Category Archives: Peter

10.08.07
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Devil in Disguise?

Doesn’t Petey look like such an angel in that nap time photo of him – taken on Saturday? Harumph. I’d like to draw in some horns and a pitchfork in there after yesterday’s no-nap debacle involving yet another stinky diaper. Bill suggested that I not try to put him down for a nap until after he goes to the bathroom. Yeah…if only he were that consistent…or cooperative. No nap until I fill my diaper? OK, mom I can hold out until 3 or 4 pm!

{sigh}

An acquaintance-friend has one child – a boy. He kicked her rear end as a baby, and she deferred having more children out of fear that she was a horrible mother. I’ll take her word for it how bad he was. I had limited exposure to his behavior and he seemed pretty normal to me.

But Petey looks like an angel in that photo, too.

Now that her son is four, he’s evened out and is more manageable. She and her husband have decided to risk that parenting adventure once again. She’s about 4 months along now, and still a bit worried about her parenting ability. “Maybe you’ll have an easy baby,” I suggested to her a few weeks ago. I’ve heard about these kids: the kind who coo happily at the dappled sunlight filtering in the room, who love to be held by grandma or auntie or anybody at all, the ones who only cry for clearly discernible reasons and who take regular, long naps with minimal effort. No child like that seems to want to claim me as their mother, but I’ve heard they exist. I was trying to offer her some hope.

We ran into them on Saturday and chatted briefly. The husband mentioned to Bill that they found out some shocking news.

They’re having twins.

Hoo boy. Even two easy babies are quite a handful.

Perhaps, though, her first-born son was her prep course for handling the next ones. The other day, I was watching Pete and trying to be more amused than shocked at his antics. Had he been my oldest son, I would probably have quit motherhood right then and there. He had a toy gun and was shooting everybody in the room (except for me, I might add – good boy!). He had all the appropriate sound effects and would inform his victims, “I shoot you!” with enthusiasm and a smile. Most disturbing was that every so often, he would turn the gun to his own head and shoot himself. He would say, “I dead,” and then prat-fall to the ground in a heap to the unveiled delight of all his siblings.

Yes, having older brothers is a blessing. Sure. This is an improvement over naked tap dancing or getting dressed up as a witch? Hmmm…

I take all things in stride. Most days, he really is more like that little angel in the photo.

09.13.07
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Nap time over?

Yesterday, I was determined to take a nap, and I strictly cautioned Peter that if he did not lie down his toddler bed privileges would be revoked, and I would put him in the crib. He wanted the door left open, and this would have been fine, IF my other children had been dutifully following my instructions to BE QUIET, but instead, they were downstairs squabbling. One pugnacious seven year old was sent to his downstairs bedroom, and one shrieking six year old needed to be relocated to her upstairs bedroom right next to Pete’s room.

Pete had set up camp in the doorway: his pillow, blankie and stuffed animals were all neatly arranged on the floor in front of the door which was blocked by a gate. Knowing he would never fall asleep with all the chaos, I told him I had to close the door; he had to go back to bed. He refused (he’s two, that’s what they do), so I put him in the crib, and lay myself down on my bed.

I was really tired, and I tried to convince myself that just being horizontal for a half hour would be as good as actually sleeping. Sleep seemed an impossible goal given the protestations coming from my youngest child’s room. Then Jenny came upstairs, and I would have allowed her to play with Katie in their room, IF they could have been QUIET, but they could not. So I chased Jenny downstairs.

Once again, on my bed, I tried to sleep. But from Peter’s room I hear:

“Nap time over, Mommy? Nap time over? Nap time over, Mommy? Two minutes! Two minutes! Nap time over! Two minutes!”

Believe it or not, he did manage to fall asleep after that, and so did I, briefly.

08.19.07
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Rock-a-bye-baby

It wasn’t that long ago that I was still nursing Peter to sleep. We gradually tapered things off, but shortly before his birthday at the end of June, we stopped. That was, what, eight weeks ago, perhaps? Not a long time, but it seems like forever.

From the ashes of our breastfeeding time rose our pre-sleep snuggle time. At night, in a dark and quieting house, I would sing him a song and rock him for 5 minutes or so, then follow an exact tuck-in procedure: carefully positioning his little puppy next to him, placing his blankie just right over him and the puppy, turning on the little birdies that sing Beethoven (always after asking him), singing one last stanza of whatever I had been singing before, and then I would tell him goodnight and that I had to finish the dishes now (even if they were all done). He would happily hug his puppy and smile a goodnight and drift off to sleep.

In the afternoon, it would be harder for him to settle down with the sunlight streaming in and the distant sounds of his siblings having fun without him. But it would only take about ten minutes of gentle swishing in the glider rocker, and he would be fast asleep. None of my older four children ever enjoyed being rocked for longer than a few minutes, and it was a pleasant surprise when he started doing it.

An obnoxious voice in my head tried to tell me that rocking him to sleep was establishing a bad habit that I would have a hard time breaking. Years ago, I might have heeded that voice, or at least it would have caused anxiety as I fretted over managing his nap time routine while caring for the upcoming newborn. But I am older and wiser now. I pooh poohed that voice, reminding myself that rocking babies is the stuff that lullabies are made of and permitting myself to fully indulge in the pleasure of a toddler hugging me tightly as his little head grows heavy on my chest.

And I knew it wouldn’t last long.

As surely as all change is, my gentle rocking ceased to soothe his excited and active body to sleep. I’m not sure how long it’s been, maybe as long as two weeks; transitions with children play havoc with a mother’s sense of time. Five days can seem like five weeks or even five months as we fight our way to new routines. I’ve been leaving him to get himself to sleep for his nap (sometimes with disastrous results). Soon, he’ll be out of the crib, and it will be another wild adventure as he learns how to rest despite the temptation to wander.

I’ve missed the rocking.

On Friday, Jenny wasn’t feeling well and by evening it was clear that she had some virus. She went to bed with a fever after napping most of the afternoon. Around 1:30 am, Pete woke up crying fitfully. He, too, had a fever. After a 40 minute bedside vigil, I brought him into my bed where I hoped we could both get some rest. Instead, he spent the next two hours rolling and fussing and kicking one parent or the other. Finally, I put him back to bed where he fell into a deep sleep and stayed there until nearly 10 am yesterday morning. The rest did him good, and he awoke with no signs of illness (Jenny spent the day on the couch).

Naturally, there was no chance this child would take a nap, and I didn’t even bother. But after dinner, he started getting cranky, and I decided an early bedtime was appropriate. He didn’t protest, but with the din of a household not yet ready for bedtime, I opted to see if rocking him would help him block out those noises.

He snuggled in my arm, taking a few minutes to find a spot around his unborn sibling who now takes up most of my lap. Within minutes his little body had completely relaxed and his head became a heavy weight on my shoulder. And still, I held him, not ready to let go of this moment.

It is not the child for whom this is a hard habit to break; it’s the mother.

08.17.07
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What’s one more load of laundry anyway?

Although she was doing well before our move, since we’ve been here, it has been necessary to scoop sleeping Jenny out of bed and take her for another trip to the bathroom before we go to bed to prevent accidents. Even then, there are some nights where this still doesn’t work. Wednesday night was one, and so I had an additional load of laundry to do yesterday.

By the late afternoon, I had freshly laundered her sheets, her comforter and even the mattress pad and replaced them on her bed. She helped by neatly and ceremoniously placing her various stuffed animals, My Little Ponies, and throw pillows in their proper and exact spots around the perimeter of her sleeping area.

After dinner, Pete was walking around half naked, as usual. He usually does really well with making it to the potty when he’s naked. I sent the girls upstairs to put their jammies on, and he went up too. I usually do him later, but I guess he wanted to get ready for bed, too. Katie helped him change into his night clothes – everything except a diaper. And that’s fine. He came downstairs for stories, and she told me he needed a diaper, but I knew he could wait a bit. He is only about 50% successful at remembering the potty when he has clothing on, but since we were in the living room, not doing much, and the potty is right there (gotta love potty training decorating techniques…Good Housekeeping should do a spread on ideas for incorporating kid potties in your living spaces, perhaps someone could invent an under-the-kitchen-counter pull out shelf that drops down with a stable platform to fit most designs), I thought he’d be fine. And he was…during story time.

OK, you have to see the the impending train wreck, right?

After prayers, the girls and Pete are sent upstairs to brush teeth. I linger for a few minutes to chat with Bill. By the time I get up there, my good children have in fact brushed their teeth, but Pete is standing there uncomfortably wet. Of all the places in the world, he climbed up on Jenny’s bed and had an accident.

{big sigh}

08.13.07
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Simple addition

One toddler, confined to crib for nap time and fully capable of clothing removal…

Plus one stinky diaper (a post confinement occurrence)…

Equals one mess you have to experience to understand the depth of its yuckiness.

That…

Minus one nap for freshly bathed toddler…

Equals no nap for pregnant and exhausted mommy.

That…

Plus daily temperature exceeding 100 degrees…

Equals afternoon TV for the kids.

That…

Plus a dose of Tylenol for an emerging headache…

Hopefully equals a cheerier attitude, hopefully soon.

07.24.07
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My sweetheart

Yesterday we dragged the kids into Kansas City to hit the big shopping areas for the long list of things we weren’t able to find locally. We promised them lunch at a restaurant for their inconvenience (and it is tough to watch mom and dad buy things for themselves and not for you, I know). They picked Pizza Hut which has a lunch buffet for about $2 for kids (drinks not included, naturally). This was fine for me, especially since the food was ready and that meant no wait.

Bill took the boys to the restroom while I helped the girls (and Pete) select food. Then I took the girls to the restroom while the guys stayed with Pete. When we finished, the girls ran ahead to the table, and I stopped by the buffet to pick out a slice. I was the last one to sit down, and our waitress had already brought the drinks I ordered when we first got there.

Everyone but me had straws, and I looked around, but didn’t see another one. Then I saw Pete concentrating very hard on removing the paper from that seventh straw. His little fingers could only grip a tiny piece at a time, and I knew (having seen him do this before) that he would be occupied for several minutes pulling off bit by tedious bit.

Oh well, I thought, I don’t need a straw. I’m a big girl; I can drink from the cup. I focused on my food. After a minute, Pete finished his work and then got down from his chair. I inwardly sighed. Great, we’re here ten minutes, and he’s already lost interest in eating (and sitting still), I thought. I watched to see if he had a motive or if it was truly just boredom that inspired him. He scooted around the table to my chair. He smiled broadly and offered up his labor of love – the opened straw. “Here, Mommy,” he said sweetly. After my sincere thank you, he ran back around to his seat, climbed up, and went back to his food.

Spoiled and pampered, wonderfully, by my two-year-old. It doesn’t get any better.

07.22.07
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The bliss of camping

Camping as a family is a lot of fun. Everyone works together to set up camp. You have plenty of time to just be together: fishing, swimming in the lake, sitting around the campfire. Except for the initial outlay of cash for equipment (most of which you can rent, borrow or do without), camping is very inexpensive. And after a full day of work, everyone falls quickly asleep to the sound of quietly chirping crickets and the occasional croak of a frog.

This is what my inner cheerleader tells me every time I get that crazy idea to take the family out for a few days of communing with nature. Rah rah sis boom bah. We like camping, yes we do, we like camping, how ’bout you?

I stubbornly refuse to listen to that infernal pessimist who points out all the doom and gloom of camping. She has no idea what she’s talking about. She mentions the frustration of tangled fishing lines. She reminds me of my paranoia around water with lots of little children. She warns of the dangers of open fire and children with marshmellows on sticks leaning in for a closer roasting spot. And she points out that my children are not normal: exhaustion only winds them up so tightly they can’t go to sleep, especially not to that cacophony of cicadas and other bugs so loud you’d swear Manhatten traffic was more lulling.

I’ll admit that the timing could have been better for us. My lower back was hurting really badly. I would have suffered through it for the sake of the family, but nobody was having a good time, it seemed. Bill and Pete were sick – both had in fact, two nights before, shivered all night through a fever and both were still weak. And all the kids were still in turmoil from the move, so the cooperation level was low and the meltdown fuses were short. And it was HOT. Relaxing in the shade with only the exertion of putting a cold cup of lemonade to your lips would have caused a sweat, and we weren’t relaxing, because camping is work.

Even as I write this, my inner cheerleader is arguing with me, telling me it wasn’t all that bad. I don’t mind the work at all. Actually, I do consider that to be the fun part. We enjoyed seeing deer pass within a dozen yards of our camp. And I’m now totally sold on lake swimming, especially in an area someone has graded and marked for swimmers. It’s gentler than the ocean with no rip tides and the only waves coming from passing boats, and there is usually a more generous shallow end for toddlers and pre-swimmers to bob around in. Our evening dip certainly felt rewarding and refreshing after our work in setting up camp. And if my back hadn’t been aching so, the air mattress we hauled along just for my pregnant belly would have aided in a truly decent night’s sleep.

Oh, there she goes again, that peppy voice. If we hadn’t just moved, if it weren’t so hot, if my back didn’t hurt…my ankles are still swollen and itchy from the mosquito bites. And there’s one thing Miss Pom Pom always forgets: the dirt.

I can handle the dirt myself. Even dripping with sweat, I can manage a certain level of personal cleanliness that at least makes healthy food preparation possible. If my knees get a bit soiled, that’s ok. If my black bra, left to dry overnight, shows what must be salt residue lines from dried perspiration, I’ll survive. But watching my kids squat down first thing in the morning by the breakfast fire getting their clean PJs covered in ashes just makes me nuts. And the picture below, as they say, is worth a thousand words. Pete, 15 minutes after arriving at our campsite, looked like this. And this is pretty much how he looked 15 minutes after I cleaned him up…every time I cleaned him up.

My inner cheerleader is just telling me to pack more baby wipes next time. Maybe next time I’ll pack a shotgun and silence the inner cheerleader forever.

06.30.07
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Happy Birthday, Baby!

Ah, but he’s not a baby any more. My littlest guy turns 2 today. I can’t post pictures, because my CPU is on a truck somewhere between Virginia and the Mississippi River. I can’t bake a cake, because all my baking supplies are in that truck too. I don’t even have a birthday present for him, but I do plan to head to the store this morning to get something car-friendly. This will be a pretty low-key celebration, but I’m sure he’ll feel special anyway.

Happy birthday, Petey. You make us laugh. You give the sweetest hugs and kisses. I love you with all my heart.