Scared for my boys

The world is a scary place. 

People would say that and I'd always think - it's always been scary, we just hear about it so much more now.  

I was wrong.  It is 100% more scary than it was when I was a kid.  I read several parenting blogs.  Most of them making fun of the craziness that is parenthood.  Sometimes I come across one that makes me tear up  (OK, I tear up a lot - I'm a crier). I read one the other day about a lady sending her child to school for the first time and him coming home talking about the drill they had if a scary person come into their school.  Hiding under desks, turning out the lights, being very quiet.  

Hell, I'm crying right now thinking about it.  It is terrifying to think about.  But it happened.  Drills and plans are necessary because it happened.  Some jackass with issues walked into a school and now the reality of every fresh faced innocent child going to school includes some sort of preparedness plan for what you do when a "bad person" comes into your school.  

Earlier today I was doing my online safety training at work.  Yes, I usually go through them as fast as possible and never click on the links.  Today, as I'm reading about what to do in the event of a armed assailant in my workplace I click on the link and am taken to a youtube video by Homeland Security showing what to do if an armed gunman is on the loose at your place of work.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to sob.  I spent 8 of the last 10 years working 7p-7a in hospitals and making a joke that the doors are never closed there; it's just an invitation for someone to come in and do harm.  The there was that horrible episode of Grey's Anatomy that made it even more scary.  Suddenly today, watching that video, I was overcome with such fear for my children and sadness for all of us.  I'm sad this video has to exist.

Being a parent has made me fearful.  I'm not saying I'm paralyzed with fear; I'm saying there's always something nagging at the back of my mind.  The world is scary; there are innumerable things out there to hurt my babies.  Or leave them parent less.  Countless scenarios run through my mind of what would I do if this happened or how would I keep my kids safe in this situation.  

I think I should start keeping my keys on me during the work day so on the chance there is a shooting I could run out a back door and get to my car.  

Or if there was a zombie apocalypse type outbreak how fast could I get home. Could I make it home?  What if I'm separated from my kids in that type of situation?  I'm about to hyperventilate thinking about it now.  

At this point, I am missing the days when thinking about zombies was what induced my panic attack type anxiety.  The real threat of zombies is pretty low.  Random shooting?  The odds seem to get higher every day.  And when I was watching this video at work I hadn't even heard about the Navy Yard shooting yet.  My next patient was telling me about that and had the news on when I walked into her room.  All I could think was for fucks sake, what is wrong with people?

My kids will be in preschool next year and they go to day care part time now.  I'm constantly worried that if something happens it will be my fault because I sent them to daycare and wasn't there to protect them.  They are my babies, my job is to keep them safe.  I'm scared that in the world today, safety is just an illusion.  I feel sick.

Bedtime is for Fighting

Ah, after bath time finds us once again.  Two small boy children running naked through the house proclaiming for me, Dad, and the Dog that they are, indeed, naked babies.  Towels are shed on the floor as they run from bathroom to living room.  What shall we do they telepathically ask each other.  Stand for all the neighborhood to see in our floor to ceiling front window?  Go get in the fridge and open a package of pepper jack and decide it's "on fire?"  Throw a hard plastic object directly at the head of my brother?  All viable answers to the never ending dilemma of what to do.  

Now the magic begins.  How do I get diapers and pajamas on these tasmanian devils masquerading as toddlers?  Threats, bribery, and finally physical force. Why do we repeat the same things every single night?  My boys are smart little boys, surely they know by now that there are some things you do not do.  They've been told these things repeatedly tonight, not to mention all the other nights of their little lives that I have told them the same damn thing only to turn around 2 seconds later to find them standing on top of a Sit & Spin precariously close to the top of the stairs so they can flip the light switch up and down until the light bulb blows.  

After I have asked for the 20th time with absolutely no result my voice gets loud and get that bat shit crazy vibe going.  I am yelling, one or both boys are crying and then someone kicks me in the face when I'm struggling to cover up their privates with a diaper.   After I threaten the kicker, the other boy usually comes up to me of his own volition and says "Me not naughty."  Then lies down to put on his diaper.  Nice mom, terrify your child into compliance.  

I just want bed time to be peaceful.  After the tears, fits and threats we all sit in Mommy's chair and snuggle. Yep, they still love me, even after all that.  They are forgiving little sweethearts when they want to be.  They are absolute terrors at other times.  I love them all the time, but I just want a sign that they are listening.  

Let Sleeping Toddlers Lie

Before I became a mommy I had all these visions in my head of how mommyhood would be.  My children would be helpful and pick up toys to the "Clean Up Song" from Barney.  They would behave swimmingly in restaurants and bedtime would be a sweet routine of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses.

Well, I get kisses and occasionally we get a story read, but beyond that bedtime goes nothing like what I envisioned for so many childless years.

First, I have yet to get my children to go into their rooms, lie in their beds and go to sleep.  I can't even get them to go lie in their bedrooms with me laying down with them.  I say, "Let's go get in your bed and snuggle."  The typical response to this is "Uh uh, in there."  There would be the living room.  Home of Mommy's Chair.  Where most falling asleep happens and the lift off point for 30 some pounds of toddler getting carried to their beds night after night.  

Or, occasionally, we have the "Let'em sleep where they drop" night.  After snuggling on the couch for awhile one wandered across the room 

while the other eventually pushed me off the couch with his feet and toppled over with exhaustion.

I still end up carrying them both to bed.  

At some point we all end up back in the living room anyway.  Even at 2 1/2 years old, sleeping through the night is the exception, not the rule.  And of course when they wander into our room looking for mama, they don't want to get in my bed or lay in their beds, we have to "Get up.  Go in there."

Hitting the bottle

When my twins boys were tiny and new I prayed that they would like their binkies.  I kept popping those little ones that came home with them from the hospital in their mouths and they kept popping them right back out.  I bought 25 different kinds of pacifiers thinking that if I could only find "THE ONE" they would take it and love it and me and the husband could maybe get some sleep.  

Then there were their bottles.  My tiny boys (5 lbs, 4 oz and 4 lbs, 13 oz to be exact) would barely take an ounce at a feeding.  I agonized over if they were getting enough.  And poor Thing 1 had God awful reflux; I became immune to the smell of spit up Aliementum.  I didn't care if there was a spot of spit up on my shirt because I could be guaranteed the next feeding would bring a lot more than a spot.  

But they grew.  And Thing 1's reflux magically went away around 9 months.  And they developed a love for their bottles that I have yet to break.  One day it went from me begging them to please take another ounce to wondering how a small human could drink an 8 oz bottle and then demand I "pill it up 'gain."  And then maybe a third fill up if bedtime is particularly challenging for him.  Because that 3rd "baba" is the charm.  

My boys are 2.5 yrs old.  Yep, 30 months if you prefer.  They still love their "babas."  I tried taking them away around a year, but gave up when I realized no one was ever going to sleep again.  I tried again around 18 months and that lasted part of one night until the hubs came out of the bedroom and said, "What the hell is going on out here?  Give him the damn bottle!"  Now at 2.5 we have daily discussions about how bottles are only for babies and not big boys to which my very verbal toddlers respond "goo ga ga."  

Don't judge me.  These kids have yet to sleep through the night consistently either so I use what ever works to get them to sleep.  And we've gotten it down to only at bedtime.  I keep telling them that when these last 6 nipples give out and spring leaks that there will be no more.  I'm trying to work up to it.  When I was confessing my shame to someone they kind of  put in perspective for me.  She asked,"Have you ever seen a kid go to kindergarten with a bottle?"  No,  I haven't and hopefully mine won't be the first.  

I always thought I'd be better at this mommy stuff.

I Thought I'd Be A Better Mommy

I really thought I'd be better at this mommy business than I am.  After all, I'm old.  I'm 38 and feel practically ancient to have small children.  I have come to terms with the fact that when my kids start school I'm going to be old enough to be the mother of most of their classmates moms.  I thought that with age came wisdom and patience.  Dammit, those things were supposed to come with age.  

I'm also a nurse.  Granted, I've never been a itty bitty baby nurse or even much of a small child nurse.  My areas of comfort were old wrinkly people, drug seekers, and all sorts of other adults that needed someone to give them drugs and help them to the bathroom.  Being a nurse has not given me some great insight into the health of my children.  I still take them to the pedi more than I should and when one of my boys had to get stitches I was a blubbering mess.  Being a nurse helps me because doctors do tend to take you seriously when you voice your opinion; especially if it's doctor's you know.  

And my boys love me.  Sometimes they love me so much I can't take a step backward without my butt ramming into some one's head.  They love me even when I've just screamed at them for dumping out the dog's food or taking the floor vents out and dropping who only knows what down them.  But there are times when I know I'm out of control and feel horrible about how Thing 2's face crumbles when I've hurt his feelings or when Thing 1 looks at me after he's thrown down whatever I'm about to take from him and says,"No spank me Mommy.  No spank me."  

I read all the mommy blogs and laugh until I cry.  Or sometimes I read the sweet little mommy sayings and cry over them.  I'm a bit of a crier.  I try to start each new day with the knowledge that it's just that - a new day.  I try to be a more gentle, kinder, mommy and not yell and scream on a daily basis.  I hope that I can get this mommy thing right and my kids aren't scared by my outbursts.

I didn't come into motherhood easily either.  There were 7 long, barren years of trying and failing.  Then a couple of years in which I had given up hope of ever being a mommy because I was tired of getting my heart broken every month by ovaries that just wouldn't get with the program and pop out something worthwhile.  The hubs and I worked hard for these wonderful little terrors we have.   I thought having to work so hard and for so long would make me a better mommy.  That I'd be more tolerant of the tantrum and the tempers; that I'd laugh off the sassy mouths and naughtiness.  Nope, I still have no tolerance for having to make the same request 20 times and being ignored until I scream it.  

So, I'm shall try to take it a day at a time and enjoy my children for who and what they are - which is two toddlers who are trying to get a feel for who they are.  I will tell myself daily that they are not small adults and their little brains are still developing and they have no clue the driving me batshit crazy.  They are 2 and they are mine and I love them.

Do all boys fight like this?

My boys have been in rare form that last couple of days.  I had really committed to curbing my yelling.  Making fewer outrageous threats of bodily harm that I'd never in a million years follow through with.  We'd had a few really good weeks where I really thought I was being a more patient parent.  I was thinking that the boys were really doing better and improving their behavior by leaps and bounds.  Apparently the boys were just lulling me into a false sense of peace and chose the last few days to stick it to me.  

The fighting.  Oh the fighting!  I'm ashamed to send my kid to daycare when I work because he's always got at least 2 sets of his brother's teeth marks on him.  It's summer - that shit shows now!  No long pants and sleeves to cover it.  They gouge eyes, they twist ears, they pinch.  How does a 2 year old know this stuff? Are boys born with an innate talent for inflicting pain upon their siblings?  They fight over toys.  They fight over whose mommy I am.  They. Fight. Over. Everything.

I have yelled.  I have threatened.  I have spanked.  Every time Thing 2 pushes over the rocking horse with Thing 1 on it.  Or shoves him off the big wheel.  Or when Thing 1 tries to push Thing 2 off a couch or down the stairs.   I have sent them to their rooms.  I make them apologize and say they love each other.  And the fighting continues.  I've lost track of how many times I've said the words "We do not hurt our brother.  We are family.  We love each other."   I'm tired and I'm hoarse.  At some point the fighting has to stop, doesn't it?  I'm thinking I should let them work it out and go do some yoga.  Or take some Xanax.  Or drink a bottle of wine.

We love the museum.

We took the boys to the Children's Museum last Sunday.  It was a lazy, laid back trip.  Ok, I lie.  Not much is lazy and laid back with Things 1 and 2.  We also took their 12 year old twin cousins along to help wrangle the boys.  Fun was had by all.  

This was our first trip out without keeping the boys in a stroller to get in and out.  They did surprisingly well.        The best thing about taking Thing 2 to the museum is that his feet never stop moving the entire time we are there.  You pick him up to carry him and they keep going like he's still running.  And that's the other thing about good ole Thing 2 - he never stopped running.  If you tried to block him from leaving an area he would just drop and roll around you on the ground, or crawl on his hands and knees.  He will use any means of evasion necessary to avoid being stopped.  

His favorite things are the fire truck, the motorcycle, and the big rig.  He was a constant photo bomber at the motorcycle because he would run over when other kids were on it to push the pedals and make it vroom.   And after attempting to steal some older kids glasses in the big rig I had to ban him from it.  Be glad I was the parent witnessing that, the Hubs said if it had been him he would have asked the older kid (he was probably 6 or 7) why he was being such a puss and letting a 2 year old steal his glasses.  

Thing 1 is so  well behaved on comparison.  He goes to an area and plays there then will follow you to the next area with minimal prodding.  He loves the water area and always leaves with a soaking shirt.  

We didn't even make it to the top level.  On our last trip, there Thing 2 may or may not have thrown some toys over the railing - I won't confirm or deny this.  On this trip he repeatedly busted through the Plexiglas panels partitioning off a display.  Who uses wobbly Plexiglas to keep toddlers out of something? No one, that's who.  I will say that he wasn't the only small one who did this while we were there.  I fear the day that we go into a place like this and see our picture up with a "no admittance allowed" sign.  

We left after an hour.  Thing 1 was red faced and his hair was wet with sweat, but he was the least tired of us all.  Thing 1 didn't make it out of the parking garage before he fell asleep.  We've already decided that the Children's Zoo with be our next adventure.  They've never been there without being strapped into the stroller!

Hello there.  I'm typing this basically one handed seeing that I finally broke down and had carpal tunnel surgery on my left hand.  So, large bulky dressing in place and instructions to limit use and not lift anything heavier than a phone for 2 weeks makes life with the littles interesting for me and upsetting to the Hubs.

About the Hubs, he's been a trooper these last 3 days.    Bringing home supper, showering with the boys, and doing all the heavy lifting is taking it's toll.  He's also been in charge of all threatening of bodily harm to the littles and subsequent punishments if they don't "straighten up and knock it off!"  He's tired.  Falling asleep in his chair tired.  We were blessed with horrible sleepers.  Thing 1 is the child that fights sleep with all his might.  Stumbling around, packing every toy he can carry into the living room, crying at the least little thing, refusing to be held, running from you and trying to wake his brother up is a near nightly occurrence.  This is practically our routine.   Thing 2 is the child who will go to sleep without problem, but doesn't stay that way.  And once he's back to sleep, his normal wake up time is around 0530.  So good times for all in our house.  I'm usually the night time person who gets up and sits in the chair with the boys until they fall back to sleep and I drag their 30-33lbs selves back to bed, but no lifting means the Hubs has to get up and get them back to sleep or carry them to bed for me.  

I've actually left them sleeping where they drop the last few nights.  In the chair, on the couch, on the floor; it doesn't matter to me.  I wiggle my way out and head back to bed knowing they know where to find us.  It's hard to hide from a screaming 2 year old.  

This blog is actually a thank you to my husband.  He's a great dad and a good husband and I don't let him know it enough.  Even if he did tell me after surgery that the doctor had said this surgery is "no excuse for her to shirk her responsibilities and there's no reason she can't change diapers, cook, and clean as normal."

Did I just say that?

Every mom out there has a list.  Of the things she can't believe she just said.  Things that she never dreamed she would ever have to say.  Things that don't make sense in a normal world, but seem to be the norm when you've got kids.

I, of course, have used more curse words since my kids have become mobile than I possibly used in my life up until that point - and I have a horrible potty mouth in the confines of my home or car.  There is something about the unwitnessed shattering of glass or shrieks of pain that call for an "Oh fuck."  But those words don't go on "the list." 

The List is for things you have to say to your kids because they are new to the whole being a person thing and don't know the proper etiquette or procedure to get through life.  Or sometimes, it's for things you say to them because they just don't know better and you are trying to save them some pain. 

I'm just going to throw some out there, I'd love to hear other peoples.

-Do not pinch your wiener with kitchen tongs.

- Get your foot out of the dog's water.

-Why did you dip your shoe in the dog water?

-Where did you find that donut?  No, do not eat it!

-Wipe boogers on mommy or daddy, don't eat them.

-Do not hit your brother in the head with a bucket.

-We don't touch poop.  No, just leave it on the floor,      
mommy will get it.  No, don't bring it to me; I will be there, let me get a wipe.

-Leave on your diaper!  

-Is there a diaper under those pants?  (This one was followed by Thing 2 pulling his pj's down so I could see his wiener and laughing as he ran away.)

-Put the carrots back in the fridge!  No, do not touch the eggs.  NO EGGS!  

-The closet is not for peeing.  

-We don't push our brother.  Do not push your brother when he is on the steps.  Why are you trying to kill your brother?

-Don't drink the water in the bath tub.  

-Where are your socks?  Why is there a sucker between your toes? (This one is always in the car.)

-Don't chase your brother with you mouth open. (And by open mouth I mean full on, bared teeth because I'm going to chomp you open.)

Long Distance Family

I am a midwest transplant.  I grew up in the "upper South."  The Appalachian region of Kentucky.  I met a Nebraska native, fell in love, and we moved around a bit before finally settling an hour from his hometown in Nebraska.  We have been here for almost 5 years.

He has a large family and except for one uncle they all still live close by.  Holidays are a blast with a ton of little cousins playing together.  The boys have grandparents and great grandparents that they see regularly and that they adore.  Thing 1 is know to randomly say,"Grandma nice" pretty often.  They get excited when we pull in their driveways.  

I'm thankful that the boys have family that loves them close by.  

Then there is my family.  All back in Kentucky.  A very long 18 hour drive away.  We've been there twice since the boys were born.  At 6 months and at 15 months old we made the drive to visit.  The first time we were there, Thing 1 got a horrible ear infection and we had to scramble to find a pediatrician.  The second  trip the boys overwhelmed my parents with their incredible energy and activity level.  

Despite that less than stellar visit, I love my family and Need to see them at least once a year.  The boys are now 27 months old and we have not been back.  It's been over a year since I've laid eyes on my family.   Of course I talk to my mom (and even my dad occasionally) on the phone a few times a week.  And I don't want to move back there.  I just want my boys to know their "other" grandparents.

I just had a long, scary few days and my first real experience of the helplessness of being so far away.  My dad had some surgery and even though it went great, it was still fairly serious and very stressful.  And just drives home the fact that my boys are growing up  and don't have any idea that they have another set of grandparents.  The boys talk to my mom on the phone and love to say "hi grandma," but I don't kid myself into thinking that they know it's not the hub's mom.   

I'm really just saying that no one should take family for granted.  Those of you who have parents and grandparents close by who love your kids and are thrilled to watch them sometimes, consider yourselves incredibly fortunate.   

How fast they grow up

My babies are no longer babies.  Yes, they still cry for a "baba" at bedtime and want mommy to hold them as they go to sleep, but they are little boys now and my heart is breaking.

I'm working evening again this week and have had daycare drop off duty.  I'm lucky to get a backward glance when we get to the play area.  This morning one little girl immediately says hi to Thing 1 and comes over to tickle him while I'm taking his jacket off.  Does my baby have a girlfriend?

Thing 2 was already over at a table playing with the older kids by the time I had hung up jackets.  No kiss for mommy, no bye bye.  I was left hanging.  

I want my boys to be independent.  I know this is the time when they start asserting their Independence, but sometimes I miss those tiny little bundles of smooshy, sweet smelling baby.  I miss watching them tucked into their bouncy chairs sleeping, I miss the days when I could corral them in a jumper or a pack and play and know they would be safe.  

I know that this is how things are supposed to be.  They are going to grow up and that's ok, I just never thought it would happen so fast.  I love them more than I ever thought I could love anything in this world and I just want to keep them little and safe and close to me.  

Today, we dyed eggs because it is the thing to do at this time of year.  After all my earlier trials of the boys in the kitchen, I expected no less than horror and tears with this.  Surprisingly, maybe even amazingly, it went well.  Maybe it was because the calming influence of Daddy was there.  The boys had fun, I had fun and no one other than a few kitchen towels suffered for it.  

You want to help Mommy in the kitchen? NO!

I am in awe of friends of mine who let their toddlers help them in the kitchen.  I have a friend with a 3 yr old and a 1 1/2 yr old that help her bake.  They measure and pour and get flour all over themselves and the kitchen and all is happy and shiny in the world.  Adorable pictures are posted to Facebook.

My gruesome twosome like to be in the kitchen.  It's where the sharp things are.  There are lots of things to climb up.  Drawer fronts, chairs, the fridge, counter tops.  The most intriguing place is the preheating oven.  Nothing like some place hot and extra owie to draw the attention of a two yr old.  

I can not be shiny and happy with my two in the kitchen.  I am all yell-y and crazy.  Tonight as the oven is heating, I'm trying to show my two how to use the mouse on the computer to play a game (how spoiled they are, they've only been exposed to an iPad and just kept banging their little fingers on the monitor).  Thing 1 is sitting in my lap trying, Thing 2 wanders over to the oven and opens it.  I lose it.  I ban them both from the kitchen.  This is only after I've threatened them numerous times for opening the garage door, standing on the table top, sitting on the edge of the counter (which one has toppled off of already), pulling all the pans out and smashing a toe.  

This is one of the many times that the Hubs looks at me as I'm sweaty faced and looking a little crazy and says,"You've got to get some control of them."    Lord help me, I'm trying.  I don't want to be known as the mom of the "brats."  Poor Thing 2 is already labeled as the "naughty one" at daycare (although they are not allowed to use the naughty word at daycare); I prefer the terms our pediatrician uses - active, spirited, all boy.  In reality, Thing 1 is much meaner.  He's spiteful.  The little angel faced boy that takes Mommy's phone and throws it down the stairs because she's taking it away from him.  Poor Thing 2 is really active.  And I don't know why, whenever we pick him up from daycare, he takes that as his cue to start ripping shit off the shelves and climbing up the nap cots that are stacked in the corner.

But, I digress.  I want to be that pintrest mommy baking cookies with the boys, I really do!  My nerves can't handle it, someone will get hurt.  If anyone has any suggestion on how to get my kiddos in line and keep them there, I'm all ears.  Or eyes as the case me be.   I'm working with the assumption that some of this devilishness is just normal 2 yr old behavior, right?   

Who is that crazy woman yelling? Oh, it's me.

I am trying to stop yelling at my kids so much.  I feel like I spend half my time with them angry and with the ugly scream face on.  They are 2, things are going to be crazy and I gotta learn to roll with it.  Pick my battles.  But, I'm having a little trouble deciding which battles to choose.  I may have over reacted to Thing 2 trying (and succeeding) in eating cheese and bread crumbs off a raw pork chop - it's gross, but not likely to kill him.  A firm spanking was not over-reacting when he let himself out onto the watery, snowy back patio in his socks while I putting laundry in the dryer.  

It's potty time and taking off the diapers that are making me crazy.  How do people stand the constant cries of wanting to go to the potty?  I can feel my blood pressure rising each and every time we go into the bathroom.  It doesn't help that we have a cramped, narrow bathroom and putting a step stool and two potty chairs in it has made it an obstacle course.  Or that it's the hottest room in the house because the door stays shut all the time.  

Picking my battles and deciding what to freak out over  is proving hard.  All I know is that the Hub told me tonight I need to quit being so angry all the time and I'm sure my poor kiddos will need therapy later because 'mommy was cuckoo.'

I cringe at the words "ucky poop"

All I want to do is get the boys ready for day care so I can come home and get ready for work.  The Hubs usually is the one taking them to daycare since I work obscenely early hours.  Today, I'm working later to help out a sick co-worker and I get drop off duty.  

Up at 0600 and immediately the cries of "potty, potty" begin.  Thing 2 wants to be potty trained but isn't completely ready.  I've talked about his lack of focus in FB posts and last week he fell of the big potty and blacked his right eye because he hit the little potty.  That kid can't sit still for 2 seconds.  Up and down, big potty, little potty, on and off 10 times in the span of a couple of minutes.  Finally he squeezed out a few drops and LOVES dumping it in the big potty to flush.  He loves it so much that he proceeded to squeezed out a little pee 3 mores times so he could dump it.  

Enough, I say.  Outta of bathroom, I say.  Get your diaper back on, I say.  That diaper lasted about 5 minutes till he was yelling for the potty again.  Repeat of our last visit minus the droplets of pee.  Back to the living room for a diaper.  Then he goes off to play.  Of course, 5 minutes later he comes to me and says, "Ucky poop Mommy."  Yep, indeed there is yucky poop in the toy room floor.  Thank the good Lord above that it was the kind you could pick up with a baby wipe and not the kind that sinks into the carpet.

All the while Thing 1 is contentedly watching Dora.  He's in a Dora trance.  I change his poopy diaper while he watches Dora from the couch.  He's oblivious to me until I try to slip pants on him, then he comes alive!  "No pants, Mommy!  No pants!"  The chase is on and the threats begin.  

  

This is Thing 1's "No Pants" face!

Sleep. Or my lack of it.

The boys are not good sleepers.  Never have been.  The Hubs and I have spent the last 2 years hoping that when people say 'once they are this age or that age it will get better' it will be true.  I think we've come to the conclusion that it is a lie.  

I don't think our friends purposely have deceived us; I just think they are better parents than us.  Well, better parents in the sleep category especially.  Crying it out has not been very popular in our house.  I'm especially quick to run grab up a crying child because I don't want 2 crying children up in the middle of the night.  

It's gotten quite a bit better since we moved and put the kids in separate bedrooms.  Knowing Thing 2's propensity for getting through all gates and doors in his way, I have door knob covers on the inside of both their bedroom doors so they can't wander.  I still had to put duct tape on the covers because he figured out how to pop them off in about 10 minutes the first time I tried them.  I was hopeful that once they realized they couldn't got any where they would get back in bed, but instead they start to cry, then they call for "mama", and if I haven't opened their door at that point the banging begins.

My attempts at blogging!

I've been posting about my boys on my facebook page for 2 years.   Each time I post some fantastical status a couple of my friends tell me I should write a blog.  Maybe so, maybe not, but I'm going to attempt to entertain and enlighten those of you who choose to read my muttering.

In the past several days I've posted about the pooptastrophe that took place in the Thing 2's bedroom, the multiple ways he has attempted (and succeeded) to get access to the downstairs sink, and his sudden discovery that he can open the sliding doors.  

I have little to say today.  I sent the boys to daycare so I could take my BLS recert test and shop for Easter/picture wear.  I did get them adorable matching sweater vests.  I wanted to buy them these cute little plaid caps, but neither of them will wear a hat other than a winter beanie.  I got them metal Easter egg pails that lasted about 10 minutes once I got home and let them have them.  Yeah, those are going back and being replaced with plastic or foam ones, something not quite so weapon like.