Halloween

Anson discovered a TV show on YouTube about a year ago called “Blippi.”

It’s not my favorite.

It’s a clown, first of all. Not a CLOWN-clown… but still.

He sings super catchy songs about any number of childhood themes, holidays, etc. And one of them is the Halloween song.

A creepy voice intones as the chorus…

halllllllloween, halllllllloween… I just love Halloweeeeeeen (halloween!).

And Anson of course loves it. It turned Halloween from a flash in the pan into Anson’s favorite holiday, and today marked the occasion.

Problem was, I think Anson had too much riding on it. He was a hot mess of emotion all day long.

The morning activity was making Anson his ghost costume, which, I’m a little embarrassed to admit, I tried and tried to talk him out of. He was insistent, and even a trip to Goodwill to look for other options didn’t dissuade. A frantic search in the linen closet yielded a sacrifice-able sheet, and I asked Anson whether he would like me to cut a hole for his whole head, or just for his eyes.

Anson wanted just his eyes and mouth, which was bad news for Mama.

“I want to have scary black eyes and teeth, too!” he reminded me.

I was not going to deal with the daycare lady and Anson wearing a face covered in black eyeliner, so I reminded Anson that we couldn’t do any face painting until trick or treating later in the day.

This sent Anson over the edge.

When I encouraged Anson to pull himself together and have a good attitude, I was answered with this gem:

“You’re the worst parent EVER!”

So I sent him to his room. As he stormed off, I heard him mutter, “In fact, I’m never going trick or treating AGAIN!”

Boy, oh boy.

From complaints about going to school…

“School’s the worst!”

to protests about the upcoming Halloween party at school…

“Parties are the worst!”

It really wasn’t our best morning.

Piling sugar and a late bedtime on top of that ought to go well for us, right?

Maybe not so much.

After hauling the kids to four different “trick or treat” stops to visit aunts and uncles, it turned out Anson and Maddox didn’t feel much like wandering around the neighborhood asking for candy, so we bagged the door-to-door in exchange for watching some video. About 15 minutes in, Anson burst into tears. He was disappointed he hadn’t gotten to really trick or treat.

He cried over that again during tooth brush time.

So, I suspect Halloween was a bit of a letdown for Anson. And honestly, it wasn’t awesome for Mommy either. Sometimes it is okay to let go of our expectations and measure a day on its own merits and call it good.

Did Anson and Maddox both pose nicely for that “woodland creature” picture we missed at the birthday party this weekend?

Mostly.

And did Maddox crack me up when she shouted at her pretend cell phone, “Siri, I talk to Mama, right now!”

She sure did.

Did all four of us have a fun walk around the block before dinner?

Yep.

All in all, not a horrible day. Plus, candy.

Less than three weeks to go

I’m feeling a lot of the feels about how long we have left in this particular family structure.

That is, Zeb and me + Anson and Maddox.

New Human is set to arrive no later than three weeks from yesterday, and three weeks doesn’t seem like very much time, now does it?

Because we just celebrated Maddox’s birthday, memories of time away from Anson while we were in the hospital, the hospital experience in general, and the haze of sleep deprivation are all feeling very fresh.

And we’re about to go back into the belly of the beast… for the last time.

I’m less concerned about that last point… the fact that this is the last time we’re doing this particular dance. After all, I’ve endured four full term pregnancies and recoveries. By now, this part feels very old hat. Poor New Human… he or she has been very much an afterthought in the whirlwind of leaving my 10-year career in wine marketing to go out on my own while also renovating an old house with the Hubs and keeping up with our two toddlers and trying to make time to enjoy one another.

The extent of my “nesting” was a short-lived stint with our carpet cleaner and our living room floor… which, while it was a brief engagement, was very satisfying. And yes, our living room is carpeted. Barf.

So I’m not sadly clinging to the last weeks of being pregnant with any kind of melancholy. Let’s get these three weeks over with, on that front.

But on the family balance, Mommy feels sane side of the equation, I will say that I’m a little scared.

Excited, absolutely, but also, scared.

Will Anson and Maddox be as excited about New Human when he/she is taking up all of mommy and daddy’s attention? Will anything get done around the house in the remainder of 2018? Will everybody be healthy and happy? Will I be able to handle the additional chaos while also trying to build my business?

It feels like this new baby is kind of the outsider, and they’re disrupting our beautiful life, instead of being a wonderful new addition and compliment to the happy family we’ve already worked so hard to build. And that’s perhaps the 6 am talking, not really how I feel about this baby.

I vaguely recall having similar trepidation about Maddox… you know, the whole “How could I love anything so much as I love Anson?” and the “What if I suck at having two?” and “How will Anson change with a sibling?” and “Am I cut out for this?” etc.

And now, I couldn’t possibly imagine a family without her spunky self throwing a wrench in the works on a daily basis.

So, New Human… with less than three weeks to go, here are the things I’m focusing on:

1. There’s no such thing as ready. Let’s get you here safely and we’ll deal with the rest as we go along.
2. We’ve been here before and we’re awesome at it. Bring it on.
3. We love you and can’t wait to meet you… even though you’re for sure going to make life a bit more challenging for the next, I don’t know, 18 years?

 

Maddox is big and strong

Today was Maddox’s 2-year checkup.

Our beloved pediatrician Dr. B has retired, and this was Maddox’s first visit with our tentative new pediatrician.

The last visit to Dr. B, Maddox screamed bloody murder the whole exam, and was stoic and brave and mostly silent for her shots. So, I wasn’t sure how best to prepare for today’s visit. Would she freak out at the sight of a doctor? Would the fact that she can now verbalize many of her feelings help?

We went into the exam room, and Maddox almost immediately remembered that the drawers in there are full of books and toys. But after a few tries to find the book drawer, she caught sight of the exam table behind.

“Mommy, that chair scary,” she said to me as she ran headlong into my knees and wrapped me in fear’s tight embrace.

I picked Maddox up, sat with her in my lap, and gave her some comforting snuggles and words. Satisfied, she got down and went back to searching for books, or maybe that cool tennis ball Dr. B always would throw. She even decided she wanted to climb up on the exam table and “go sleepy.” Then, New Doctor arrived.

New Doctor is young, and female, and competent and kind. Maddox did great throughout the exam, cooperated and listened and held still for all of the things. No screaming, no whining, nothing. I was able to actually carry on a conversation with the doctor.

Maddox is huge, confirmed. 97th percentile for height and 96th for weight (atta girl). She’s very capable and independent and stubborn, and she does need to learn (safely) about cause and effect. All of this was discussed without incident.

I asked about shots.

No shots on the agenda, except if we wanted to get the flu vaccine.

Yes, we want the flu vaccine, because we have New Human arriving in 3 weeks and we want everybody to be as safe as possible.

So, hang tight for shots was the directive. Oh, and while you’re here, since Maddox lives in an environment where lead exposure is a possibility (old house, dad’s a plumber), we’ll need to do some lead testing.

The lead test (last time we endured it) involved pricking Maddox’s little heel and SQUEEZING blood out of it until there was enough to fill a little circle on a piece of paper. This was agony last time. I expressed my concern and the good news was, we have an amazing phlebotomist who will do a quick draw.

Like, a blood draw. With a needle in a vein.

Ten minutes of waiting in the exam room for the flu shot and the blood draw were filled by reading a very cool rain forest themed book over and over, snacking on some goldfish crackers, and playing catch with Dr. B’s old tennis ball (it probably isn’t his ball, since it is far from old and dingy like you’d expect a used tennis ball to be).

The flu shot was a breeze.

The blood draw was not. Maddox protested the instant I had to facilitate holding her tight enough that she couldn’t wiggle with a needle in her arm. The restraints she was under caused her to fight from the start, but the phlebotomist already had the needle in and then we were in a pickle.

“She’s STRONG,” she said to me, as she attempted to put a knee up to restrain Maddox’s lower half from wiggling.

Maddox, red-faced, screaming and bucking, is so tense that the blood isn’t flowing well. And she’s moving around so much despite my tight squeeze that the phlebotomist has to call in another nurse to help.

It took almost 60 seconds to fill the tiny vial with blood, all the while Maddox is screaming herself hoarse and tears are streaming down her little red face while I hold her head close to mine and sing “Happy home” in her ear. At one point she screamed “I want PACI!” which I didn’t even bring with me.

Finally, the needle comes out and we all emerge from the 7th circle of Hell mostly unburnt.

She gets down, gets a bandaid, and wails. “Owie!” she exclaimed as the bandaid was put on.

The phlebotomist apologized profusely and explained that Maddox would probably have a bruise. Maddox, heaving and sighing, finally climbed back into my lap to cuddle. She begrudgingly accepted the phlebotomist’s peace offering of a blue Dumdum sucker, shooting glares at her between licks.

“I’m so sorry,” she said repeatedly. “I just didn’t expect her to be that strong.”

That’s my girl.

I can kind of share the tale now with a chuckle.

The fight she put up over having her blood drawn? I have seen her put up a similarly charged resistance to having her back teeth brushed, so… it wasn’t so much the needle and pain. It was that she didn’t want to be held that tightly. For whatever reason, I found comfort in that.

Being tough

Anson slept pretty crappy last night. Not only did visiting cousins keep him up well past his bedtime, then he was in our room almost hourly because he “couldn’t go to sleep.” Literally at one point, I sent him from our room back to his own and he was back within 10 seconds complaining that he still couldn’t fall asleep.

“I don’t think you even got in your bed, buddy.”

Today we had a birthday brunch party for Maddox, and his two favorite cousins Clara and Carson were in attendance. At one point, Anson was roughhousing with his cousins and “auntie Brady” when he took a throw pillow to the ear.

The ensuing scream seemed in incommensurate with the possible pain a pillow can inflict, but…

When I came to investigate, Anson announced with tears streaming down his face, “I guess I’m just not as tough as I thought.”

Two is far from terrible

Maddox turned two today.

Two years ago, this little spunky redhead came on the scene, and I officially met my match.

She’s hilarious. She has a strong will and a charming personality. Her facial expressions took the place of whole arguments for about 20 months… and when she finally started to string together sentences a few months ago, we discovered that all those things we imagined she was thinking, she actually was.

And while there are moments when this little one fully pushes me to the edge of my patience (and perhaps even my sanity)… I love her so. I wouldn’t change a thing about her.

She slept in until almost 7 (blessed child), and when I went in her room to get her up, she was already out of bed and racing across the room by the time I opened the door. I lifted her up in my arms and started to sing “Happy Birthday,” and she put her little hand over my mouth and said, “No, stop it!” then squeezed me around my neck as tight as she could.

We took the birthday girl out for breakfast (“Mmmm sausage!”), went for a bike ride around the neighborhood (“I walk, okay?”) and let her run amok with her brother in a toy store for an hour while Daddy and I picked out her birthday presents. Then we went to our favorite candy store to pick out a birthday treat before heading home for Maddox’s favorite noo-noos for lunch and a nap. The morning was full, the nap was … ill-fated … and we really had such a wonderful day celebrating our not-for-much-longer-youngest…

We are so blessed to have her. She loves hard, she fights hard, she brings viv and verve to any situation, and she’s tough as nails.

I have a feeling we’ll all be spending the rest of our lives trying to keep up with her. And I’m okay with that.

all photos courtesy of Melissa McFadden Photography. She’s the freakin’ best.

 

Public bathrooms

Anson has an aversion to going Number 2 at daycare.

I’m not sure what happened to give him this aversion, but he has told us on a few occasions that he can’t go poop at Teacher’s house.

We did ask Teacher, and this is not an actual rule of hers.

Today, I picked the kids up early from school because Anson had volunteered to help with getting the house ready for Maddox’s birthday party on Sunday. We said our goodbyes to friends and teachers, then headed straight to the grocery store for supplies for the weekend’s festivities.

When we arrived at Super One, however, I realized things weren’t going to be quite so “in and out” as I’d intended.

“Mommy, my tummy hurts. I really have to go to the bathroom,” Anson announced as I popped into the backseat to help him unbuckle.

“Can you hold it?”

“No, Mommy, I’ve been holding it all day.”

“Why don’t you go poopoo at Teacher’s, Anson?”

“Because, I don’t want to get butt rust in my undies,” he explained, on the verge of a whine.

I’m trying not to laugh at this point, but I have to also press a bit further. “Do you not wipe your buns good, buddy?”

“That’s not it, Mom,” he replied, exasperated. Bottom line, we weren’t going to get in and out. We would have to use the bathroom at the grocery store first.

Anson protested when he saw the telltale lady cartoon on the Women’s bathroom. “Mommy this is for girls!” he exclaimed.

“Well, Mommy’s a girl and I have to go with you, so we’re going in here.”

We were hit with a wave of hot poop smell as we opened the door. Anson went straight for the bigger handicapped stall, only to discover somebody had left behind some business, so he was forced to use the skinnier middle stall.

I stood at the door, keeping an eye on Maddox to make sure she didn’t expose herself to more germs than she needed to by doing too much unsupervised exploring.

Anson got started with his business when another woman entered the bathroom. “Mom!” he grunted. “Door! I need privacy!”

I quickly closed the door while simultaneously snatching Maddox up from her hunker over the floor drain.

“It was a pretty juicy one, but then it wasn’t anymore,” Anson provided the play-by-play. “But, it’s mostly pretty juicy. Whoaps, I’m still going.”

By now I’m snorting with laughter and the woman in the stall next to Anson is audibly chuckling as well.

“Mom, now it smells even MORE like poopoo in here,” Anson proclaimed as he finished up his business.

Oooooh and now I’ve got tears.

After the bathroom business was completed, Anson informed me that he felt much better. The lift in his spirits only lasted as long as it took him to realize that Super One doesn’t have the little kid-sized carts for him to push around. As he slumped into the sports car front end of the ridiculous kids’ carts our go-to grocer provides, he sulked, “This is a nightmare for me.”

So was 5 minutes ago for me, in that public bathroom, bro.

Bday and baby bonanza

We are in the thick of getting the house ready for Maddox’s Woodland Creature-themed 2nd birthday party… which is funny, because there are still decorations from her 1st birthday party hanging up in our hallway.

Specifically, I’m talking about the banner I created, featuring Maddox’s monthly baby picture from birth through 11 months.

This morning, Maddox came racing out of her bedroom and, upon spotting me, ran into my arms for a Good Morning Hug. Then, she saw her birthday banner.

She pointed and said, “I have a baby!”

“That’s YOU when you were a baby,” I told her.

“No….” she said, smiling. “I have a baby in my tummy.”

“You don’t have a baby in your tummy,” I chided. “MOMMY has a baby in her tummy.”

“Right here?” Maddox pointed to my chest.

I laughed, “No, right here,” and showed here my protruding tummy, which she happened to be pretty much perched on.

“No, right here,” she corrected me, and pointed to her own tummy. “My baby cute!”

Oh man. Wait until this baby comes… it’s going to be a madhouse around here.

 

Two cuties, snug as a bug…

This morning, Maddox woke up before 6 and started hollerin’. “MOMMMAAA! Momma momma momma momma!” She wasn’t distressed. It sounded like she was bored.

I needed to get a start on the day, but bed felt sooooo good. The hollerin’ subsided, but by then, it was too late.

I was awake. So, I got out of bed.

I heard Maddox say excitedly, “She coming!” when she heard my feet crinkle the plastic runway we have going from our bedroom to our entry way. But, instead of hanging a left to go into Maddox’s room, as a 35-weeks pregnant person does, I headed straight for the bathroom.

The sound of the toilet flushing elicited another outburst from Maddox. “She go potty and now she coming!”

The door to Maddox’s room was ajar. And when I approached the bed, I found not just Maddox, but Anson laying down next to her.

“Hey! What’s Anson doing in here?”

“I came in when Maddox started crying,” Anson explained. “And, when Maddox was coughing, I covered her mouth for her.”

“I cover mouth like this,” Maddox repeated proudly, showing me proper cough etiquette.

Ugh, these two.

I love their burgeoning friendship, the sweet way Anson plays with his sister, the way they sometimes band together in solidarity when it’s not quite time to get up for the day but they’re ready to wake up.

And I can’t wait to see them love their new baby brother or sister.

Old One

One of the grossest discoveries in parenting is an abandoned opaque sippy cup.

We call them “Old Ones” because Anson took a swig of one once, and declared after spitting it out “We got an old one.”

But now, he apparently is the final say of milk’s agedness.

Yesterday I served Anson a strawberry milk which, admittedly, had been driven to school and back before being placed back in the fridge. It wasn’t 100% fresh-poured but it was far from an “Old One.”

Anson looked at the cup and asked me, skeptically, “Is this strawberry milk?”

“I’m pretty sure it is, buddy.”

He took a swig, looked at me, and declared, “Yep, it’s strawberry.”

Phewsh.

“…but, it’s an old one.”

“What?! How can you tell?” I asked incredulously.

Remember, I would not willingly serve my son spoiled milk.

“Because it tastes like a stinky old garbage can.”

Well, there you have it. Anson’s palate is spot-on. Stinky old garbage can was just what I was going for when crafting this vintage.

Maddox needs her beauty sleep

Maddox has always been a terrific sleeper.

From an early age, Maddox got in solid 6-8 hour chunks, even as young as 6 weeks old. I’d like to chalk it up to experience (on my part) with sleep training, but everything from naps to a regular bedtime to sleeping in past 6 am came pretty naturally to our little red.

And when she wakes up for the day, she’s usually the sweetest little ray of sunshine… for about 20 minutes, that is. When morning hunger kicks in, she can start to be pretty demanding:

“I want footloops, right now!”

And when you make an attempt to change her diaper and get her dressed for the day, watch out!

“No take it off! No diaper! I nakie buns!”

But for those blissful 20 minutes or so, Maddox is a dream.

“I wake up all day!” she announces cheerfully before running to give you a big juicy hug. Her floppy hair hangs in her face and she uses both hands to push it back in a fruitless battle. She graciously responds “Oh, THANK EE!” when you provide her with a cup of milk.

Yesterday, Maddox and Anson went to spend the day at the farm with Papa and Grandma Fish because Daddy and I were working on our bathroom remodel project and needed the uninterrupted work time.

The kids eschewed naps for showing off for one of their favorite audiences, riding on tractors, and generally living that farm life.

So when Maddox got home around 6 pm, she was done.

The smallest of roadblocks to whatever it is she wanted to do was met with indigence that only a redhead is capable of. She flew into fits of tears and tantrums and stomped around the house. She paused briefly from her hour-long tantrum to horf down 2 servings of macaroni and cheese, then went right back to crocodile tears and inconsolable wailing.

Finally, she stomped, red-faced, back to her bedroom and started to climb into her crib.

“I go sleep,” she whimpered.

I had to delay her slightly, long enough to brush teeth and put on pjs (just the bottoms, though – when I tried to put on the shirt of her brother’s hand-me-down baseball jammers by coaxing, “Don’t you want to be Lucky Number 43?” she responded, “No (supsup) lucky (supsup) three,” between sobs). I tried to go straight into bedtime songs, but she did stop me for a story. And then requested two songs.

That’s two days in a row where the kids skipped naps, and two nights in a row where Maddox was asleep before 7 pm. And while I’m eagerly looking forward to her 20 minutes of magic shortly, I have to say, I don’t think any of us are ready for her to give up the midday nap for good.

Maddox needs her beauty sleep.