Two

I now have a two year old.

Not a baby.

A toddler.

A little boy.

For so long, I have referred to Liam as "the baby" to my husband, family and friends. Obviously, that is because he is my baby, my youngest. Yesterday, though, as we celebrated his birthday, I looked at him and saw not a baby but (gulp) a boy.

He has a little boy haircut.

He likes cars, trains and balls.

He practices burping and says "poopy" when he, er, passes gas.

Yes, this baby I am raising has turned into a boy.

I'm not sure I am ready to bid farewell to those baby days just yet.

So, as his vocabulary explodes and potty training looms, I relish the fact that he still goes "night, night" with a blue satin blankie and prefers to be rocked by me. I will sniff a little deeper and longer when I catch a whiff of Dreft on his jammies. I am going to lap up every bit of this time I have left when the baby is still visible in this two year old boy.

Cagefighting Continues

Don't be fooled by this sweet face...

I have lamented that my son is a future cagefighter before.

Now, he has caused me to join the ranks of professional wrestling because diaper changing this kid takes one these days.

He rolls. He kicks. He sticks his foot in poop. He spits. He bites. All while growling and shouting like a rabid animal.

I dread diaper changing.

I mean, I loathe it. If there isn't poop or so much pee that it is sagging to his knees than I am leaving that diaper on there because it is not worth risking my life. Or my glasses.

Seriously.

Now, please, please tell me that your kid is doing this (or has done it) so that I can at least believe he isn't a complete and total brat.

Come on. Throw a sister a bone here, m'kay?

It's A Bird! It's A Plane!

Nah, it's not Superman.

It's just Liam doing his latest and greatest trick.

That is, he drops to his knees and then, gently, to his belly and extends his arms and legs as if he were the Man o' Steel.

This happens when something doesn't quite go his way and can happen at a moments notice- indoors or out. The kid doesn't care where or on what surface, he just lays down. Then he whines until someone picks him up.

He is doing this 10, sometimes 20 times a day.

And, I gotta say, it is never NOT hilarious.

It's really no wonder I don't have time to blog because it is hard work raising a wannabe superhero.

Still

The rocking chair squeaks as Liam and I settle in. He wiggles and jabbers. I sigh, thankful the day is nearly done.

Clutching his satin baby blue blankie, he settles in with his head on my chest. His hair, still slightly damp, smells of Aveeno baby wash. His jammies smell of Dreft and allow me to believe he is still small, although he is far from that these days.

A toddler- a little boy- now cozies into this spot once occupied by a baby. I marvel at how his fingers, once so tiny and chubby, now grasp the snagged satin with startling strength. His legs now dangle to my knees.

Each day, he grows. And each day, he learns something new. And I must bid goodbye to the baby that has grown into a little guy who shouts "Mama" at 5AM.

As his long- so long- lashes dip sleepily onto his soft, pale cheeks, I cannot resist and allow myself to kiss that tiny mouth. He smiles and chatters momentarily, then drifts into slumber.

These moments of quiet, of calmness, come less often all the time. He needs to run! to jump! to climb! Sleep is less elusive than before and I linger like this, holding onto him and drink in the smells, the sight and the sounds of my little boy who was once, not so long ago, my baby.

Bugs And Dirt And Ick, Oh My!

I am not an outside person.

Truly and honestly, I prefer the indoors to the outdoors 98% of the time.

So, wouldn't you know I was blessed with a boy who loves the outside? Okay, let me rephrase that: he LOVES the OUTSIDE.

My son's love for all things outside must be expressed in all caps because, well, he's really an all caps kind of kid whose affection for grass, dirt and bugs is second only to the love felt for his blankie and his sister.

I have tried to squash this love by encouraging inside play but, apparently, there is really nothing like a smear of dirt across one's face and a scraped knee to feel alive.

So, I have given in. I spend at least one hour in the morning outside and one hour in the afternoon. After an hour, I am usually able to trick cajole him inside with the promise of a drink or snack.

You nature lovers (shudder) may wonder why I hate it outside so much. Seems like a fair question, coming from the insane.

Ahem.

Bugs.

And dirt.

Oh, and don't forget the fact that it gets really, really hot out there, too.

If one could remove all bugs, the dirt and put some A/C out there, I might be more inclined to enjoy it. In the meantime, I will suffer through until he is old enough to be told, "Go play outside with your sister!"

Back In Business

We arrived home from our vacation at 11am last Sunday (9/14) and I threw laundry in, wrote a paper for a course and began unpacking.

Seven hours later, we lost power.

For nearly five days.

That is a long time, people.

A long, long time to live without a light. Without Noggin. Without the internet.

Whew. A seriously long time.

But, we survived.

The worst, though, was feeling like we were still on vacation: we couldn't really eat a meal at home (no stove). We couldn't bathe at home (no hot water). We had to pee by flashlight.

But, we did have a great vacation. Liam did very well, considering he had never slept anywhere but in his room, in his house, for all of his 20 months. Mostly, he just collapsed at night from utter exhaustion caused from the beach and pool that we lived in for 8 days.

I could complain about his tantrums that caused us to not eat out. I could whine that he was excessively needy and irritable. I could bemoan the fact that we basically didn't leave our beach home away from home for 7 days but I shall not.

Because the neediness was directed (hallelujah!) towards my husband, who felt what it was like to be a SAHM with a needy, whiny, possessive toddler for the first time evah! We saved a bundle of moolah by eating in and doing little shopping. And, we got to spend time together. As a family.

And, overall, it was just what we needed.

So, I thank you all for checking in here while I have been unavailable for a few weeks and I cannot WAIT to hear/read what you all have been up to.

Tell me, what is up with you....anyone pregnant? Moving? What's new?

Underfoot

Liam has recently perfected the art of taking off his socks on his own.

Around the same time, he also began walking on tip toe. We, of course, found this cute and adorable and laughed about it.

We noticed that it was mainly occurring only when he walked on our (uncarpeted) kitchen floor. I assumed it was because it was cold and laughed some more.

Then, one day last week, he began whining and walking on tip toe at the same time.

I thought he was just whining (as usual) and then watched him walk en pointe, whining, until he reached the carpeted area and then he took off as normal and stopped grumbling. Hmmn.

Strange.

So, I, being the savvy detective, looked around and tried to figure out what was the culprit.

It only took a brief glance at the floor and it dawned on me....

My floors are so dirty that my toddler is disgusted to the point he has to walk tippy toed through or it hurts his tender feet.

Nice, right?

Instead of succumbing to embarrassment,which would have forced me to get the broom, Swiffer, bucket and mop and clean the daggum floors, I chose to make it a life lesson for him: don't take off the socks that your mother put on your feet- they're there for a reason!

Pretty clever, don't ya think?

No Saying No

A few months ago at Liam's 15 month visit, I inquired as to how to discipline him at such a young age because he had already begun his foray into the cagefighting arena.

My pediatrician, a lovely, intelligent man whom I respect and admire very, very much, replied to me that a child of such a young age cannot really be disciplined. It is a parent's job to redirect and distract. He was very kind and understanding as he told me this.

That made sense and I was a little embarrassed that I was the psycho mean mother asking about cracking down on her poor little toddler. I guffawed and explained that he was basically beating the crap out of all of us but I would do my best to distract him and, essentially, suck it up and hope it passes sooner rather than later.

All the while, I am crying inside as I know we will never eat out of the house again. *sigh*

As the visit wrapped up, the doctor revisited my question about discipline, reminding me to distract Liam when he is doing something inappropriate. I vow to do this. Then, the doctor drops a bomb.

"You also shouldn't tell him no. At this age, he should not be told no because he is just testing boundaries, blah, blah, blah...."

Don't tell him NO!?

Let that sink in a minute.

Yes, you did read that correctly.

Okay, so I am not supposed to tell him no as he beats my eight year old down with the vacuum attachments? Or, when he is eating cat food? Or grabbing at the stove when it is ON?

I have to defend my pediatrician. He isn't a crackpot. I swear. He isn't touchy-feelly or new age-y either. In most cases, he is very old school: Karo syrup for constipation, potty trained by two, Cry-It-Out sleep training, etc.

But I digress....

So, I told RxMan what was said and after he stopped swearing and popped his eyes back in his head we decided to give this strategy a try.

For about 6 minutes.

It didn't work.

Ahem.

We have made an effort not to constantly shout loudly use this word and I think it has made the times that we do say "NO!" more effective but, to completely give up saying it?

No way, Dr. Jose.

It simply ain't gonna happen.

So, I decided that when Liam stops telling me "no" I will stop telling him the same.

What's the craziest thing a doc has told you to do??

What a Mess!

Hand lotion plus boy
Not a good combination
How do you not laugh?

These are photos of Liam after he managed to open a hand lotion up and fling it all over himself and my armoire. He was alone for about 4 minutes while I read blogs checked the online news and made a terrible mess all over the furniture, floor and his freshly bathed body. That child is always wreaking havoc! Of course, I ran for the camera as my daughter stood aside and cackled so what lesson did we teach him?

This boy may be the death of me yet....

On another note, Happy Independence Day!

Makeup Artist

All Boy

I have complained lamented often lately about my son's bad behavior. The hitting, biting, scratching and otherwise aggressive behavior that is apparently not uncommon to many of you who are also raising cagefighters. That was a relief to find out but I am still perplexed as to how to curb the behavior. The good news is that it really seems to be less often and able to be avoided with proper napping and sleep. *fingers crossed*

I saw some family members on Sunday that I rarely see. They, of course, oohed and aahed appropriately over my children, especially Liam. See, in my family boys, you know the holder of the penis, are particularly prized. Liam is the first boy in about 15 years on that side of the family and, as such, is a bit of a novelty.

My aunts remarked on his new big boy hair cut. They gushed over his use of "thank you" and loved it when he climbed on top of the dining room table. "He's busy, isn't he," they proudly remarked.

Busy, yes. Rotten, yes. He's darling in a daredevil, scare mommy to death sort of way.

But when he found my mother's vacuum cleaner and managed to detach the long attachment and came into the family room wielding it as a weapon, trying to take out the other little ones (girls) in the room, I knew that I was in for it. The almighty penis could certainly not spare him from their wrath as he tried to beat down their granddaughters. Oh, these women were going to let loose on me with a diatribe about "spare the rod, spoil the child" and "when little Billy was that age...."

Uh, was I ever wrong.

In unison, they all giggled as I wrestled the murder weapon it from his hands and he wailed as if I had beaten him with it. Then, one by one, they all nodded and said, "All boy. That one there is all boy...."

So, I guess the next time he tries to go all cagefighter on someone else's kids, I will just smile and say, "oh, that Liam- he's all boy." How do you think that will go over at the park?



**No girls were harmed in the making of this post. The intended weapon of mass destruction was removed from the offender's grasp before he struck.

Hair's The Word

Before: see those little curls in the back?

After: No more curls; he's a big boy now...

First haircut: it's done
Little curls cut away
Now he's a big boy

I took these photos last Saturday when Liam got his first haircut. I was nervous and weepy but I managed to get through. He, on the other hand, did swimmingly. No tears, only a few little unhappy faces.

Another first come and gone.

I'm Raising A Cage Fighter

My son turned 17 months old (*sigh*) on Tuesday. I remember from way back when my daughter Claire was this age that it is a tough one- their brains are so much faster than their communication skills. I remember a lot of whining and fit throwing.

What I know I don't recall from Claire's past is the hitting. Or the biting. Or the general aggression that I am experiencing with my son Liam. He really likes to do these things. I don't think (read: I'm hoping that he's not) that he is being malicious in these actions. Many times they are a result of being tired and, as I said, not having the verbal skills to relay his feelings to me.

But, seriously, what's a mom to do when Liam picks up the attachments for my vacuum and goes all cage fighter on my little girl? Granted, she's eight and he's so little but there is no way she is going to fight back or defend herself. And I don't want her to! He is still pretty much a baby and reciprocating these actions wouldn't help at all.

So, what do I do? We have tried being stern and saying "no!" loudly and firmly. So far it isn't working. We have feigned crying and he laughs. Really. And then usually smacks us in the face. I call him a redneck but I don't want to raise a redneck! I want him to be a nice, polite, ornery little boy- not a menace to society.

I need your help. Some of you have sons. Is it a boy thing? (That is my leaning, honestly.) And, for the love of all things good and pure, what can I do about these bad behaviors? Please help!