Just shut up already

I ran across a quote the other day that made me really stop and think, and I found myself coming back to it over and over again for days afterwards.

"Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them."

-James A. Baldwin

I know absolutely nothing about James A. Baldwin, but after reading this quote, finding out more is on my (never-ending) list of things to do, for the simple, effective wisdom contained within this quote is astounding. 

I like to talk. A lot. I've been told many times by friends and family that one of their favourite pastimes is to simply get me a bit (lot?) intoxicated and then sit back and listen to my (never-ending) musings, rants, whathaveyous. It's quite flattering, I must say, because truly, it's one of my favourite pastimes as well. 

But children don't want to listen to that shit. Endlessly lecturing children on the rights and wrongs and acceptables and unacceptables of life is a surefire way to encourage them to tune you out completely. But socializing my children is my job. In addition to the basics of care and providing endless love and cuddles, my job is to teach them the appropriate way to act and interact in every situation. And they aren't lessons that get taught, reviewed, tested and then forgotten. They are lessons that are integral to almost every single waking moment of our day. The repetition is endless. ENDLESS. With two toddlers, it's actually BEYOND endless. And I have zero clue what resides beyond endless, but it's definitely that.

And the stakes and intensity are increasing by the day. Two, as all parents know, is an entirely different beast than the baby years that precede it. Their language and understanding and creativity and experimentation are growing by leaps and bounds every single day. It is absolutely awe-inspiring to watch. But that also means the challenges are growing by the day as well, and I have found myself falling into the "do as I say, not as I do" trap more and more often. 

I will share a truth with you: I am not perfect. I know, I know. But you must get used to disappointment around here. And so that means that my interactions with my children are not always perfect. Sometimes they're downright absurd when I stop and really think about them. For instance, The Goblin Queen gets pretty bent out of shape about, well, about a lot of things, but the one that's REALLY getting to me these days is that she loses it when I have to go to the bathroom. She. Can't. Handle. It. Even if I pick her up and bring her with me and let her hang out and apply lotion or powder or line my tampons up on the edge of the tub or whatever suits her fancy that day, she just freaks and generally stands in front of me crying while trying to crawl into my lap (I finally put the kibosh on her sitting in my lap while on the toilet recently--boundaries, people, boundaries). And do you know how fucking annoying it is to have a very small person, and sometimes two very small people, lose their minds every single time you announce you have to use the facilities? Let me assure you, IT'S VERY FUCKING ANNOYING. So I, naturally, GET ANNOYED and I find myself freaking out and telling her to just CALM DOWN. And the irony of telling someone to calm down while you are yourself freaking out is really just too much, no? 

But the reality is that getting on your high horse and lecturing someone about appropriate behaviour is infinitely easier than modeling said behaviour--yet worlds less effective, and more work in the end, as you find yourself having the same one-sided conversation again and again...and again. And while modeling the behaviours we want to foster in our children is absolutely challenging and requires focus and patience, it is perhaps a tad easier than it may at first glance seem because of one simple fact: Our children are watching and listening and processing everything we do and say, all the time, in a (never-ending) insatiable quest to learn, learn, learn. So in a way, modeling things we want to see in our children is a passive endeavour. We're already doing it--whether it's having the desired effect is the question.

Having read that quote a week or so ago, I became more conscious of some behaviours already present in TGQ especially that come directly from The Barbarian and me without our ever having focused on making them a lesson, and it's definitely a mixed bag. The one that snapped me back to reality was witnessing her twice now bite her nails. SHIT. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I have battled with nail-biting my entire life, and although the practice and its effects have lessened considerably over the years (I actually have nails and intact skin around them now), I do absolutely still bite my nails. It's more of a grooming style at this point, though. The Barbarian has taken the place of my father in admonishing me to just cut the damn thing and be done with it, but when I have a nail splitting, I bite it off. It's infinitely quicker and more convenient. I mean, ostensibly, that's what teeth are for, right? They're tools. Just as fingers are tools to pick boogers. I'm pretty sure we're born with the equipment needed for basic self-care. We wouldn't have gotten very far as a species if we found ourselves otherwise. BUT. Having said that, biting nails just for the sake of biting them is a habit I don't really want to encourage in my children, especially not at two years old. So being aware of and changing that habit has now been added to my (never-ending) list of things to do.

But the other behaviour we've noticed in TGQ in the past few days has really blown me away. We're proponents of the philosophy that does not encourage children to apologize, as they simply just don't understand the concept and empathy cannot be forcibly taught that way. It also often creates a reality for children where saying "sorry," regardless of whether there's actual meaning and sincerity behind it, gives them an automatic pass and excuses the behaviour (kind of like confession, no?). I witnessed this countless times as a nanny, children doing something they knew was solidly in the asshole category and then just tossing out an obnoxious, flippant "sorry," and moving on. It always riled me, even though I fell into the pattern of demanding sorries from my charges as well. I thought it was just what you did. 

But, turns out, it's not "just what you do," so we consciously choose to not do it--which makes the fact that TGQ has started apologizing, with a downcast look and obvious sincerity at appropriate times that much more amazing. The first time it happened, I was bringing their lunch (or dinner...the details of life often escape me these days) to the table, and as I walked behind her chair to set King Toad Agooga's plate down, she pulled her chair back so she could climb in, and toe and chair leg made an undeniably painful acquaintance. I made some noise appropriate to the situation and bent over cringing for a few seconds. The Barbarian asked what had happened, so I said briefly that she moved her chair just as I was walking past and I stubbed my toe, at which point I heard a very soft, "I'm sorry, Mama." I looked over and she was sitting in her chair, slumping a bit with her chin on her chest, looking downright dejected. I nearly started crying. I hadn't said anything directly to her, nor said more about it to The Barbarian than just relaying the simple facts, but it was enough for her to ascertain that her action caused me pain--and she genuinely felt terrible about it. So terrible, in fact, that she uttered a phrase we've never, ever asked her to say, but one that she has heard countless times from us.

The Barbarian and I are both extremely compassionate people, and we have very big emotions and we work very hard on acknowledging and accepting each other's feelings and communicating in a compassionate way about everything. So it's not uncommon to hear us saying we're sorry to each other for inadvertently hurting the other's feelings or because something bad or sad happened to the other that day or for various other reasons. But it doesn't stop there. We also apologize to and commiserate with our children on a regular basis. We say we're sorry when we acknowledge that they would rather stay up and play instead of have a nap, or continue playing outside when it's time to come in for dinner. We tell them we're sorry when one of them hurts themselves or when one of them hurts the other. And we tell them we're sorry when we fuck up, when we misunderstand what they're trying to tell us, or accidentally hurt them, or get frustrated and angry and lose our patience. It's just part of who we are, and so, inadvertently, without any effort on our part to translate it into a teachable lesson for them, it's become part of who they are as well. And that's fucking awesome.

I think of these as passive or natural lessons in a sense, ones that aren't forcibly or formally taught. And, just like natural consequences versus wholly unrelated ones pressed upon a child from someone else, they are, without a doubt, the most effective lessons. 

So. We are clearly doing some things right in the modeling department, but as the day to day challenges of raising two toddlers become more and more, er, challenging, becoming more conscious of how our actions, reactions, and interactions, no matter how small, elicit the same in our children--and how those lessons are infinitely more effective than the ones that all too easily pour from our mouths--has now officially been added to my (never-ending) list of things to do. 

Less talking, more modeling.

And this one's going at the top.              

Fancy meeting you here

Because it's really been a while. Like, an embarrassingly long time. Where on earth have you been?

Oh, wait. That's your question, isn't it?

And the answer is, right here. Just not, er, here, I suppose. But the frequency of our meetups may, in fact, change in the very near future (like, nowish) because of what just went down in my house.

Are you ready?

BOTH OF MY CHILDREN JUST FELL ASLEEP ON THEIR OWN FOR NAP.

Okay, right? RIGHT? That just happened. It's only taken twenty-five and a half months, but it did, indeed, happen.

And it happened because I just cannot lie down with them for nap anymore. And although I've said that roughly 852 times previous to this, I mean it this time. We have, as I think you know, tried this in the past, but it was a horrific experience for all, so it never lasted. And we always did an all-or-nothing approach, meaning they needed to fall asleep on their own for both nap and bedtime. But because it's always such a disaster, we end up going back to our usual routine and I lie there for several hours every day, both loving the closeness and cuddles and cursing the whole damn affair.

This time, however, I decided it might be easier to start with just nap, since the stakes seem so much lower for everyone compared to bedtime. It's been about a week now, barring the last two days I actually did lie down with them for various reasons (more on that later...maybe), but I/we have usually given in and eventually stayed with them till they fell asleep after at least making an effort to do it on their own. But really, all that's doing is telling them we'll eventually lie down with them if they hold out long enough. So I decided today that I just wouldn't do it, no matter how long the crying and banging on doors lasted.

Being that they're two completely different people, they, of course, approach sleeping on their own in two completely different ways. The Goblin Queen, although it makes her sad and she would prefer not to, actually falls asleep fairly quickly and generally without tears when on her own. We have them separated into different rooms, which we've done in the past, but this time we have TGQ in the playroom and King Toad Agooga in the bedroom. I finally asked them who would like to go where, and this was the arrangement they chose. TGQ really likes the idea of sleeping with Lula, their ginormous stuffed dog, who resides in the playroom. So the little crib mattress is in one corner on the floor with Lula lying next to it to make a little cozy spot between her and the wall. TGQ lies down and snuggles with Lula and I cover her and (part of...did I mention she's extremely large?) Lula with my old baby blanket, TGQ's preferred nap blanket (my heart!), and I don't hear a peep out of her again. Until she's been out for 45 minutes, of course. 45 minutes. Every damn time. Regardless of whether she's alone or sleeping with someone, her little internal sleep clock wakes her up after 45 minutes of napping, and she's generally mostly still asleep and totally confused at that point, and often very upset. However, she'll almost always go back down in very short order if one of us goes to her and sits with her and hums our lullaby, a slowed down version of Teddy Bears' Picnic (The Barbarian made up several versus of personalized lyrics when they were newborns, but we just hum at this point). And she'll usually be out for another 45 minutes or so at that point, so all in all, not too shabby.

But, as I think I've mentioned before, the idea of falling asleep on his own is just unfathomable to KTA, and he gets so, SO upset. When we've tried this in the past, he easily stayed up sobbing for an hour or two and we just couldn't handle it after a while. His crying is just SO SAD! So for the bulk of the past week, I've waited as long as I could and then given in and stayed with him till he fell asleep, sneaking out afterwards. But I think I was bolstered today by the fact that he actually didn't start crying right away when I left, which I took to be a positive development. I checked in on him every 5-10 minutes, tucking him back in and telling him I would be right in the other room folding laundry while he slept (only part of that ended being true, of course, but he'll never know). After what ended up being the last check-in, TGQ hit her 45min mark, and when I came back out of the playroom, he had stopped crying. I peeked through the hole where the doorknob should be (don't ask) and saw that he was still in bed and had his arms up over his face, as he sometimes does while falling asleep, so I took that as a good sign. And it was--I peeked in a few minutes later and he was totally out. YIPPEE! I think it took an hour or so, but it was much less traumatic than previous attempts in general, and in the end, he did it on his own--and that's HUGE.

And did I mention it's only been a week and part of that time, I caved and slept with them? I really didn't expect it to be this "easy," and it's really making me believe this was finally the right time to do it. It also reinforces our decision to ditch this effort previously when they just weren't ready. I really feel confident that approaching parenting--and the myriad difficult decisions that come with it--as something you do with your child, as opposed to to your child makes the most sense. Yes, I've been told that if I needed to get up and go to work in the morning, I would have sleep-trained long ago (the underlying assumption apparently being that my "job" is in some way less taxing and requires less sleep than "real" jobs), and perhaps that would have been the case. Who knows? What I do know is that respecting our children enough to allow them to tell us what they need and when they need it as early and as often as possible works for us.

And it clearly works for them. Five or so months ago, we tried this and it was a few of the most horrible weeks we've ever experienced as a family. But a week in this time around and we are well on our way to success.

And that makes me very, very happy.

For all of us.

Especially you, of course, for the increased frequency of ridiculous blathering you'll now be subject to.

You're welcome.

"Toys"

I've recently been on a quest to organize and create efficient storage arrangements around here because hot damn, do we need it. Let's just say we didn't exactly excel in the subject before we had kids and then, well, then we had kids. Two of them. At once.

Do you like italics as much as I do? Oh, good.

The room in need of wrangling into submission the most is--surprise--the playroom. Since the wee folk still sleep with us, we turned the never-really-used-as-such nursery into a playroom, and it's a delightfully sunny, cheerful, lovely room. But it's been mostly a disaster for a while now. Initially we had the bulk of their toys in the main room because that's where they were contained much of the time, but once they had free reign of the house, we thought designating an official playroom was a grand idea. But it quickly became so messy and unorganized, they didn't really want to spend any time in there. And I didn't blame them. And although they can and do drag toys all over the house, I'm definitely to the point of needing there to NOT be toys housed in every room.

When they were younger, I liked the idea of having some toys in every room and it made it easier for all of us. A basket of toys and books in the bedroom for first thing in the morning when they would wake up and hop off the bed, eager to start their day while we pretended we didn't notice they were awake so we could catch a few more minutes of sleep (gods, what happened to those days? Now if they're up, we're up--they make sure of it. SIGH.); their play kitchen in the kitchen so they could "cook" while I cooked; toys in the main room where we spend a lot of time; etc. But now it's just too much. And it's mostly too much because there's just TOO MUCH.

Seriously, where the hell did all this stuff come from? We don't even buy them much ourselves because we're mean parents like that, but all you need is a birthday, a couple of winter holidays, and a few various other holidays thrown in the mix and BAM. Toy overload.

And really, that makes it sound like we have a sea of toys in every room, which we most certainly do not. My kids have very few toys compared to some children their age and I consider that a good thing. And as their second birthday (FUUUUUUUUUU...) quickly approaches, I am attempting to preempt the collection growing significantly by reminding friends and family that gifts, especially toy gifts, are not required. Because they're not.

Allow me to illustrate why that is by sharing with you some of the things my children have most enjoyed playing with over the past couple of weeks:

-A cheap, thin, blue plastic tablecloth left over from a party we had earlier this summer. They fucking LOVE this thing. They'll lie down on the floor next to each other, pull it over themselves and just giggle to each other for like 20 minutes. I'm not even close to kidding. (Yes, I realize now typing this out that the likelihood of CPS knocking at my door has risen exponentially, but whatever. It's staying.) They also like playing follow the leader with it, each holding onto an opposing end and one essentially dragging the other around the house and yard. I also hang it over their pull-up bar, courtesy of the ever-awesome Grandpa Walrus, and they run under the bar through the tablecloth. Seriously. The possibilities are endless.

-A roll of duct tape. You know what they do with it? They roll it down the back steps. Over and over and over and over and over. And it is PERFECT for this. It has just enough give to bounce nicely but not crazily, and it's wide enough that it doesn't tip over, so it's easy for toddlers to set on edge and get going, and makes it down all the steps and beyond without fail. It also gives them an opportunity to practice taking turns, so double win.

-One of The Barbarian's glass carboys for making beer. For those of you unfamiliar with beer-making equipment, it's a very large glass bottle with a narrow neck. This they do with what you might expect--they fill it with stuff. All sorts of stuff. Chalk, wood chips, little figurines, leaves, rocks, food. They have quite the collection going currently. Getting it all out is sure to be loads of fun, but it's something they come back to again and again, they enjoy it so much. And it helps develop their fine motor skills, especially with the longer items, as they have to line them up just so to get them into the narrow neck. So again, win all around.

-Reusable grocery bags. You know, those weird like plasticized, crinkly ones? Yeah, definite favourites. They carry them around on their shoulders, they wear them with the handles looped over their necks, they put them entirely over their heads, they fill them with things and drag them around. They love them. I often don't even put them away after grocery trips because I'm lazy they love them so much. Who knew?

-Baskets, dog collars, and sarongs. Think you need to buy or make your child dress-up clothes and accessories? Think again. Mine can often be found these days with a sarong tied around their chest like a gown (I think it might be in imitation of my ever-present apron), a dog collar around their neck, and a basket on their head. Seriously, have you met my kids? They're fucking awesome.

And all of this makes me so damn happy. Kids are naturally creative, but many toys these days are not. They are meant to do one thing and one thing alone. But things found in nature, household items, recycling? Endless possibilities. Do my kids love their actual toys? Of course they do. Just try separating King Toad Agooga from his toy cars or The Goblin Queen from her Duplos. But if they didn't have any of it, they would be just fine.

That being said, there are a few things that are always appreciated, things like books, classic toys like wooden trains, building materials like blocks, larger items good for active kids and gross motor skills like mini basketball hoops, t-ball sets, trampolines, trikes, etc. So we've asked people to choose amongst those for their birthday. We're limiting ourselves to one big gift for them this year like we usually do and I am SUPER STOKED about it. Details to come, of course.

So, yeah. Toys. They're anything. And everywhere. And a very good argument can be made for not purchasing so damn many for your children.

Because plastic sheeting and duct tape make great toys for toddlers.

Don't forget.

Or call CPS.

Thanks.            

Some moderately intriguing title

Seriously, people. I just do not have it in me some days.

And seeing as it's been two months (to the day, in fact) since I posted last... Well, the endless possibilities of an appropriate post title are overwhelming, okay? It happens.

I do apologize for not being around, but really, you're used to that by now, right? I certainly hope so. And I certainly hope to someday get to a point where it does indeed shock you when I disappear for that long, but alas. We are definitely not there yet. There's still time, though. Not to worry.

By way of explanation, then... I finally realized that abruptly weaning the wee folk, combined with the other major transition in our life involving The Barbarian being away on a regular basis, really sent me into a tailspin. Believe it or not, I'm a bit of a delicate flower emotionally (as many of us with a history of clinical depression are) and major life changes, especially ones with a physiological aspect such as the hormonal upheaval that often follows weaning, can present a huge challenge for me. Support is key in these times, but this one happened to be accompanied by a necessarily lessened degree of support from my main source, The Barbarian. We are truly blessed to have such supportive families nearby, who are willing and able to offer that support in myriad ways, but that can never replace the support received from one's partner. It's a special brand not easily--or ever, for that matter--duplicated.

But time helps and we are slowly but surely creating new routines and expectations, and finally coming to a place where we are all feeling much more confident in our ability to handle our new reality. The Barbarian comes home to regularly bathed children and a mostly tidy house now (which constitute major improvements), and making sure to schedule daily FaceTime chats has helped both him and the wee folk tremendously. It's still a bit tricky for them to transition out of having me be and do everything for them once he's home from a trip, but the sad and angry emotional outbursts during the first day or so are not the norm anymore. And that's awesome. For all of us.

We have another major change on the horizon, but hopefully it will prove to be a positive one: The wee folk are beginning daycare next month. No, I'm not working, and yes, they are going to daycare. No one seems to feel that's a bizarre set of circumstances except for me, and it's taking a bit of encouragement for me to accept it as somewhere in the realm of okay. But I desperately need regular time to myself with the wee folk out of the house and this seems to be the best solution for achieving that right now. Part of me absolutely feels I should be able to handle being a full-time mom, you know, full-time, but damn, is it intense. Someone phrased it this way recently, though, and it's made such a difference in the way I think about it: Most of us no longer have the proverbial village to help raise our children, so we will buy that village instead. Daycare, preschool, sports, creative classes, camps, etc. Through these activities and programs, our children come into contact with other (hopefully) caring adults, who have valuable things to offer them, as well as their peers, who bring an additional set of valuable offerings. They get to experience new things and learn new skills, ideas, and coping techniques, and parents receive much-needed breaks to refuel themselves and remember who they are outside of parenthood. A win-win, no? And although I struggle with the thought of leaving them with someone else in a new environment, I feel extremely comfortable with and confident in the provider we've found. So we shall see. Fingers crossed this works out well for all involved.

And that, my friends, is your update for the day. The next one will come sooner than the 26th of September.

I promise.  

Six years!

Yesterday marked the 6th anniversary of the day The Barbarian and I got married in a super casual ceremony officiated by his aunt, Auntis, in my parents' backyard. Our goal was for everyone to have a good time, and according to most everyone, we totally rocked it. My dad still mentions how many people approached him that day to comment on how it was the most enjoyable wedding they had ever attended. Not too shabby, right?

I still wonder how many of them were truly wondering how long it would last, however. The marriage, that is, not the wedding. The wedding, especially the ceremony, which I wrote, was famously short. My boss at the time commented on how the ceremony was generally longer than the kiss, but he liked how ours was the opposite. Heh. Not quite, but long, drawn out ceremonies are definitely not our thing, so keeping it short and sweet was of utmost importance. To set the mood, we, to my everlasting pleasure, managed to keep secret the opening of the ceremony, which Auntis pulled off perfectly. It went like this:

Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. 

If you don't get the reference, all I can say is that I am very, very sad for you. And you need to watch The Princess Bride right now. DO IT.

That movie has been a favourite of mine for forever, and it's one of The Barbarian's family's super special movies, so it seemed very appropriate. And totally our style. She said that first word, nearly everyone erupted in laughter, and I knew our wedding was a smashing success, no matter what else occurred. And it was.

But back to the part where everyone was all, "Ummmmmm... Hmmmmmmmmmmm..." about us getting married. Really, I can't blame them. From the outside, we seemed like the most bizarre match and we had had the craziest courtship and beginning to our relationship. And we admittedly decided to get married pretty damn early on. But when you know without any inkling of doubt you've found your life partner, why wait?

The Barbarian LOVES to tell our story. Like, he tells it any chance he gets. And being that he's constantly meeting new people, he tells it A LOT. Dude cracks me up. I, however, don't get many opportunities to tell it, so, in honour of our 6th anniversary, because that's clearly a totally special and celebratory number in this our version of reality today, I will give you a (probably not really very) brief account of how we met and fell in love.

SO. When we met, I was living thousands of miles away in Montreal with my ex, who I had been with for nine years. Ours had always been a troubled relationship and the relative stress of living in a foreign city was taking its toll. He was much older than me, was not interested in marriage or having children, was working while I was going to school, and we were essentially living parallel lives at that point.

We had moved in February and that following December, I flew home after my semester was done to visit family and friends for the holidays. It was during this first visit home to California that I met The Barbarian. I had heard a bit about him here and there from my family, as apparently he was my younger brother's new friend and coworker, about whom my brother had only the most praiseworthy things to say. I think it's only fair to admit that my brother fell in love with The Barbarian first. They had entered into a deeply devoted bromance, but my family had yet to meet him. He was a bit of a mystery, then, and from my brother's accounts, cooler than anyone had a right to be, so the prevailing theory at that point was that he didn't, in fact, even exist.

Once I was back home and hanging out much of the time with my brother, Uncle Duder (after all those years of mutual hate, we had only just realized we actually really liked each other right before I moved to Montreal, which was like totally shitty timing), I was regaled with tales of the man I was to eventually call my husband. I was forced to admit that he--if he did indeed exist--sounded pretty damn awesome, but in a somewhat douchey way to my, shall we say, more conservative younger self. He was basically your typical early 20's party guy, and that was so totally not my scene. And, of course, my brother had to impress upon me the fact that ALL the girls liked The Barbarian. And, of course, I was all WHATever. He can't be THAT cute and charming.

Well, as I've stated before, it really is quite a rare occurrence, but occasionally I am wrong. And I was, in fact, terribly wrong in that assumption. My first hint of wrongness was when my brother showed me a picture of him on his phone and I was all, huh. That's him? ...huh. Then I actually met him in person, and...well...shit. My wrongness was glaringly apparent.

My brother and The Barbarian, to further solidify their bromance, were moving in together and had even made their first purchase together--a very large, bromance-worthy, flatscreen TV. My brother had invited me to come with him in my dad's truck to pick it up from the store, where my brother happened to work, so a small crowd of friends and coworkers had gathered around the truck, as it was late and the store was closing. All of a sudden, this car whips around the parking lot, pulls up behind my dad's truck, and this tall, dreaded, extremely handsome guy wearing a Santa hat of all things hops out to the excited greetings of the crowd. The Barbarian had up until recently worked at that same store--how he and my brother met--and, ever popular as he is, everyone was happy to see him. I was also happy to see him because, ummmmm, yeah. Dude's SMOKING hot. Like, seriously.  

So I'm standing by the passenger side door watching him chat with his former coworkers (mostly because I couldn't take my eyes off him) when he eventually noticed me and literally came leaping over the truck bed in his eagerness to introduce himself, having apparently deduced who I was. That's when I realized he wasn't just criminally attractive--he was polite, charming, and well-spoken, too.

DAMMIT.

After we got the TV securely loaded, The Barbarian decided he would follow us back to my parents' house so they could set it up and ooh and ahh over it a bit. We mentioned we were stopping at the store for snacks, as we had a late night of movie-watching ahead of us, so he followed us there first, and that's when we realized someone needed to stay with the truck. I offered to run in and get the snacks while they stayed outside, and wouldn't you know it, but The Barbarian decided he really had to pee all of a sudden and said he'd come in, too--even though we were only a few minutes from my parents' house and I would be right back. And even though in that situation, I later came to know well, he would normally just find a bush.

Uh-huh. Sure he had to pee.

So we went inside, him to "pee," me to scrounge up some munchies, and he met me a couple of minutes later at the checkout. We were at the local grocery store known for its rewards card, but as I was not frequenting it anymore, I didn't have my handy-dandy rewards card in my wallet. But he, ever helpful, quickly produced his and handed it to the checker. At this point in time, the checkers were required to look at your receipt while handing it back in order to ascertain your last name so they could politely say, "Thank you, Mrs. So-and-So." Well, the name on the card was not, of course, my own, so I received a, "Thank you, Mrs. The Barbarian" instead. This made his face light up like little else I've seen since, and he proceeded to skip alongside me to the door singing, "Thank you, Mrs. The Barbarian..." in the most adorably obnoxious teasing manner.

My thought in that moment?

I AM IN SO MUCH TROUBLE.   

We saw each other a few more times while I was there, and it was pretty obvious there was a connection between us, but eventually I went back to Montreal and that was seemingly that. However, I found myself thinking about him A LOT over the next few months, and became more and more excited as my spring semester came to a close and my next trip home quickly approached. I flew back home in mid-April, and suffice it to say, we began looking for more and more ways to spend time together--in a strictly platonic manner, of course. But things were happening, man. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him, and the more I realized the party guy persona was just that, a persona. He was wicked smart and super witty and studying history, my major as well. We talked for hours and hours on end, of religion and politics and history and education and foreign policy... You know, the euge. We were hitting if off so well, in fact, that I ended up extending my trip by a week, and it was in that last week, on one specific night actually, that I'm pretty sure we fell madly in love. And this was still all strictly platonic. I am basically monogamous to a fault. But keeping it that way was definitely one of the most challenging things we've ever undertaken. DUDE.

The next day was the last time we would see each other before I flew back to Montreal, and that goodbye involved lots of tears and one tiny, brief peck of a kiss before I left him fairly broken on his front step and headed back to my parents'. I then made the most important decision of my life the next day on the way to the airport--I decided I was coming back to be with him and texted to tell him so. I arrived in Montreal, broke up with my ex that very night, and exactly two weeks later was in a U-Haul with my dog and my belongings, beginning the long drive home with the help and support of my best friend from high school, who flew out from California just to hop in that U-Haul and drive all the way back. I mean, who does that anyway? Madame LeStrange does. That's who.

I arrived back home, basically straight to his doorstep, on the 25th of May, 2007. We were together from that point on, officially got engaged that fall, and were married exactly one year later on the 25th of May, 2008.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our story. Or, the beginning of our story, I suppose. We have all sorts of crazy stories to tell actually. Seriously. But those are for another time.

Happy Anniversary, my handsome barbarian. May our beer be ever flowing and may our dear progeny be ever covered in dirt among the beloved dogs.

I wouldn't trade our life together for anything.

Not even a lifetime supply of Haagen-Dazs.

And that's saying something.       



 

Toddler assertiveness

Otherwise known as "tantrums," I believe.

And I think we experienced our very first one a few days ago. It was basically not very awesome, which is not really very surprising. But in the end, it was a good lesson in how (not?) to set toddlers, and children in general, up for failure.

Children in general, but toddlers especially, thrive on routine, in an environment where they know what to expect and when to expect it. This is a bit of a challenge for The Barbarian and me because we are not creatures of routine and habit. We sort of just do whatever, whenever it suits us. And while many would argue that babies also need rituals and routines they can recognize and feel secure in, I find they're much more go with the flow than toddlers. But once children reach the age where they are truly exploring who they are and where they fit in their world, and most importantly, how they can affect that world and the people who populate it, the need for a recognizable day to day existence becomes very important. At this stage, then, it's all about preempting meltdowns and tantrums, as that's exactly what said routine helps mitigate. Making sure they eat, drink, and sleep regularly, and making sure they know what to expect--and what's expected of them-- and are given the chance to transition from one thing to the next in a manner and time-frame that's agreeable to them (within reason) is key. Because of the importance of this, we've really been making an effort to create a more constant, predictable environment for them where and when we can.

One area in which I really feel my children in particular benefit from regularity is naptime. Now that we've gone back to someone lying down with them for nap, it's easier to schedule it and know about when they'll actually sleep (instead of crossing our fingers and waiting...and waiting...and waiting). But some days, like tantrum day last week, I am overwhelmed with a house that quite literally looked like a toy, laundry, and dishes-filled bomb went off, and was struggling with the exhaustion and general stress that comes after a few days solo with the children. So I made the decision to drive the wee folk to my mama's just so I could come home, clean my ass off like a madwoman for a bit, and then drive back and pick them up to bring them home for nap. At the time, it seemed totally worth it. They got to have a fun outing to Nana Banana's and I got to indulge myself in the glory that is cleaning the house without the ever-present "help" of tiny humans. Definite win, right?

Well, not really when the drive home is during the start of nap and one tiny human falls asleep on the way and then both refuse to actually nap once home. I could have just let it go, but a no-nap day is generally not a great day, and The Barbarian was due home that night, a bit later than their typical bedtime of late, but we had talked about pushing bedtime later anyway to see if we couldn't convince King Toad Agooga to sleep in a bit. If they didn't nap at all, they'd be down long before he got home, but if they got a late nap, they would still be up when he got home and that was an exciting prospect (it's exciting when The Barbarian gets home, people!). Later that afternoon, I decided to try again and they slept for two hours solid, meaning they really needed that nap. However, this put them waking up close to dinner time, and they were confused and still a bit sleepy, and that's when all hell broke loose.

All things considered, I don't truly miss nursing. I mean, I do, yes, of course. But I don't, no, not at all. Except, that is, when I suddenly find myself with two wholly inconsolable toddlers. And when I say "wholly inconsolable," I mean that in every sense of the phrase. Nothing I offered was anywhere near the realm of what they wanted. They didn't want to eat, they didn't want water, they didn't want a show, they didn't want to go outside, they didn't want a tubby, they didn't want to be picked up, they didn't want to be put down. Apparently they just wanted to scream and sob and not be made to feel better. And it got old pretty fast. I often have a wealth of patience for my children. Sometimes, I most definitely do not. This was one of those times. So not knowing how else to help them, I just let them cry. Occasionally that's all you can do. It sucks and it's hard, but after letting them know a dozen times I was there for them when they were ready, there wasn't much else to do. 

I had dragged the glider out from the bedroom to the main room during the initial phase of trying to find something to soothe them, and eventually, after nearly half an hour, The Goblin Queen allowed me to rock her until she stopped crying. She also ate a few bites of a snack, which I think especially helped, as I have a suspicion low blood sugar was at play. The Barbarian was extremely sensitive to low blood sugar as a child and I think these two are as well, making this drama even more my fault, as I hadn't made sure they had a protein-heavy snack before their nap. The freakout begins to make more sense, no? 

During this time, King Toad Agooga was standing in the corner of the kitchen screaming. He was really, really, really pissed off. Occasionally he would come into the main room to scream at me, but if I tried to touch him or talk to him, he would flail and throw himself on the floor and then run back to his corner. Once or twice he let me pick him up, but when I then also tried to pick TGQ back up, he would lose it and kick and shove her and fling himself around until I had to put him back down. Finally I was able to soothe TGQ to the point where I was able to put her down without her crying again, and only then was I able to pick KTA up and hold him one-on-one until he calmed down. That was about an hour after the whole affair had begun. And once I was able to get a real meal into them, all was right with their world again, as if the entire terribly disruptive episode had never even occurred. Toddlers, man. They are nothing if not resilient. 

Sometime later that evening, I was reflecting on the fact that even though they both started out equally upset, TGQ was mostly sad and wanted to be comforted, but just didn't know how to allow herself to be, or what form she wanted that comfort to take. KTA, however, was angry. Very, very angry. And that's why his behaviour seemed more like a typical tantrum to me. And that made me realize that perhaps this is something we need to be extra careful of in our efforts at preempting, as I think he may be a bit more prone to them.

Why do I think that? Well, there is this man, you see. His name is Uncle Duder. He is my brother. My little brother. And once upon a time, he tantrummed. Hard. Definitely expert level. And KTA is like my brother reincarnated in so, so many ways. He has his eyes, his hairline, his butt chin (everyone calls it that, right?), his body type, his propensity to "point and grunt," as my father terms it, instead of talk when he clearly has the intelligence and ability to talk if he chose to, his love of anything with wheels, his "mouth noises," his sweetness... The list goes on. Some of these traits were also shared by The Barbarian when he was a boy, and KTA is very much his father's little barbarian. But there is no denying the many common traits he shares with my brother, and this inkling into possible future tantrum behaviour may yet result in another to add to the list. 

As an aside, one day I will go into some detail about my relationship with my brother. We are the very best of friends now, and, in fact, I married his best friend, so you can imagine the closeness. But once upon a time, we hated each other. With a vengeance. Like, for reals. The complete turnaround for us is nothing short of amazing. Siblings, man. Craziness abounds, I tell you. 

Anyway. Toddler assertiveness. It can be the dickens. But I will end with something that helps me in those moments, when I remember to allow it, of course. It's one the absolute best quotes I have ever heard in regards to those stressful moments of parenting:

My child is not giving me a hard time--my child is having a hard time. 

Working from a place with that perspective in mind can make all the difference in the world, especially with toddlers. 

So here's to regularly scheduled naps and snacks. And happy toddlers.

FTW. 

This crazy train chugs on

Well, it seems getting back on the wagon that is blogging will take some serious effort and determination at this point. I really thought we had successfully created an environment wherein the mama got lots more time to herself, but turns out, no one but the mama (and the daddy, of course, ever supportive as he is) was quite ready for that.

To recap the past month or so...

We eventually got to a point where not nursing to sleep became a fairly acceptable arrangement to the wee folk, and shortly after, we decided to take it to the next level of weaning them off needing someone to lie down with them as well. It just felt like time. And we decided that we were okay with some crying to get them there, which is not our normal MO. But being that they are older now and can at least grasp the concepts we explain to them, we figured it wouldn't be a huge deal or take very long before they got it. 

Well, it's certainly a rare occurrence, but we were wrong. So very wrong. It was basically a disaster. King Toad Agooga took it the worst. He would rarely, if ever, go down without an hour or more of sobbing at the door, running back to the bed in relief when we'd come to check in every few minutes, only to climb down and start up again when we'd say goodnight yet again and leave. It was tragically sad. The Goblin Queen did actually get used to the idea pretty quickly and would normally go right to sleep without a fuss--that is, when KTA wasn't keeping her awake sobbing, during which she could sometimes be heard saying, "Bubba... Bubba... SHHHH!!!" Thankfully, The Barbarian caught that audio one night with his phone. It's pretty much the cutest thing EVER.

So we tried various arrangements, especially at naptime, which was worse than bedtime for KTA. We even set up the other toddler bed in the playroom and tried separating them. But for the most part, he basically stopped napping and she was getting maybe an hour. Compared to their previous 3-4 hours, this was a huge difference. 

Then something happened. I woke up bloated and uncomfortable one morning. I tried to ignore it, but by midday, I knew my stupid fucking diverticulitis (if that's even what it turns out it was--more on that at some point) was rearing its totally obnoxious head again. I took my mama's advice of going on an extremely low fiber, mostly liquid diet to see if I could calm it down, but three days later, I was still not well and all of a sudden, the telltale lower left quadrant pain began. 

FUCK. 

They didn't run labs this time, but assumed it was the same thing and so, therefore, prescribed antibiotics. Again. So I had to emergency wean my children. AGAIN. Like, seriously? Is this a fucking joke? It's been two weeks now and I really haven't even allowed myself to think of it much or come to terms with it at all. I'm not letting myself feel the feels I need to in order to process this because I just can't handle it right now. Because I would be sobbing a dozen times a day when my poor girl either asks to nurse or, more frequently, pulls my shirt down just enough to expose the tops of my breasts, lays her little head against them, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply, over and over. 

Dammit. Tears. Enough. I'm done. 

Anyway. During all of this, we also decided to start them at a little toddler playgroup that meets down the street at the local church twice a week for a few hours. It's sort of like pre-preschool and is small, casual, and headed by two women who have been there since their own grown children attended and clearly enjoy what they do. KTA took to it like he'd been there for years--literally the teachers' words. But TGQ was not okay with me leaving her there AT ALL. They would literally have to wrench her out of my arms as she scrabbled to hold on for dear life and SCREAMED. But I knew in the end that this was a great experience for them, that I really needed the downtime, and she would totally get used to it soon. 

It took me until last week, on my birthday, in fact, when I couldn't bring myself to do that to her on my special day, even though it fell on a day they were scheduled to go, to really stop and realize my kids were not okay. KTA, and, therefore, everyone, had started waking up at 5am most mornings, a huge departure from his more normal 7-7:30 wakeup time of days seemingly long past. If we make it till 6am now, that's considered a good morning. So their 10-11 hours at night and 3-4 hours during the day had turned into 8-9 hours overnight and 1-2 during the day if we were very, very lucky. They were clingy, especially with me, and were sad and fussy and unhappy much more so than usual. They were also demanding shows much more than normal, as they tend to do when they don't feel well. They had circles under their eyes. They were not okay. 

Then I stopped and thought about it and realized we had completely turned their world upside down in a very short amount of time. They are still getting used to The Barbarian being gone for extended periods on a very regular basis (we all are...), they had only just gotten used to falling asleep without nursing when they were forced to wean completely (cold turkey) a second time, then all of a sudden we weren't even lying down and cuddling them to sleep, and they were left with strangers in a strange environment twice a week. And all at once, my heart broke and I saw just how hard and impossible all these changes were for them. They were suffering in a very real way and I felt HORRIBLE. How did we not realize this was way too much, way too fast? What the fuck were we doing? I felt so selfish and out of touch with my children, like I had completely betrayed them. They had been trying to tell us they were not okay and we hadn't been listening. We had just been powering through, thinking it was hard now, but that this was all good for everyone in the long run. But at what cost? Our happy, healthy children? Nothing is worth that. NOTHING. 

So I tearfully told The Barbarian that night that I wanted to start lying down with them for sleeps again, and a few short days later, I decided playgroup was too much right now, especially since KTA's early alarm clock makes it so they're ready for a nap halfway through. We can't (or rather, aren't willing to try to) change the fact that The Barbarian travels for work, and we can't change the fact that I needed those stupid antibiotics again and we've weaned for good this time. But we can change our expectations regarding how they get to sleep and whether they're ready to be away from home with people they don't know on a regular basis. 

So we did. And you know what? The positive change in them was almost immediate, to the point where both families commented on it that very weekend during our Mother's Day celebrations. It was obvious they were feeling SO much better. They are getting more sleep (mostly...we're definitely still working on that one) and aren't using up precious energy attempting to cope in stressful situations. A little normalcy has been restored for them and their needs are being met again more fully. And it shows, confirming we made the right choice in backing off as much as we could. 

So we'll wait and try again in a few months. And that's okay. A little disappointing, yes, but ultimately not a huge deal.

Honestly? I kind of missed our naps together. Because I like naps. All kinds of naps. I could nap every day. 

And now I can again. 

So...win?