the time. Enough said.

4-      A drunk girl at a wedding over the weekend when I told her how far along I am: “Shut the f*** up!” I just didn’t know what to say to that one.

5-      People who ask what we’re naming the baby and are told that we are keeping the name a secret: “What’s the point of that?” When we decided to find out the gender of this baby, I wanted something to still be a secret, so we chose not to share the name. I don’t understand the big deal, but some people actually seem offended. They just have to deal with it. Everyone will know soon enough.

6-      Again, someone new everyday: “You didn’t have that baby yet?” Yes, actually, I did. She is here sitting under my desk. I’m just that good.

Homestretch

As I near the homestretch of my pregnancy (5 weeks left- give or take), I wanted to document a few things, so that I won’t forget when my daughter is older and asks me about this time.

What I’m feeling (physically) - I love feeling my baby girl move and kick all the time. Sometimes it hurts a little bit, but it’s mostly good. I think it’s funny when I can look down at my stomach and actually see my her moving around. I’m definitely tired, but I feel like it could be worse. Even though some things like bending over are harder than normal to do, I feel pretty lucky to not have any major complaints with such little time left.

What I’m feeling (emotionally) - Scared, nervous, excited, unprepared, surreal. I think that about sums it up. The main thing that I constantly think about is that I can’t believe that I’m going to be a mother of 2 in a matter of weeks. I still look at Cole all the time and say “wow, he’s ours” so having a little girl around all the time is a crazy concept to me. I also feel like we haven’t done anything to prepare for this new arrival in our lives and that she is going to show up, and we won’t know what to do with ourselves. Rationally, I know that’s not really the case and that we will get everything done, but the next few weeks seem daunting with thoughts of washing baby clothes, setting up the bassinet and swing, packing our bags, getting car seat bases in place, etc. I’d like to take a week off to get ready… but I’d probably use the time to nap.

Other stuff-

We finally decided on a name for our little girl, but we are keeping it a secret.

Even if he won’t admit it, I think Kevin likes buying baby girl clothes as much as I do (if not more).

Cole is so good about hugging, kissing and talking to his sister… which warms my heart more than words can say.

I’m really trying to soak up all the one-on-one time with Cole that I can right now. One of my biggest concerns is splitting attention and “mommy time” so I’m enjoying not having to worry about that for now.

Most importantly, all 3 of us are excited about our growing family and meeting our newest member!

Sincerest Form of Flattery

If imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery, then Kevin and I should be feeling beyond flattered these days. Cole has been copying things that we do for awhile now, but it is getting to be even more of a regular occurrence.

One of the first blogs that I ever wrote was about how Kevin and Cole have a morning routine that they go through together- hair, teeth, deodorant, all that. They still do that, and heaven forbid Kevin brushes his teeth without Cole… well, let’s just say my son is not a happy camper. It’s actually come in handy with things like getting Cole to take his vitamin every morning because Daddy is taking his.

But now Cole has taken things to another level. Sometimes when I talk, he repeats everything that I say. Well, not necessarily the entire sentence, but the last word of every sentence. Yeah, that gets annoying pretty fast. And he definitely knows what he is doing, because he laughs and makes faces at me when he does it… like he knows he is up to something bad.

One day as we were leaving for daycare, I said to Cole, “let’s rock and roll.” It isn’t even something that I say very often, but now we are stuck with it. He says it to me all the time. Now he even opens the fridge and sees the bag of rolls and asks to have a “rock and roll.” I’ve tried to explain the difference, but he either doesn’t get it or chooses not to. Another favorite thing to repeat is “knock it off.” When he is acting up, I tell Cole to knock it off, and he says it right back. Hard to maintain any ounce of respect when that happens.

Last weekend, we had the moment that I had been waiting for. As a parent, you do your best to avoid it, but you know that inevitably you will slip up, and it will happen. The three of us were going food shopping, and Kevin was rearranging things in his trunk to make room for the bags. I don’t remember if he hurt his hand or what happened, but he said, “oh, fudge.” Only he didn’t use the word fudge. (Use your imagination.) I looked back at him quickly, as I was getting Cole into his car seat, and just said “language.”  Well, my 2 year old looked right at me and said, “oh, fudge.” (Again, a euphemism here.) I tried my best to do the right thing and correct him, but I started laughing so hard that I had to walk away so he couldn’t see my face. I mean, what do you do in this situation? I composed myself as much as I could, walked back over to him and explained that we don’t use that word. Now let’s just hope that doesn’t happen in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because not everyone would be so flattered by my son’s imitations.

Things We Do

I was thinking today about the things that we do for our kids. Not the run them to soccer practice or cut the crust off the bread types of things. Not the stay up until 2am working on a science fair project or watch the same episode of their favorite cartoon for the 100^th time type of things. But those not-so-often-thought-of, but just as important things. I really experienced that this weekend.

I’m finding more and more that just being able to bring a child into this world is truly a miracle. It’s not what I thought it was when I was younger- you get married, decide to have a baby and 9 months later, out comes your little bundle of joy, no consequences to speak of. It seems that infertility is so common these days (I have a good friend going through it right now), and I can’t say enough about the courage and strength of the women who endure this. Then there are the numerous complications that can occur. I know someone else who is playing the waiting game to find out if there is something wrong with her baby’s heart.... and it breaks mine.

What I went through this weekend wasn’t nearly as bad as what other people endure, but it was still a reminder. I wasn’t feeling well most of the day on Friday, but when I ended up with a fever and chills that night, I decided to call the doctor. Never too cautious when you’re pregnant, they told me to come in. After getting checked out, it was determined that I had a kidney infection. (And later said to possibly be a kidney stone, too.) Not a huge deal, right? Unless you’re pregnant. Well, I was told that I was being admitted for an unknown amount of time. That became 3 days. (I was in the same amount of time as when my son was born.) During this time, I was poked and prodded, tested and re-tested. I had to get IV antibiotics for the injection and IV fluids to keep me hydrated. They monitored me. They monitored the baby. My heart rate was high, so they did an EKG. What wasn’t high? My potassium, my iron, my platelets. All low. Along with my amount of sleep. I was happy if I got 2 hours straight during my entire stay.

The good news is that the baby is okay. She is better than me. But because I am pregnant, I get to be on antibiotics for the next 3 ½ months, with the first 10 days taking it 4 times a day. I’m still wondering when I’m going to catch up on sleep. (I guess I have about 2 months before the answer will be never.) But all of the tests and medicine and lack of sleep in the world are worth it… as long as my baby girl is okay.

The Runaway Balloon

Yesterday when I picked up Cole from daycare, he was playing with a green balloon. I was told one of the other kids brought them for everyone and that he was allowed to take it home. Well, Cole loves balloons as most kids his age do, so he was very excited. It didn’t have a string, so he carried it outside. (I tried to take it from him, but Mr. Independent wanted to do it himself.)  Well, inevitably, he dropped it. This wouldn’t have been such a problem if it weren’t for the wind… which was strong. Before I knew it, this little green balloon was flying down the sidewalk. Then it stopped. Then it started going again. I tried to catch it and just as I would reach for it, it would start moving again. Before I knew it, it was down the sidewalk. I started to chase it and then remembered why I was doing this and turned around to look at Cole. Do I really have to go after this green piece of latex or will he let me off the hook?

“Balloon!”

That answered my question. I ran in the balloon’s direction. Cole started to run after me. I told him to wait by my car out front of daycare. I kept running. Almost 7 months pregnant, in heels, I ran down the sidewalk and across the street. I ran up someone’s driveway and across their yard. I dredged through newly laid mulch onto another neighbor’s patio. There I faced the enemy. (Yes, the balloon.) I stalked around it and finally pounced. Caught! I stared down at it and then back at my son waiting for me on the sidewalk. Winded, I walked back, thinking how crazy I must be to have done all that. But when I looked at my son’s happy face, I knew it was all worth it. The things we do for our kids…

The Art of the Tantrum

Cole is learning new things every day. He is able to repeat every word we say. (This will come back to haunt us, I’m sure.) He can climb the stairs by stepping up each one instead of crawling, and he counts them as he goes. He can go into the fridge and show me want he wants to eat or drink. If I read him a book, he will “read” it himself after, and actually remembers some of the things I said. I love each of these new things. But what he has gotten especially good at is throwing temper tantrums. Needless to say, I’m not a fan.

I never know what is going to incite one of these tantrums. Sometimes I don’t fill up his cup with milk fast enough. (I guess I should be happy that he loves milk.) Sometimes I take his jacket off when we get to daycare. (I know, how dare I.) This morning it was because he had to take off his Buzz pajamas and put on real clothes. (Not an attachment to Buzz so much as an attachment to being difficult.) And other times it seems like it is for no reason at all.

It also seems that the older he gets, the more dramatic these tantrums become. It used to just be a whiny thing and a pouty lip. Then he learned the art of throwing yourself on the floor. (I remembered when my niece started to do this and how I hoped that I would never have a child who did the same.) I guess this is a common thing. And now that he is getting older, Cole’s tantrums have taken new heights. He doesn’t only stick out his lip, but the bottom teeth actually come out. He cries, yells, falls on the floor and gives me the most pathetic look imaginable. Today it even graduated to telling me no and pushing me out of his room.

As a parent, I feel like I should know how to handle these tantrums. I usually either get the urge to cuddle him to try and make everything better (if I’m in nice mom mode) or yell at him to get up and knock it off (if I am low on patience). But I guess the right thing to do is probably to ignore him. Of course, sometimes that is easier said than done.

Mad that I was leaving him with a sitter

Late Days

Once a week, I work a later shift from 11:30-8. It’s not my favorite thing to do, because by the time I get home, all I want to do is eat something and go to bed, but I do get to spend the mornings with my favorite little man. There are usually stories to tell from this time together, and today was no exception.

1. Being that it was my late day, it was dark and rainy out, and I haven’t been feeling well this week, I fully intended to stay in bed when I heard Kevin get up at 6. However, Cole had a different idea as he jumped on my head and grabbed me around the neck saying, “Get up!” Thanks to my husband for bringing him into our room.
2. Cole’s breakfast food of choice today- marshmallows. This is what he asks for every morning. And he must know it’s wrong, because he asks in this dastardly little voice with an evil look on his face and what “scheming villain hands.” Today he had applesauce and strawberries. Then I gave him marshmallows.
3. I had laundry that needed to be folded, but as Cole is obsessed with lacrosse lately, he didn’t understand why I couldn’t drop everything to play with him. He would hand me the stick and throw me the ball and then I would put the stick down while he chased the ball (because he kept missing me). But if I didn’t pick that stick right back up, he would freak out. Fun.
4. I’m trying to give my son choices in life to give him the opportunity to decide for himself. I’m not really sure if this fosters independence or decisiveness or what, but it seems like something that I should be doing. So, today, I gave him a choice of a lacrosse shirt or a Diego shirt- currently his 2 favorite things. It took a good 30 seconds of contemplation. But in the end, lacrosse won!
5. Since I have to work late tonight, Cole will be going to lacrosse practice with Kevin. (Noticing a theme here?) Well, he loves going, so I told him about it. Then I said that it was time to go to school. “No, crosse,” he told me. Oh, man, I confused him. “Yes, Bud, you have lacrosse, but not until later when Daddy gets home.” This was followed by crying and yelling and throwing himself on the floor. Bad Mommy.
6. When we walked outside, I had no idea just how nice it would be. We both had on jackets, but as soon as I got in my car, I took mine off. Which Cole naturally questioned. “Jacket off?” I told him that yes, I had to take off my jacket because his baby sister was making me hot. A few minutes later when we got to daycare and I went to get him from the car, he said, “Baby sister hot. Let me check.” Then he proceeded to lift my shirt, stare intensely, and then kiss my belly. My sweet boy.

Just another day in life with a 2 year old.

Magic

Being a mother, especially of a little boy, I know that I will have to get used to the fact that Cole is going to get hurt.  But, of course, it’s never easy. We have been lucky so far, with only minor cuts and bruises (except for one lacrosse stick injury last spring that left him with a scar over his eye). So when I got home on Thursday night from work, I wasn’t happy to find my little guy sitting on the kitchen table crying, while his daddy fed him candy to try to make him feel better. They had been at lacrosse practice all night, playing around in the mud with no issues. But when they got home, Cole was walking up the steps and fell as he reached the top, scraping his chin and hurting his thumb.

I hated seeing him so upset and it took a few minutes to calm him down, but it wasn’t anything too major. I was definitely more affected than he was. And when he said to me, “Fall. Steps. Boo boo,” it took everything in me not to cry. But my kid is pretty tough and got over it fast.  

The next night, though, we were out shopping, and I noticed that the fingernail on his injured thumb was barely hanging on and thought that it would probably hurt more if he got it caught on something. So in my infinite wisdom, I decided to get it over with and rip it off. Not such a good idea. It was lower than expected and started bleeding. Now, luckily, I had already let Cole pick out some band-aids. (They had Care Bears and Bratz, so I steered him towards Care Bears.) Now, how to get him to let me put it on. I pushed the cart carrying my crying son into an empty aisle and opened the box. I explained how Mommy had “magic” that was going to make his boo-boo all better. He cried louder and tried to hold his hand away from me, but I finally managed to (sloppily) get the band-aid around his thumb. He cried and yelled more, and I soon found myself walking around the store, carrying my 2 year old as he buried his face into my neck.

For the rest of the night, Cole treated his hand as if it was broken. He refused to use it and held it out, away from his body, as though it was on fire. Kevin tried to get him to pick things up with it, but he wouldn’t do it. He even held his good hand while giving him books and toys to hold with the injured hand, but he acted like he couldn’t hold on to anything. We were actually pretty amused but wondered how long it would last.

By Saturday, things were relatively back to normal with Cole using both hands. I think he is still somewhat fascinated by the band-aid, but in a good way now. His thumb is almost completely healed, but he still came to me this morning and asked for magic. And I happily gave it to him.

Proudly displaying his Care Bears "magic"

Losing Patience

Mornings can be kind of rough in our house. None of us are morning people. We would all sleep in if we had the choice. This includes Cole, who has been known to sleep until 9:30 on the weekends. (I’m not kidding. He did it on Saturday.) And not only are we not morning people, but we are also habitually late people. This is a bad combination.

This is our typical morning. The alarm goes off around 5:30, and Kevin asks me to turn it off. Which I do. Several times. Until he gets up around 6. Or a little after. Whenever I give up on turning off the alarm. Then Kevin gets in the shower while I continue to sleep. Or at least try to fall back to sleep after hitting the snooze button for half an hour. When he gets out, I get in, and he wakes up Cole. If he wakes up on his own, my son is pretty pleasant. He will just lie in his crib and wait for us or sometimes, he will call our names. But he isn’t a big fan of being woken up. He may cry, he may snuggle his head into you, but what he definitely doesn’t do is open his eyes. He likes to mimic a blind person for at least the first 5 minutes, feeling around for his cup, but not looking at anyone. After a few minutes of being awake, he returns to his happy self.

Now I try to do as much I can the night before to prep us for the morning. I clean up, make lunches, and lay out clothes. But no matter what I do, I cannot get us out of the house on time. When Kevin takes Cole, things are a little better for me, and I can usually get to work no more than 15 minutes late. (I know it’s not a real accomplishment, but it’s something.) But when I have morning drop-off, it’s a battle. Cole never wants to put on his jacket or shoes. Or he wants more milk. Or marshmallows (breakfast of champions). Then when I try to get him out the door, he either stands still, runs away, or throws himself on the ground. Today, I think he did all 3.

I try to be patient. I really do. But some days, it is just really hard. Today was one of those days. I negotiated. I pleaded. I yelled. I picked up my 2 year old and carried him down the stairs when he took too long. I dropped him at day care and ran out of there to get to work. And then I got in the car and cried. I cried because I’m pregnant and emotional and hormonal. But also because I snapped at my son who is the most wonderful kid in the world (in my world anyway), and he doesn’t understand why Mommy sometimes yells. And stomps her feet. Yes, sometimes I actually stomp my feet. Today, I got a call at just the right time from a friend who let me vent. Tomorrow, I’ll just have to put on my big girl pants and suck it up.

Things new for being 2

I didn’t think that it would be that big of a transition for Cole to go from being a 1 year old to a 2 year old. I was wrong. Granted, it isn’t as though these changes came overnight, but in the weeks leading up to turning 2, I have noticed that my baby is quickly turning into a little boy and there are plenty of changes (both good and bad) that go along with that.

1. The attitude. Of course I had heard of the terrible twos, but I didn’t know how it would be possible for my sweet, agreeable son to suddenly become “terrible” just because he was turning 2. But it has happened. For the most part, he is still a good kid. But he has learned how to talk back and he can get pretty feisty.  His favorite word is no, and he likes to throw hot dogs at me (among other things).
2. Mommy’s boy. Up until now, Cole has been somewhat of a Daddy’s boy. I don’t question his love or affection for me, but it was obvious who he favored. But for some reason in the past few weeks, it’s Mommy this and Mommy that, and I’ve been getting a lot more love. No complaints from me, of course. I figured it had something to do with his sense of the pregnancy. Found out from the doctor that 2 is the Oedipal age. No comment on that one.
3. Potty? This one started right after Christmas. Cole started asking to go to the potty. At first, I was really excited. I never thought that he would be ready to potty train this early. Then I realized that he was only asking after he had already gone in his diaper. Not so exciting. We are trying not to discourage him. So far, I am sticking to that. We’ll see how long it lasts.
4. Mr. Independent. Suddenly, Cole doesn’t want/need my help with anything. Time to put on his shoes. He says, “I do it.” Can Mommy carry you downstairs? No, I do it. Next thing I know, he’ll be getting his license and driving off to college. Where he’ll probably want to carry his own books to class.

Belly Love

For months, I was careful not to mention anything about being pregnant on Facebook or in any of my blogs, but now that the news is out, I am happy to finally talk about it.

As excited as I am to become a mom again, the thing that gets me even more excited is for Cole to be a big brother. People ask me if we’ve told him about the baby, and I laugh, because he knew before anyone else, including Kevin. It was Friday, October 21^st, and I just had that feeling that I might be pregnant, so I picked up Cole from daycare and went straight to the pharmacy. Within 15 minutes of being home, the results were in! I wish that I knew what Cole was thinking as I cried and shared the exciting news with him. He looked a little scared and worried, but I reassured him that Mommy was crying happy tears. I immediately racked my brain for the best way to tell Kevin, but I knew that I had to wait until he got home to do it in person. (He was with me when we found out we were pregnant the first time.) I sat Cole down, and told him that we were going to make a picture for Daddy. After guiding/forcing his hand to write the words, “I am going to be a big brother,” he seemed happy to scribble across the paper, not knowing how important his “drawing” was.

Then we waited. Kevin wouldn’t be home for a little while, and I was going crazy just sitting there. I must have called him three times on the way home, anxious for his arrival. When he walked in the door, he had a bottle of wine in his hand for us to have with dinner. (There’s irony for you.) I ushered Cole to the top of the steps with his picture held out for Daddy. Kevin’s face was priceless. It was pure shock and disbelief. Known for not being able to keep a secret, he said that we had to run right over to NJ to tell our parents. I hesitated for just a minute, and then off we went with Cole’s sign in hand. Needless to say, everyone was thrilled about our news.

I am not so naïve as to think that Cole really gets what is going on being not even 2 years old, but he acts as if he completely understands. He is happy to point out where Mommy’s baby is and gives kisses to my expanding belly. Of course, we have to be careful about where we are when he does this, because he doesn’t know that it’s not okay to lift my shirt in public. He says hi to the baby, tells him or her, “I love you” and even wished his little brother or sister a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I’m sure when the baby gets here, that it will be more real for him, and I know that he will be a great big brother, but for now, I’m enjoying every moment of his belly talk and kisses.