Closet Time-Out

I hope no one needs me today because I'm in a time out.

Not one of those "Mommy-needs-a-break" time outs, which I do need, but one of those "Mommy-made-a-bad-mistake" time outs.  The kind of time out I give Cael, except that this time it is for me and I completely deserve it.

I've been on my own for the last few days, and although I'm used to handling the boys alone, I am extremely bored and miss having someone in the house to relieve me, allowing me to pee or bathe in peace.  I don't know how single mothers do it-- they all must have less inquisitive children than I do, or they've invested in a high-gauge steel deadbolt for the bathroom door.

But aside from the need for some "me" time, I've been a bit frazzled by what has been the longest stretch of the worst behavior from both boys simultaneously.  And just in case you're keeping track, it's been one hundred forty-seven hours of screaming, throwing tantrums, refusing to eat, begging to eat, pooping both on the potty and off and a general attitude of "go pump your pistons" toward me, their adoring mother.  I've been busy with work around the house, a number of projects for friends and family, and I finally, accidentally-- dropped one of the proverbial balls I was juggling.

It was a big Mommy mistake.  Big.

While the boys were napping on Wednesday, I decided to knock a few items off my to-do list.  One of the things I wanted to work on was some weeding and maintenance of my backyard flowers that have multiplied like a major leaguer on performance enhancing drugs.  I put my can-get-dirty shoes on, grabbed my sunglasses and headed outside when I had a thought.

Oh, shoot.  Cael's gonna freak.

I knew that Graham wouldn't care because he was sleeping soundly in his crib and couldn't get out until I retrieved him.  But Cael is free to leave whenever he wakes up, which as of late has become impossible to predict.  If I need to be outside during his nap, I will normally prep him in advance to come find me, but today's decision was made on a whim.

No problem, I'll just leave him a note.

I scribbled out a note and tiptoed into his room.  He was out hard; his little arm wrapped tightly around Bloose as though he were a life preserver.  I quietly taped the note to the inside of his door, and headed out to work on the flowers.

Almost two hours later, I thought it was a little odd that I hadn't seen him.  I'd poked my head in the house every 20 minutes or so and glanced at his door, but the house was still quiet and my curly-headed wombat was no where to be seen.  I assumed he was worn out from tormenting me all day, and began to return to the backyard when I had one of those gut-wrenching feelings of panic.

Cael. Cant. Read.

I ran inside and threw open his door to find that he was not in his bed.  How long had he been up?  I ran through the house calling him, but didn't hear anything.  Was he in my room?  Nope.  Was he in the bathroom?  Nope.  The kitchen?  Nope.  The garage?  Nope.  I sat on the couch for a moment to collect myself and tried to think of where he might go if he got loose outside.  Would he go next door?  Does he know how to get to Papa's house?  Is he headed to Boone to ride the steam engine?

Just as I grabbed my phone to call someone to stay at my house while I scoured the neighborhood, I heard a sound.  Rustle.  I walked in the direction of my bedroom, which I'd already checked, and heard the sound again.  Rustle.  I could hear that it was coming from the walk-in closet, so I headed over there and opened the door.

"MOM-MY!!!" (Shouted between sniffles)

"Cael!  Are you okay, honey?"

"Yes.  Where were you?!?"

"I was outside working in the flowers.  I'm sorry you couldn't find me... but why are you in here?"

"I was supposed to go to the closet."

"Who told you to go to the closet?"

"There was a story on my door about a person and the person went in the closet."

There was a story about a person on his door?  --And just then I remembered my note, and how at the bottom I'd drawn a little picture of me outside the door.  Or to Cael, in the closet.

"Mommy just wasn't thinking, honey, I'm sorry."

"Okay.  Can I watch a Thomas?"

"Yes you can!"

And with that, my big boy stood up and headed downstairs.  Once standing, I could see that he was not wearing shorts or underpants and had on one of Daddy's neckties. 

"Wait, Cael.  Why aren't you wearing pants?"

"Because, Mommy.  You just don't wear underpants in the closet."

Whatever, dude.  I'm just glad those cheekers are safe.

Caelism of the Day

When Cael emerged from his room after his all-too-short nap today, he was either still partially asleep or he was rehearsing a monologue for a theater production he hopes to join.

"Mommy, today is the day I am a toy.  Toys are blue and hard and they sing songs.  They sing songs about the sky.  I'm going to be a bird and I will be orange and green and all the colors.  Will you be a bird?  Can you fly with me?"

Phfffft.

"Excuse me, Mommy.  I tooted.  Birds toot sometimes."

Exercise Exhibitionism

I've been on my own the last few days while Joel is playing hooky attending a jazz workshop, so I've been finding ways to keep busy.  One of my "gifts to myself" during his absences is a Redbox movie, or two... or six.  So far I've limited myself to one, "The Social Network", which I stayed up late last night to watch over a big plate of kale chips-- my newest addiction.  Who would have thought that a curly leaf, when tossed in a little olive oil, could be so crispy and good?  I explained to Cael how I made them and even though he said they tasted yucky, he also suggested I try the same technique to make chips out of other things as well.  His palette must be as warped as his sense of humor, because he thought shoes, paper, carpet and batteries would all be tasty if given the same treatment.  I think I'll pass.

Since our little town thinks big but stays little, there is no Redbox machine nearby, warranting a trip into Cedar Rapids to return the disc.  On our way into town, we drove past a man who was out for a jog along the side of the road.  This is by no means an unusual sight during the summer, but Cael's curiosity coupled with his incessant need to question everything led to a rather verbose car ride.  When he launched into his interrogation, I hit "Record" on my phone's video camera to capture our conversation.  The actual video was unusable because I was driving and couldn't point the camera at him, but it did allow me to remember and relay our discussion.  After all, I shouldn't be the only one that has to listen to this. 

"Mommy, is that man running?"

"Yeah, it looks that way." 

"Why that man doesn't have a shirt on?"

"Because it's really hot out and he's exercising." 

"Why he's hot when he exercises?"

"Exercising makes you hot anyway, and the weather is hot today.  He took his shirt off to keep cool." 

"Why won't he be warm?"

"He IS warm... he's more than warm.  He's probably hot!" 

"But I want him to be WARM!"

"I don't know what you're talking about anymore, Cael." 

"Can he put his shirt back on?"

"I don't think he has the shirt with him, honey." 

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't have a place to keep it while he's running." 

"Where is his shirt?"

"I don't know.  Maybe it's at his house." 

"Where is his house?

"I have no idea.  I don't know that man." 

"Why you don't know that man?"

"I just don't.  Mommy doesn't know everyone." 

"Can we go to that man's house?"

"No, Cael, because I don't know where he lives, remember?" 

"Does he live on our street?"

"I don't know." 

"You don't know?"

"I don't.  That's what I meant when I said, 'I don't know'." 

"Can we give him one of Daddy's shirts?"

"No, Daddy likes his shirts.  We need to keep them at our house." 

"What do we need to keep at our house?"

"Daddy's shirts!  Okay, Cael.  Mommy needs a break from the questions." 

"Why you need a break?"

"Because my ears hurt from all of the questions.  They need it to be quiet in here for a little while." 

"Who needs it to be quiet here for a little while?  Graham?"

"Yes, Graham, but mostly my ears!" 

"Why?"

"Enough, Cael!" 

"Okay."

Ahhhhhhhhhh.  Could it be possible that my son-- my cute-but-annoying son that just handed out almost 20 consecutive questions-- was going to be quiet?  I knew that it would be short-lived, but I wasn't going to ruin the silence by worrying about it.  After all, what more was there to say about that shirtless man?

"Mommy, when you run do you take your shirt off?"

Yikes.

Interviews of a Lifetime

One part of becoming an official "blogger" is getting sucked in to other people's blogs as well.  I have accumulated a list of 13-15 blogs that I check constantly to see what other people are doing with their children, design projects, recipes and more.  Sometimes I will come across a new idea that I want to try on my own blog or in my own life.  And that's how, after reading my friend Shawna's blog post yesterday, I decided that I, too, wanted to attempt an interview with my boys.  But just as you might have guessed, it was easier said than done.

Originally I planned to write out a list of questions and ask them annually to see how they've changed, but I knew that asking Graham what his favorite book was would be rather bland as none of us have read Blaaaaaaaaa by author Laladuhbapfffffft.  So just as with parenting, I decided to wing it.

(In case you're at work, there's a summary of our interviews below the video links.  You really shouldn't be surfing the net at work, though.  Especially if you're looking at my blog.  I can't be held responsible for any boogers or loud gas that your boss might see/hear while you're viewing my site.  Don't say I didn't warn you.)



Name:  Cael
Age:  3 (soon to be 4)
Favorite Food:  Cereal (Chocolate Cheerios with regular Cheerios mixed in) ("Totos" = Cheerios)
Favorite Color:  Green
Favorite Toy:  Thomas the Train
Friends:  Mommy, Papa, Daddy, Oscar
Favorite Game:  Cards in the Basement Closet
Favorite Book:  We're Going on a Bear Hunt



Name:  Not Graham, Not Cael, Not Oscar, Not Daddy
Age:  Two (with 4 fingers, but actually one year old)
Favorite Foods:  Apple & Cheerios
Favorite Toy/Things to Do:  Trains, Balls, Crayons/Paper, Stickers, Oscar, Playing Outside
-BIG POO-  -PILLOW HAT-
Who Loves Graham: Mama
Who's the Man:  Dada
Tricks:  High Five, Knuckles, Thumbs Up, "Oh My!", Bye-Bye

And just in case you caught the beginning of Graham's video, I most certainly did bribe him to sit still.  I highly recommend it for any scenario when you need a wiggly two four one year old to pose for a photo or perform tricks on command.  Brandy might do the same thing too, but then you have to answer to those pesky CPS agents.

Cael's video was recorded on the 4th take, but miraculously took place bribe-free.  The first three attempts were interrupted by a potty break, Mr.-Religious-fuzzy-mint-in-the-pocket-that-won't-get-the-hint-that-I'm-not-interested and lastly, a singing video that would never be.  Once that kid gets an idea in his head, there's no getting it out.  Even with a broom or by bribing it with cookies.  But I thought it was cute anyway, so feel free to check it out.



PS.  Yes, Cael has a black eye.  It's his signature thing-- I think he's had about 10 in his short life.  When reading this comment, please disregard any incriminating things I have said about the little goon.  He's a lot to take, but I'd sooner tickle him to death than hurt him.  Just saying...

The Twilight Zone

Living with my two weirdos each day is all the confirmation I need of their strangeness.  My boys say goofy things and do goofy things every day, but they are children and their creativity is in full bloom.  In the last week, however, our environment has felt a lot less like Iowa and a lot more like The Twilight Zone.

I ran to our local grocery store a few days back to pick up some ingredients for a potato dish I was making.  It was one of those rare occasions when I was able to run an errand without my kids, whose mere presence adds 15-20 minutes to every task, even when they are behaving.  After I checked out and was leaving, I encountered a mother with her three daughters as they entered the store.  As I passed this woman, I shot her the "I sympathize with you" smile that moms share as part of the unofficial club to which we all belong.  But right after I'd shot her our signature look, I realized that this mother was not in the same boat as myself and many other mothers.  The daughters were very quiet and all walked alone and very obediently alongside their mother, regardless of age.  (I'm hoping that Bluetooth will extend their services to parenting one of these days, as I long for a hands-free existence as well.)  Just as I had pegged this group as the type of family I hoped we could someday become, I heard a small snippet of their conversation.

"Okay, Millicent.  Which vegetable has more Vitamin C?  Cucumber, Pepper or Artichoke?  If you get it right, you can pick out your own zucchini."

"No thank you", said the daughter, "I'd much prefer a red onion."

Graham frightened by the idea of eating a raw red onion.

To be fair, the daughter's name wasn't Millicent.  I changed it to protect the privacy of these people, but I can promise that her actual name was equally as unexpected for a girl of no more than five years.  But even more than her name, I was surprised by the oddness of their conversation.  The dialogue in my van and within my family is much less formal, sadly much less educational, but definitely much more common.  My small children are interested in toys and playtime, music and stickers and toots.  While I'd certainly like to wipe away some of the poop talk from our lives, I'm not sure I'd do it at the expense of having a sterile relationship with my boys.  And I definitely wouldn't do it if it meant Cael and Graham had to eat a raw onion.  They'd sooner eat the poop they wouldn't be allowed to discuss.

Riding on the heels of my bizarre encounter with Mrs. Veggielover and her obedient daughters, I was forced to have a conversation with my boys regarding another stranger's awkward behavior.  We were waiting by the restrooms at Walmart, where awkward behaviors are the norm.  As I stood with the boys in my cart, an older woman rode by on her motorized cart.  Moments like these are terrifying if you have a child like Cael; it is impossible to predict when he will innocently ask questions that are intriguing to him but mortifying to me and often offensive to someone else.  But before my son had the opportunity to loudly ask "Why won't that woman walk?" or "Why does that lady have food all over her shirt?", the woman stopped her cart right in front of us, stepped off of it and picked a huge wedgie from her rear end.  Shocked, I must have been watching a little too closely because she immediately looked at me and said,

"That was a bad one.  But if it isn't one end, it's the other!"

And with that, she started digging in her nose with such enthusiasm that I would have expected her to pull a tennis bracelet out of her nostril.  I was frozen in place.  Did that just happen?  As she hopped on her cart and rode off, the questions began.

"Mommy, what was wrong with that lady's pants?"

"I think they were uncomfortable, so she was just pulling them down a little."  Lie, lie, lie.

"But she was pulling on her bottom!  Is her bottom uncomfortable?"

"Her pants made her bottom uncomfortable, so she was pulling them down a bit."

"Oh, okay."

Baby Cael, digging for gold in Feb' 2008.

Crisis averted.  Or so I thought, until my littlest weirdo, who has begun talking nonstop, decided to chime in.

"Mama!  Yuh (yucky) nose!"

"Yep, that was yucky what she was doing with her nose."

The gears in Cael's head clicked into place and he made a gross and unfortunate connection.

"Mommy, that lady touched her bottom and then touched her nose.  That's yucky!  Are her hands stinky?" 

His question, while completely valid, sent him into a perpetual giggle-cycle, and I had to end the conversation before it escalated and he got some new rear-to-mouth ideas of his own.

"Okay, boys.  Enough bottom talk.  It's time for us to go home.  Who wants a snack at home? 

"Meeee!"  "Snah!  Snah!"

Lucky for them it wouldn't be red onion.

My last and possibly most confusing discovery came yesterday as I was doing a little bit of blog maintenance.  I was visiting my "Stats" page on Blogger which gives me information about who is visiting my wesbite, how many times the page has been viewed, where those viewers are located and more.  I was happy to see that I had reached 6,000 pageviews and that I continue to gain viewers in all sorts of interesting places.  In fact, aside from the United States which is in a large and obvious lead, more of my viewers reside in Germany than any other country.  But this made me wonder-- how are these people finding my blog?  I would expect that a few of those views would be random, but could there be people actually searching out my site?

It was this curiosity that led me to discover that you all, my friends, are stranger than Stepford children, stranger than Walmartians and stranger than my noisy, smelly boys.  When looking for my blog, the most common (admittedly by one) search term was: WET HAIRBALLS.

As weird as that is, and as weird as you all are, that search term led two people to my blog.  So for you, loyal readers, I'll say it again.  WET HAIRBALLS.

I guess I'm the weirdest of us all. 

Caelism of the Day

Well, friends, after a long slump, Graham provided us with poop #3 on the potty this afternoon, reassuring me that his earlier successes were not just flukes, but might be the beginning of potty training progress.

Cael saw it differently.  

After his nap, Cael had a revelation and quickly bounded up the stairs where I was working on a project (to be revealed later).

"Mommy!  Graham did a poop on the potty like a big boy!"

"Yeah, but that was a few hours ago."

"But Mommy, if he poops on the potty that means he's a big boy.  Big boys wear underpants and go to preschool."

"Graham's not quite old enough for those things yet.  But you are!"

"Yep.  But I can't drink beer."

"Uh, NO you can't."

"Nope.  I guess I can't."

And with that he wandered off to line some more trains up somewhere.  I breathed a sigh of relief that they were trains and not beer cans.  I guess motherhood has changed a lot over the years.

What Does a Cow Say?

All kids like animals, right?  My kids are no exception.  But while I love my dog only so much, my kids take animal love to a new and strange level.

It started with a then baby Cael, who, in addition to his loyal friend Bloose, had quite an affinity for squirrels.  He'd spend hours staring out the window at the fuzzy "puppies" in the trees.  Once he reached Graham's current age (and in reminiscing about this I'm reminded yet again of the fundamental differences between my sons) Cael would scream anytime we went anywhere in the car.  Not because he hated the carseat, and not because he was in pain, but for the same reason Cael does anything-- because he could.  He'd smile and let loose an incredibly shrill shriek; one so loud the tempered glass in the car would threaten to burst.  Our only hope of stopping it was via distraction.  This was most effectively done with food, but once Cael had eaten his body weight in Cheerios, we knew we needed another strategy.  While noisily rolling down the road, we enlisted him to help us patrol for deer, as I must have a "hit me" bumper sticker on my vehicles that is visible only to the most dim-witted of all deer.  (To date, I've hit three with only one being a serious collision.  They just love me-- maybe they've read the blog?)  Cael relished in having a job, and would shout "Deer, Mommy!" at the sight of any rabbit, bush or truck in his field of vision. 

As he grew, Cael sought out animals anywhere he could, and often filled an afternoon by watching a stray cat or chasing a fly around a window until it felt that suicide was a superior option to playtime with Cael.  One day, while watering my hanging baskets on the front of the house, Cael saw that a nest of birds had taken over the flowers I had recently cut back.  Completely enamored with them, we had to check back repeatedly to see how they'd grown.  Until one day when we were peeking at them and they all fluttered out of the nest.

"Birdies?"

"They all flew away."

"Nooo!  Birdies!"

"I'm sorry, honey.  They got bigger and learned how to fly.  Now they're grown up."

"Poop." 

I guess "poop" has the same definition as "shucks" or "darn".  (If "ginormous" can be added to the dictionary, I think it's high time that poop receive an alternative definition.)

At almost four, Cael's interest in animals has matured... somewhat.  He still loves to point out animals as we drive through the farm fields, and he still loves to shout "DEER!" randomly, shaving years off of my life expectancy.  Taking a cue from Papa, who one day honked at some geese to make the boys laugh, Cael now loves to moo at cattle grazing in fields.  The first time he asked me if he could do this, I was caught off guard by what I heard.

"Mommy, can I moo at those cows?"

"I guess so.  But I don't think they can hear you, so you'll have to moo pretty loudly."

"Okay."

"Here you go!" (rolling the window down for him) "Go ahead and moo!"

"MURRRRRR!"



Papa and I exchanged confused glances.  Why did he say "murr" instead of "moo"?  We decided to investigate.

"Cael, why did you say "murr"?

"That's what cows say, Mommy.  They say "moo".

"That's right, Cael.  But you didn't say "moo".  Can you make the cow sound for me again?"

"Yep.  MURRRRRR!"

And that's how "murring" was born.  As a Mommy, sometimes you just have to give up and blame Daddy for your kid's strangeness.  And their behavior.  And your gray hairs. 



Cael's "murring" currently shows no sign of stopping, and our family has now welcomed our newest animal lover.  Graham loves to recite his animal sounds, and so far he's quite reliable and accurate.  As accurate as he can be, that is, when telling us that a frog says "ribbit".  Don't event get me started on "cock-a-doodle-doo". 

Perhaps I should just encourage him to say "poop", after all.