That's What YOU Think

My kids do not think like I do. (Shocking, I know.)

Rumor has it this will continue well into adolescence. It's been said that even when they finally acheive adulthood and some form of maturity... they may still think differently than I do. (I assure you I will do my best to prevent that from happening.)

Um, this is not exactly what I meant when I said,
"Lay down and go to sleep!"

At what point do they begin to think like adults? At what stage do they look at a bookcase and cease to think that climbing it would be fun? When do they realize that drinking the water from the tub they just peed in is actually NOT a good idea? And don't even get me started about scissors.

No, children certainly do not think like we do. They have a wonderful sense of seeing the world only as it is presently. They do not look to the past, and they cannot look to the future. They see items and circumstances only as they are now. Which is their gift.

"I think I need a hat in the next size down..."

I look at our pots and pans reminding me of meals that need to be made, dishes that need to be washed, and meal planning that has yet to be done. My children see clanging cymbals, containers for trucks, and sometimes - hats. Whatever they happen to need in that moment, the objects around them can serve the purpose. They are not restrained with rules of how things are to be "used", what they are "for" and how they "work".

The imagination of a child is an amazing miracle. The world around them is still pliable. They can bend any object to serve the purpose at hand. The rigid structure of adulthood has not pierced their thoughts, inhibiting them from licking peanut butter off the table or turning couch cushions into forts. Responsibility and knowledge don't weigh on them, preventing them from enjoying dirt, water, food and bugs.

Mud Pie. It's no longer just for dessert!

They don't care if they get dirty. They don't have to care. That's what we're here for. So, as I walk around the house and find things that are a little "off", I have begun to take pictures. (Shocking, I know.) Reminders that their vision of the world around them is so different from my own...

Please join me on a short but fascinating trip into the minds of my children. But please, no questions - I have no idea what they were thinking.

"Whaddya mean pockets aren't made to hold dirt?
It works perfectly!"

"Who needs pancakes? Or a shirt? Or the ability
to actually twist open the cap?"

"But every time I took one bag out, another
popped up in it's place! Isn't that how
the game works?"

Swim suit or new headwear? She's such a
fashion trendsetter.

Why yes, that is a kitchen sink filled to the brim.
Why yes, that is my daughter drinking straight from it.
Why yes, that is my son scooping water oblivious to
how abnormal this entire situtation is...

You see: Iced Tea Pot
They see: Stuffed Animal Sleeping Quarters

Oh, like you haven't found your keys hanging from
holes in the walls at your house. Right.
(How the holes got there is another story...)

*No Caption Needed* (Ha!)

"Hey mom! What's in-hi-bition?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"How come adults have no idea how fun this room is?"

You see: Laundry Basket
She sees: Chair. Or Train. (Depends on the day.)

Speaking of trains... why bother with the plastic one
when you can invent your own?

I love the reminders that my children definitely do NOT think the way I do. On second thought, I take back my earlier statement. Maybe I won't do my best to teach them how to think like me. Maybe I'll even learn a little something from them.

Another, Um, Month Gone?

It turns out October is a surprisingly busy month. We have birthdays, trips to pumpkin patches and local attractions like Apple Hill, and of course the usual chaos that comes with red-headed mess makers:

"See no evil..."

"Look ma! No hands!"

I've been working on planning specific activities for the kids. Part of it is to encourage imagination and play, helping them to learn and experience new things. The other part is that sometimes I get to strap them down in one place for 20 minutes:

"Ooohhh... look Grace! Mom thinks this will keep us
out of trouble. Hahahahaha!!!!"

Mark only gets to play with the caps to the markers.

Grace got to color with markers for the first time, and
did a great job drawing circles for mommy!

Strapping them down is helpful, but not foolproof. While they were playing, I got a phone call and went into the other room for just a moment...

"Um, mommy? What does the 'permanent' in
permanent marker mean?"

Luckily, they were washable markers. I may walk out of the room when my 3 year old has a rainbow of markers in front of her, but even I have some brain cells left.

Remember the rice and beans Grace had such a fun time with last March? Mark was too little to participate then, but he's finally outgrown putting things in his mouth all the time, so I let him try it out recently. He loved it! He did quite well, but toward the end he still tried to eat some. Nevertheless, it kept them both busy for a long while which made me happy. Oh, and them too.

Why yes, that is a pink tutu over a party dress.
If one is pretty, two must be prettier!

Mark really got into the whole sensory experience. After
using just his hands for 20 minutes, he graduated
to full body immersion.

It's hard to believe I haven't posted ANY pictures of all our adventures the last two months. I finally went through them, and picked out some of the best. There are over 100. Hey, I told you we'd been busy!! Even the Grands may not be able to handle that much Sunshine at once, so I'll share just one with you today.

When daddy was on vacation last month, we did lots of fun stuff - including the Children's Museum. Both of the kids had a great time playing, exploring and working. Well, maybe not working, but training for future employment.

"What extension please? Can you hold?"

Panama Canal Director OR Disney Park Engineer

Ships captain OR
the role of Ginger on the new Gilligan's Island

Bus Driver OR Practicing for Drivers License

"'Don't worry dad, I've got this one!"

"If you run out of fingers, you can always use your
tongue. It helps."

This was by FAR Gracie's favorite play area. The register
beeps, the drawer opens, and she even handed me
my change! We did this over, and over, and over....

Life isn't always roses though. Earlier this month, Grace was climbing on a toy and fell off. She has a huge smile on her face because she was granted permission for a band-aid. If only everything were that simple.

"This has to rate at least TWO bandaids!"

Mark also got a bandaid this week. He went to the doctor for a check up. He's in the 75% for height, which means his Daddy is very proud of his "big boy" and his mommy is going to have to buy size 2T footie pajamas because his toes are threatening to burst out of the 18 month sleepers due to those long legs.

Mark had a GREAT time at the doctor's office. He played when we first arrived:

"Wow! This doctor stuff is fun! Let's do this every week!"

"I'll dance, you spin on the chair... then we'll switch!"

"Let's see, yep! All stocked up. Are we done here?"

After the kids were done touching, opening and playing with everything not baby-proofed, the nurse finally arrived. Mark cried when I put him in the scale to weigh him (25 lbs!). He cried when I put him down to measure him. He cried when they measured the circumference of his head. He cried when they took his temperature. He cried, cried, cried...

"Breathe? How can I breathe? I'm practically
hyperventilating here!"

"Look lady! Only I put things in my ears!
And for the record, it's usually something edible!"

If he had known what was coming, maybe he would have saved the tears for the final scene:

"What was THAT? I don't care how many
band-aids are involved. I'm NOT going to smile!"

"DeeDee... they SHOT me! SHOT ME!!!
Isn't that illegal or something?"
(DeeDee is a nurse, that's why she can smile while
Mark is so upset...)

"Nevermind what I said about the
doctor being fun. I'm NEVER going back!"

Gracie is also growing by leaps and bounds. You can't see it on the outside, but her words and actions indicate a much deeper level of understanding. She is still in love with the moon, and frequently asks to see it. "Where did the sun go?" is a nightly question, and "It's dark outside/in there/in my room" is a frequent comment.

Recently, I put her hair in a ponytail when we were in the kitchen. When I was done, she said "I'm going to go look in the mirror!" Daddy asked me how long she'd been saying things like that. I replied "About 2 seconds!" She has been fascinated with the mirror lately though. I caught her yesterday admiring how it works:

"Why yes, you do resemble Mrs. Potato Head!"

"Uh, mom? Some privacy please? I'm practicing for
my role on the next Toy Story movie."

"Oh my goodness! Buzz in trouble again??"

"Don't worry, I can be worried and pucker up for the
final kissing scene. Buzz does have a thing
for redheads you know."

Well, you made it to the end! I hope your month was filled with more smiles than bandaids, and that you're taking the time out of a busy life to enjoy those you love. Good job for making it all the way through... not everyone does you know.

"Whew! That was exhausting!"

Lies Our Parents Tell Us

By parents, I mean OUR parents - the Grands. Remember when you were a teenager, and you thought you knew far more than your parents did? Then you got smacked upside the head with reality and came to your senses? Well, apparently as we age, this process reverses. Your parents tell you things and think you won't catch on.

I'm a bit concerned this will continue to devolve, until they're actually spelling things again. "DeeDee, do you think Jen would mind if we fed I-C-E C-R-E-A-M to her children after taking them to the P-A-R-K during their N-A-P T-I-M-E?" If that conversation ever takes place in front of me, I've already got a game plan. I'm raiding the freezer and eating all the ice cream before they get back.

"She's kidding right? She couldn't possibly eat that
much ice cream..."
"We'd better tell PapaDeeDee to keep some extra
in the deep freeze."

Seriously though, the list of lies is astounding. Here are some of my favorites:

"The kids were great!" - I live with these short people. There is no way you had them for more than 24 hours without someone having a meltdown, eating the dish soap, climbing onto the kitchen table or - and I KNOW this one happened - stealing toys and hitting one another.

"We're just going to get them a little something." - I don't know if there was just too much LSD in the air when they were growing up, but a "little" ice cream somehow ends up being the ZiggyPiggy dish from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. A "little" gift takes up fourteen square feet of your living room, requires more battery power than the first supercomputer, and has it's own atmosphere. Which brings me to my next point...

The Grands are great! Mom and Dad will
never know we haven't slept all night!

"They went to bed a little late." - Clearly the word "little" changes it's definition as one ages. Eleven p.m. is not a "little" late. Eleven was my curfew just three months before I officially became an adult. Remember? Curfew? The time the Grands set as "too late"? Oh, if we could only reverse time. Let's see, my kids are supposed to be in bed by eight. They usually get to bed around ten when they're with The Grands. This equates to my waltzing into the house at 1 a.m. as a teen. If only I could have told them I was "just a little late" and recorded it for future use... but you know what they say about hindsight.

"Enjoy this time, it goes by way too quickly." - Nostalgia, n: a yearning to return to the past. Alzheimers, n: a progressive degenerative neurologic disease characterized by loss of mental ability. Nostalgheimers, n.: a progressive, degenerative loss of mental ability that begins the moment a parent is born.

Generally kept in check during the child rearing years, when grandchildren arrive Nostalgheimers rapidly erases all memory of potty training, temper tantrums, feces artwork and virtual heart attacks brought on by swingset mishaps. Left in its wake are nostalgic memories of the wonder of childhood, where your daughter sincerely asks to touch the moon, the search for a snail supersedes all other responsibilities, and the triumphant announcement "I did it myself!" somehow makes up for the fact that your child has walked into a fully populated room with no clothing, but two shoes on the right feet.

Christmas 2010

Unfortunately, a parent was born in September of 2008, and already the effects of Nostalgheimers is beginning to show in her memory banks. I was looking back on pictures from last year, when Mark had his "faux hawk" hairstyle. I'm already missing that soft red strip of hair down the middle of an almost bald head. Grace was enamored with the smallest of things... and her little face revealed all her emotions, because her words hadn't yet formed well enough.

"I did it myself!"

There is no cure for this disease. So, rather than confront the Grands with their devious behavior, I've decided to let it slide. It really isn't their fault, since it began the day they became parents. (Which makes it my sister's fault. In case you were wondering.)

So What Did You Do Today Honey?

You know the 'ol soap opera and bon bon joke? Well, I never bought into that one. I did however, wonder how a woman could be home ALL DAY, with no appointments, obligations or demands on her time, and still not manage to have the dishes and laundry done.

Now I know.

Why yes, that is half a roll of paper towels coming
from the kitchen. Thank you for noticing.

For those of you who are still wondering, let me tell you about one afternoon last week. After returning home from our shopping trip (no, not the mall - the grocery store. *rolls eyes*) we settle in to eat lunch. As usual, Grace requested PB and J, so I made two quick sandwiches, threw in a side of cottage cheese and peaches, secured them to their chairs and proceeded to put away the groceries. Luckily, I grabbed a spoonful of peanut butter while making lunch - otherwise I may have had no lunch at all.

As I put away the groceries, Mark busied himself with the cottage cheese. He immediately dropped his spoon. Being the genius innovator that he is, he lost no time in using his  hands to shove fistfuls of white goop into his face. Grace was busy peeling apart her sandwich so she could lick the jelly off one side and scrape the peanut butter off the other before shoving it into her face.

"Trust me. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

As the children proceeded to make a complete mess of themselves, I silently thanked them for not flinging food like they did at breakfast. Mark is still mastering a fork. While he is getting quite good at stabbing items, the process of bringing it to his mouth is more like a catapult motion over his right shoulder. Pancake bits found their way into a number of places. I'm not sure I've discovered them all just yet.

As I put the last of the groceries away, Mark's high pitched squeals reminded me that neither of them had drinks. I walk the house looking for the sippy cups from this morning. Blue cup under the coffee table. Check. Pink cup... pink cup? Oh, of course. Pink cup in the bathroom cupboard where the Elmo underwear resides. Naturally. Take them both back to the kitchen for a quick rinse and refill. Notice that the kids are about halfway through and I haven't put away the lunch fixings, emptied the dishwasher or eaten lunch. Okay, move faster.

I quickly empty the dishwasher, silently thankful once again that the children were strapped down. The last time I attempted this chore, the children were roaming free. One got stuck after pulling out the bottom rack and catching his foot in the grid trying to reach the water pitcher in the back. Luckily, he left enough room for his sister to stand on the edge of the door and begin jumping. All of this in the four seconds it took for me to put three plates in the cabinet. Not today though; today they were happily tilting their plates heavenward as they drank the last bit of peach juice from the compartmentalized plastic.

"What? I left room for Grace to stand on the door too!"

Hmmm.... if their plates are upside down, I haven't much time left. I have learned if the kids eat all of their food, it does not necessarily mean they are finished. It is at this point I see Grace drinking milk from her cup and spitting it into her plate. Meanwhile, Mark is fishing in his chair for bits of sandwich that escaped the first go round. I pause from dishes to remind Grace that spitting is not acceptable and remove her plate. (I have also become adept at dodging sticky little hands intent on grabbing my shirt if I get within six inches at mealtime.)

The plate is almost rinsed off when I hear "Pee pee mommy!" I head over, intending to wipe her hands prior to sending her toward the bathroom. After seeing the carnage the PB and J has left in its wake, I instead decide to follow her to the bathroom along with instructions not to touch anything.

I have her wash her hands before using the potty. I also wipe her face and torso down a bit while I have the chance. She goes potty, then jumps up and runs out of the bathroom - free from the lunch chair and anxious to play. I call her back to remind her there are a few other steps to using the bathroom... at a minimum she needs to put some underwear on.

I head back to the kitchen to find Mark happily crushing his peach and cottage cheese encrusted plate onto his head. I send up more thanks that short hair releases food particles easily. The plate gets rinsed and put in the dishwasher and I head over to give Mark the equivalent of a sponge bath.

Mark is released into the wild while I wipe down two chairs, a tray, and a kitchen table. During this time the kids manage to throw every toy out of the playpen, remove three pots and pans from the cupboard and take the broom I need into one of the bedrooms. My stomach has sent only one signal reminding me that a spoonful of peanut butter does not constitute lunch.

Blessedly, nap time immediately follows lunch. I've been home almost an hour. There are toys, pans and brooms scattered throughout the house. The dining room floor does its best impression of teen acne angst with its strawberry jelly and cottage cheese covering. That's when the dryer buzzes with shirts needing to be hung up.

I'm tempted to open the dishwasher door, just to show that I have indeed accomplished something. The closed door mocks me - there is nary a hint of my putting away dishes and groceries. There's no evidence of meal prep or clean up. Clothes sit wrinkling in the dryer as a testament to my laundry handicap. I'm certain I have been busy the last hour...

Mark screams indignantly in the playroom. I walk in to find Grace looking innocently at Mark. She's embracing three toy trucks as though their very existence depends on her protection. Mark holds nothing - a scene that looked quite different two minutes ago. No, I didn't see it - I know.

"Hmmm. He seems a little dramatic don't you think? I've
no idea why he's crying. Best send him off to bed..."

It's definitely nap time.

A quick diaper change and Mark will be ready for bed. I hear Grace closing all the hallway doors as I get him ready. As I'm finishing up, I hear "Pee pee mommy!" (Didn't you just go?) I know the bathroom door is closed, and Grace cannot open it without help because it sticks.

I can't leave Mark on the changing table, and I've not got his pants back on. I should put him in the crib but by this time my brain fails me. I set him on the ground to go help Grace. It is then I discover the entire contents of the linen closet have been brought out into the hallway. "Grace!" I scold her as I usher her towards the potty. She does her thing while I clean up the linens. Once again, she returns sans underpants. I ask if she wiped, which she assures me she did. I am equally sure that she didn't. I tell her to go back and wipe. I have almost finished putting the linens away when I look up to see that Grace has brought the toilet paper to me. By "brought" I mean she has unrolled the TP from the bathroom all the way to the end of the hall. Well, at least she's obeying...

After re-rolling the paper, wiping a bottom, clothing said bottom, and washing three pairs of hands (What?  You think Mark doesn't get in on the toilet action?) I pick Mark up, put on his pants, turn on his fan, turn off his light, give him his blankie and a quick hug and put him to bed. Whew. I then follow Grace to her room, get her tucked in and head back to the kitchen, sidestepping brooms, pans and toys the entire way.

I reflect on my younger, single, child free self. I had no idea what having small children entailed. On the bright side, even after missing lunch I won't go hungry - I can always eat my words.