"Oh my gosh! Yes, Cael, you go to preschool tomorrow morning."
"Yea! I get to go to preschool tomorrow! What time is preschool?"
"It starts at 8:30."
"Is that tomorrow?"
"Yes. 8:30 tomorrow morning."
"When does Bampa get here?" (Joel's Dad will be arriving for a visit in the afternoon.)
"He comes after your nap."
"But I wanted to go to preschool!"
"You will, honey. Preschool is in the morning."
"Tomorrow morning?"
"YES."
"But I'm gonna miss Bampa!"
"No, you won't. He comes later in the day."
"Which day?"
"Tomorrow!"
"While I'm at preschool?"
"Cael, I'm going to say this once, so I want you to listen REALLY carefully. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Tomorrow morning you are going to wake up, get dressed, brush your teeth and eat some breakfast."
"--and go potty!"
"Yes, and go potty. We will get in the car and go to preschool. When preschool is done, we will come home and play for a little bit and then it will be time for lunch. After lunch it will be naptime, and hopefully you will sleep. When you wake up from your nap, it will be time to go pick up Bampa from the airport. Do you understand?"
Hey friends! I'm hoping you can do me a favor. As 2012 gets into full swing, I'm trying to scrutinize my schedule and try to add in some activities that used to be important to me (hello, treadmill!). While this blog has become important to me and, I hope, a highlight for you, it is difficult to know how many of you are stopping by on a regular basis.
If you enjoy the blog, would you please click the cute little "Join this Site" button on the right? Before I prioritize the blog above weight loss, I'd like to know that there are more than 15 people reading each day. I love all 15 of you, but you can't help me drop 20 pounds.
Wait... can you?
I'll be back later this afternoon with another post jam-packed with more Cael and Graham craziness, but I do appreciate your help with this. If you're unwilling to join the site, you're always welcome to come change diapers at my house. I'm not picky.
If you caught last Friday's post, you know that Cael and Graham are now sharing a room, while Joel and I have been sharing a desire for a stiff drink at 3pm. Try as I might, I cannot seem to affect change in the lack-of-sleep cycle that the boys have developed. In fact, Cael has been playing "musical beds" while napping all over the house to find quiet and eliminate the temptation to jump on Graham's bed. Or head.
But somehow, each night, they have gone to sleep in their own beds after being sufficiently coaxed and cajoled. I've crashed hard and greatly enjoyed the deep sleep of any poor mother whose children are both night owls and early birds.
"That's funny Graham. But look at this!"
I heard it on the monitor but it didn't make sense. It's still dark out. What are they doing? I put my glasses on and saw that it was 5:15am, a far cry from an appropriate waking hour but much better than the previous morning when Cael poked me in the eye at 2:45 to wake me up because his bottom was "scratchy".
Maybe they will go back to sleep. Clearly I was not right in the head. So I rolled over but kept one ear open for the telltale signs of mischief in the early morning.
Beep beep beep beep BEEP. Beep beep beep beep BEEP! The next sound I heard was Joel's alarm signaling that it was time for him to get up and prepare to leave for a music festival. When he was about to leave, we walked out of our room into the hallway and saw a suspicious sight in the kitchen. The pantry cabinet doors were wide open and one lone folding chair indicated that little feet had been foraging in the kitchen. As we walked closer, we noticed that tiny, colored candies formed a trail from the pantry to the stairs.
"Boys? Come up here, please!" Joel urged. Cael came quickly but Graham moved slower, hauling a gigantic stuffed monkey and smacking his lips as he munched on something.
"Can you tell me what this is?" Joel asked, pointing at a now fuzzy candy on the carpet.
"A treat."
"Did Mommy or Daddy tell you that you could have a treat?"
"No."
"So should you have gotten into the candy?"
"No. But Daddy, we were playing a game. Me and Graham, we were pretending that those blue treats-- the yummy white ones with the blue paper-- you know, Mommy? We were pretending that those yummy treats, the blue ones-- have you had those Daddy? We were pretending it was fudge."
We tried to be stern. We tried to make a point. Really, we did. But the mere fact that our children woke up at 5am to pretend that what turned out to be a vanilla Tootsie roll was actually chocolate fudge. No DNA test needed; these are definitely our kids.
Graham and Cael covered in chocolate, June 2010
After picking up the stray candies that they had left behind during their rapid escape, Cael and Graham said goodbye to Joel and headed downstairs to play while I got breakfast ready and switched out a load of laundry I'd started the night before. As I was shifting the small load of whites from the washer to the dryer, I noticed several chunks of wet, brown, what-the-heck-is-that mixed in with the clean clothes. At first I thought it was wet cardboard. There was no logical explanation for wet cardboard being in my washer, but it clearly wasn't mud, so there were few remaining options. As I touched it, it wanted to crumble, however, so I knew it wasn't the remains of a clothing tag or box that I'd mistakenly thrown in from under a pile of clothes.
As I continued to move clothes over, I found more and more of the substance at the bottom of my front-loading washer. Finally I found one perfectly preserved triangle and immediately knew that I had laundered my whites with a hearty helping of cat food, courtesy of two tiny elves that wreaked havoc on the house as Joel and I slept.
What happens in this house while I'm asleep?!?
By the time I had it all cleaned up, there was close to one cup of soggy cat food in the hand which, while worth two in the bush, amounted to little more than wasted food and another aggravation on an already questionable morning. I surveyed the upstairs and decided that Hurricane Cael-trina and Tropical Storm Graham had blown over and I headed downstairs to get them dressed for the day.
But it wasn't over.
In light of the storm, the Governer of Iowa should declare my basement a "State of Emergency". The floor was littered with candy wrappers and a multitude of items I couldn't explain or in some cases, even identify. A long wooden skewer sat tangled among the untangled remains of a woven blanket that once adorned Joel's bed in college. Perhaps Graham has decided to take up knitting.
A grimy plunger lay askew beside several puzzle pieces and a jar of bubble solution. Perhaps Cael has set his eye on a career as a plumber. Wait... why is that jar empty?
I could have used an extra minute or two of sleep today... or maybe an hour. In fact, it's been quite a while since I felt fully rested. It's not because of the early bird knee-in-the-hip wake-up calls, although those are rather jarring, but this time it has been in the form of two weasely little boys that won't go to sleep.
Taking advantage of a vacation and a number of days not requiring us to wake up early, we moved Graham down into Cael's room and into his very own twin bed. We knew that there would be a transition period, but I didn't expect that the transition would become the norm.
When I was a baby and long into childhood, I shared a room with my sister Amy. She fondly remembers scooping me out of my crib and putting me in bed with her to snuggle for the night and later, when I was older, we'd repeat the ritual in the mornings as we giggled and headed downstairs for Saturday morning cartoons.
But there was a major difference: we were girls. Now it's no secret to anyone in my family that I really, REALLY wanted a girl. I may have even had an embarrassing gender-related freak-out at my obstetrician's office when Graham was about 20 weeks old in utero. But in my defense, my father currently has six grandsons and no granddaughters, and as the youngest sibling, I had a responsibility to deliver a baby girl. Joel's DNA thought otherwise, however. So I had to abandon my fantasy of two giggling girls painting each other's toenails and running downstairs for Saturday morning cartoons.
In the weeks since we've united them, I've learned that there is a completely different dynamic between two boys sharing a room. Even from the start, Cael wasn't sure how he felt about Graham laying claim on his room. And I wasn't sure that Graham was ready to abandon his crib. But mainly, I didn't want to admit that he was getting bigger and not my tiny baby anymore. But after completely downing a cheeseburger and expelling it in full-on "man style", there was no denying that he was no longer a baby.
So on Christmas night, when they were especially tired and ready to crash from eggnog overload, we tucked Graham tightly into his oversized bed and said goodnight. Forty-five minutes later, and after we were confident that Graham was out for the night, we repeated the routine with Cael, who was utilizing every ounce of self-control he had to keep his voice quiet.
They slept all night. It was miraculous. It was a big relief.
It was too good to be true.
The next day at naptime, we followed the same formula. But with some newfound knowledge, Graham decided to stay awake until Cael came in so that they could play together when they were both supposed to be sleeping. I saw that Graham was still awake but laid Cael down anyway, hoping that he was tired enough to close his eyes despite the wily character one bed over.
Upstairs, and only a moment later, I heard some suspicious words over the monitor in my bedroom.
"Graham, say poop. And pee!"
"Poop... peep!" Graham answered back.
"Nipple toots!" Cael shouted to up the ante.
That is SO not how girls behave.
The next night escalated even further. With both boys in bed and my nephews over for a rousing game of Scattergories, (is froglet a real word?), we were surprised to see Cael at the top of the stairs nearly an hour after they'd gone to bed. We were also surprised to learn that the culprit, the perpetrator, was Graham once again, talking nonstop and preventing Cael from getting his much needed beauty sleep.
But the surprises weren't over.
"Daddy, Graham won't let me sleep. He keeps saying the "f" word!"
There was no better time to be playing Scattergories.
Could the "f" word be a boy's name? Frederick?
Could the "f" word be a US state? Florida?
Could the "f" word be an animal? Froglet? Surely not.
Nope, the "f" word in question was the full-blown king of all expletives, and it was coming from the sweet mouth of my baby. I longed for the days of "nipple toots".
I wish I could say that they've mastered the art of sharing now that they are bunking together. And I really wish I could say that I knew how either of them discovered the "f" word. But I have discovered that when two squirmy little boys climb into bed together, it is just as cute as if they were girls.
I've mentioned before that baseball is a way of life in our family. And it's not that we play it relentlessly, or that we can afford to travel around the country supporting our team, but it's more that our children are obsessive little idea leeches and cling to anything we mention tighter than Gorilla glue.
Knowing that Daddy was a baseball pitcher, and with renewed interest thanks to the Cardinals' World Series win, Cael has been a jabberbox full of baseball terminology and trash talk. While eating lunch over Christmas break, Cael took advantage of a brief lull in the conversation to share his two cents.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't like those stinky 'boo Cubs'."
"I don't either."
"Daddy? I want to go to a baseball game."
"That would be fun."
"I want to take those stinky Cubs and throw them away."
"That's funny, Cael."
"I want to put them in a garbage can because they are stinky, Daddy."
"Yeah, good idea."
"And then I want to put tape on that garbage can so the stinky Cubs can't get out."
"Wow, you really don't like the Cubs, huh?"
"No I don't. They are very stinky, you know."
See what I mean? Gorilla glue.
It's dangerous around here to be a Cubs fan. Go Cardinals!
It's amazing how you can know someone intimately for four years and simply overlook a common trait about them. And no, this post is not about how I just discovered that Graham is actually a girl, or how Cael has been moonlighting as an exotic dancer after bedtime. This time it was me that had been living under the radar, and Cael finally noticed a very common and noticeable detail as I sat on the couch while the boys played.
"Mommy?"
"What, honey?"
"What are those shiny things on your ears?"
"What... my earrings?"
"Yeah. Are those magnets?"
"No, there's a tiny hole so that I can push the earring through."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, not at all. It stung a little when they pierced the holes, but only for a minute."
"Can I see how it goes in?"
"Sure, come here."
I took one earring out and showed him how the posts go through my earlobe, thinking that brief tutorial would sufficiently explain to a non-earring-wearer what wearing earrings was all about.
For a normal child, perhaps. But Cael is exceptional. Exceptionally strange, that is.
"Mommy? Can I get a hole on my finger so that I can wear a penny?"
"Uh, I don't think that's a great idea. Your finger would be an ouchy spot to pierce and there's no way to keep the penny on."
"Oh, okay. What about my tummy? Yeah, my tummy! I want one on my tummy!"
I thought momentarily about explaining how I'd gotten my belly button pierced in college, how it got grossly infected, how I gained weight and it wasn't cute anymore, how I got pregnant with him and how the formerly tiny hole could swallow up a mailbox and how I finally took it out and it closed up. But I wanted him to sleep and not wake up in a cold piercing-induced sweat, so I kept my mouth shut.
"On my tummy, I need a hole and then I can put things in there like Cheerios and stickers."
"Cael, that's not really how it works. A piercing goes all the way through the skin so that you can put a ring there."
"All the way to my back? Wow! I could put train tracks through my tummy to my back. Yeah!"
"No, just through a little piece of skin. And some people do it on their tummies, but mostly girls. Plus, you're not getting anything pierced until you're a LOT older, and hopefully not even then."
"Mommy I AM gonna get a hole in my skin. But not in my tummy. Maybe in my hair?"
This was my chance. I've learned that in cases like this when Cael is overly invested in an idea, it is best to find a way to satisfy him that doesn't force me to give in. I agreed that piercing his hair was a good idea and one that I could do for him right away, and I quickly pretended to punch a hold through his wild and untamed hair.
"There you go! What are you going to put in there?"
"I want to see!" Cael shouted, running to the bathroom. "No, Mom! It doesn't look any different. I can't see the hole."
"Oh, it's there. Should I put a toy in it?"
Happy with that suggestion, Cael handed me a drumstick and I poked it through his mane and said, "tada"! I really thought he'd buy it. He was so enthusiastic about the idea that I was genuinely surprised by his reaction.
"You've got to be kidding me. This is lame, Mommy."
I doubt it's the last time I'll be called "lame" before he's eighteen and goes to college and gets his tummy pierced.
"Okay, Mommy. I'm gonna tell you this idea. Ready? This is the idea."
"What is it?"
"I want to pierce my BOTTOM!"
"No way... and yucky!"
"Yes. I want to pierce my bottom and I can get pretty shiny earrings for my bottom."
"I don't think they make earrings for your bottom."
"Well then I will put your earrings in the hole and I will hide things in there like poop and toots!"
And this would be different from regular life... how?
Knowing that my son wants to pierce just about everything and cram my jewelry as well as bodily fluids into all of his original and additional orifices makes me long for the days when he was just a regular four-year-old boy, dancing for money while the rest of us slept.
Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you were all able to usher in 2012 with fireworks, family and friends, or simply with a kiss! Me? I celebrated the New Year by snoozing peacefully in my bed, lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds of late-night "Friends" reruns. And while I didn't put much effort into welcoming 2012, I think it's only fair to bid 2011 a fond farewell. This past year has been like a moody teenager, swinging from high to low and rolling its eyes at me while it begged for money. So in keeping with the theme, here are the superlatives for the late, great 2008-- err, 2011.
Most Likely to Succeed
In January, Joel officially graduated with his Master's degree. And while we were excited for his success and happy to see an end to the additional time committments his program required, everyone in the family has felt the additional pressure of being less educated. Graham has been hurriedly studying his letters while Cael has mastered the proper spelling of "poop" and "toot".
Most Experimental
In early March, and in an effort to provide another educational and motivational opportunity for the boys, we purchased an aquarium and quickly got to work stocking it. When ready, we extended a warm welcome (80 degrees warm) to three small tropical fish and one lively miniature frog. Within two days, the frog was dead. As it turns out, eating is a key component to livelihood when you're a frog, and we were not given the proper information to keep poor "Ribbit" in good jumping condition. Armed with new knowledge (and some really gross bloodworms) we tossed a new frog in the tank. The next day we tossed the frog into the toilet after finding him in the cat's clutches due to an unsuccessful escape attempt. The third day we simply threw in the towel.
Biggest Transformation
Knowing how our kids love to play outside but also knowing exactly how short their attention spans are, we began a search last spring for some unique equipment for the boys to climb and explore and to become a permanent fixture in the yard. We found the perfect thing-- a wooden firetruck that we affordably purchased on Craigslist and installed on the lawn before realizing that it was a splinter hazard and tremendous eyesore. One week of sanding, trimming and painting gussied up the firetruck just in time to discover that the boys have no interest in firetrucks. Yikes.
Best Idea
At the beginning of 2011, the idea of starting a blog was the last thing on my mind. But after hearing several friends suggest I document my kids' antics for the courts for the future, I took a leap and wrote my first post in late May. I never would have guessed that writing would become a daily creative outlet for me, that I would purchase my own website or that I'd be nominated for a blog award. But it did happen, and for that I'm truly grateful! I shouldn't be the only one that has to deal with the vortex of weirdness.
Loudest Whistle
2011 saw Cael's train fixation grow from an interest into a full-blown obsession. And rather than encourage him to be "normal" and not quote a British cartoon train in everyday conversations, we pushed him over the edge with a dream-come-true ride on a real, live steam engine. We were amazed by his intense and never-before-seen focus as we lived out his fantasy.
Worst Fuel Economy
In a rare Craigslist victory, Joel managed to sell our beloved Airstream trailer for almost three times what we'd spent thanks to a good deal and some sweat equity. Sure, I almost suffocated in a bucket of paint after nearly succumbing to heat stroke, but a deal is a deal, and my husband is a man. So with heavy hearts we waved goodbye to our trailer and its new owners. We hoped that, in a year or two, we'd be able to replace her with something new and better. Three weeks later we announced the addition of our Airstream motorhome. Because after all, a deal is a deal. And my husband? He's still a man.
Most Momentous
In early fall, my lip quivered as I sent my big boy off for his very first day of school. It seemed like just days since I held his tiny newborn body in my arms, and I had to muster up some courage to let him take this next step on his own. Today I can see that same quiver and look of reservation in the eyes of his teachers as they see us walking into his classroom. What a full-circle moment.
Most Likely to Build an Ark
Home ownership has its ups and downs, but our home in particular seems to have settled on very low ground. In the few years we've lived here we have experienced a number of floods, and October allowed us the unique opportunity to damage our upper and lower levels simultaneously thanks to a faulty dishwasher. Although it was fixed after a couple of very cluttered weeks, I find it cathartic to mutter an occasional "go bust your buffers" in its direction when it threatens to malfunction.
Cutest Conductor
While enjoying his stint on the steam engine during the summer, Cael picked up a train engineer's hat that became the inspiration for his Halloween costume. Trick or -CHOO- Treat!
Mickiest Mouse
Becoming the youngest official Mouseketeer, Graham donned his black velvet ears and scavenged for food like any good mouse. And while there were undoubtedly thousands of kids sporting similar or better Mickey costumes that night, Graham was by far my favorite. Y? Because we like him.
Least Appealing Family Member
November saw the annual appearance of the "stomach flu fairy", who made her presence known at our home just in time to keep us from participating in the Thanksgiving festivities that I had been slated to host. She put a damper on Joel's 29th birthday, caused Cael to lose sleep and forced us all into hiding as we quarantined ourselves away from friends and family. Good riddance, fairy. You're SO not invited to the reunion.
Least Likely to be President
In mid December, as the country's eyes were on the political scene and upcoming caucuses, one possible candidate was plummeting down the polls after revealing all of his crimes and discretions. Threatened by the realization that Santa knew when he was being bad or good, Cael thought he could regain some ground by owning up to the skeletons in his closet. Unfortunately, the only ballot I expect to see him on in 2012 is in the "Preschool Class Clown" general election. He's a front-runner.
Most Surprising
Apparently not wanting Christmas morning to pass us by without an opportunity to permanently scar our eldest son, Joel and I tricked an over-confident Cael into thinking that he hadn't received the Polar Express replica train set he'd been pining over for weeks. When he opened the previously hidden box, Cael's excitement was tangible and his squeals were as loud as, well, a train.
And with that, we close the door on a big year. I can only hope that 2012 brings as many smiles, milestones and memories. But no more trains. I'm all "chooed" out.
"Mommy, do I have preschool tomorrow?"
"But I'm gonna miss Bampa!"
