Wheezing, fevers, and bulb syringes

So, I've kept the kids at home all this week because the three of us have been in an alternating battle against sinus/upper-respiratory infections, colds, bronchial wheezing, and LOTS of drippy green snot (both of my little ones have had the "green elevens" all week, if you know what I mean), so I didn't want to further expose their already compromised immune systems to more germs/get a bunch of other kids sick.


As a result of trading our usual trips to the park, story time at the library, the Bounce House, play dates, the Little Gym, and even various errands for fevers, sniffles, aforementioned green elevens, coughing, Tylenol, Benadryl, Amoxicillin, respirators, humidifiers, saline, and bulb syringes, some of us have been struck with a bonus case of Cabin Fever, and by some of us, I mean MJ.


Even under-the-weather, she's into everything.


On Monday, MJ had a 102 degree fever.  Regardless, I spent 90% of the day saying things like, "Sit on your bottom!  Couches are not for bouncing!"  This inspired me to share some of the interesting conversations (albeit most one-sided) I've found myself having with myself my two-year-old.
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me: Okay, Lovey; let's blow your nose.
MJ: Nooo!  No blow nose!  I wike bogies!
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Alex: waaaaaaaaaah!
me: Oh!  What happened?
MJ: Machaewa throw shaker. Hit Bay-Awex head.
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me: Couches are not for diving!
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MJ: No poopies in uh unnawares.  Nooooo.  It's yuckies.
(Guess where the poopies were?)
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me: Couches are not for coloring!  Where did you get that pen?
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MJ: I snuggle Bay-Awex.
me: MJ!  We do not sit on our brother's head!
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me: MJ!  No bite!  Dining chairs are not food!
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MJ: Mommy's working.
me: Yes. Mommy's writing a grocery list so Daddy can go to the store.
MJ: Machaewa make list?
me: Great idea! (Handing her paper and crayons) Only color on the paper!
MJ: No bite.
me: Right! Crayons are for coloring.
MJ: (eats red crayon) I fixed it!  Nooooo!  Ugh!  No color lips!  Only color paper!
(apparently I'm not the only one who talks to myself.)
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me: MJ, what's in your mouth?
MJ: Rocks. Paper.
me: (trying not to laugh) Scissors, too?
MJ: No scissors.  No touch.  No put scissors in mouth.  That's yuckies.
(Duh, Mom.  Only rocks and paper are culinary delicacies.)
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MJ: Get down!  Right now!
me: Machaela!  We do not stand on the table!  Let go of that light fixture!
MJ: Time out.


Note: I was planning to post a pic of MJ wearing her nebulizer mask (poor thing), the giant bite mark left on the dining room chair by our goat daughter, and Alex up on his hands and knees (rocking back and forth!) but I can't find the connector thingy for my camera's memory card.  Ugggh technology!

Mean Girls

MJ is one of those wonderful little souls that has never met a stranger.  She will run up to any child, boy or girl, big or little, and attempt to engage them in some kind of play.  I've always liked this about her and encouraged her to be friendly to all little children.  She's so different than me, since I need a written invitation to approach a group, but motherhood has given me an excuse to get better about that, but hey, this isn't about me anyway . . . 


Apparently, other parents are training their children to be total jerks.  This isn't true of all parents, or their children.  And when it happens, I don't really think it's intentional.  Some children gleefully take MJ's outstretched hand and follow her into hours of fun.  For example, at the Bounce House the other day, two older girls were climbing up this huge inflatable thing and sliding down holding hands.  MJ, of course, wanted to join them, so once at the top the girls waited for her and then they lined up three across, yelled "Ready, Set, Go!" and all slid down into giggly oblivion.  My heart almost exploded witnessing her joy.


I had a complete opposite reaction to one of the world's most ginormous toddler-jerks yesterday.  MJ noticed a new little girl entering the park.  She looked about MJ's size, so my little greeter ran right over to her and exclaimed, "Hi!  Come on!  Let's go play!" as she extended her hand.  The little girl stared at this welcoming invitation from the cutest person on the planet and immediately rejected her, wrinkling up her nose as if she smelled something stinky, and ran off in the other direction.  MJ just looked at me as if she was thinking: was it something I said?  At that moment, my heart shattered into a million pieces, and I had to physically restrain myself from punching someone else's toddler in the nose.  


Okay, I would never really consider punching a toddler.  Or punching anyone, really, because I'm pretty non-confrontational.  Except with children.  I see a child out of line and I correct them, even if I don't know them.  You're welcome, parents.  Like the time we were at Water Country and this little boy kept literally climbing over the decorative part of the slide to cut in front of the kids who were waiting patiently to climb the steps to get to the top, and as he attempted to step in front of my sweet girl, I blocked him with my arm, looked him in the eye, and simply told him "Wait!  It's not your turn.  Go up the stairs like everyone else!"  His mother just looked on from beneath her sun hat, perched comfortably with a book in her lounge chair dangling her feet into the pool.  She didn't say a word, so I doubt it bothered her that her son was being a total jerk or that I was doing her parenting for her.


A similar incident occurred at the play space in Chesapeake Square Mall a few weeks ago.  MJ was happily climbing on all the plastic structures, chasing other children, and generally having a great, squeal-y time.  Because she is TWO, it takes her about 6 seconds to carefully lower herself to a sitting position at the top of the slide.  Apparently that wasn't fast enough for this kid, (we'll call him "Cage," because he should be in one, and it actually rhymes with his real name), because as she was mid-squat, he hurriedly ran up the steps, saw that MJ was in his way, and shoved her.  Because she was mid-squat, this sent her flying head-first through the air and into a crumpled mess at the bottom.  I placed Alex on the blanket I'd had for him on the floor and rushed over to make sure she was still breathing.  She wasn't really hurt, just surprised (the slide isn't really all that big), so she dusted herself off and looked up to find out what in the world had happened.  I gave her a hug and shot a glare at the brat still standing, looking a little shocked, at the top of the slide, and then hissed at him that he needed to keep his hands to himself and that pushing was unacceptable.  I may also have done some pointing/finger-shaking.  Usually I would have mitigated some kind of conflict resolution skills between the two children, but my heart was still racing and I was still eye-checking her for signs of sudden-onset bleeding or bruises.  


I then looked over the structure to see what his mother was planning to do about her little deviant (I may or may not be judging him a little harshly, but that's what happens when you poke a mama bear with a stick), only to find her oblivious to the entire situation because she was absorbed by her stupid iPhone.  Which should be illegal for all parents, because apparently the mere ownership of an iPhone makes people believe they are way more important than they really are, and that whatever text or app or status update or tweet they are checking is way more important than being present with their child.  I digress.  The point is, her reaction could have fostered an opportunity for positive growth in her child.  Her absence sends the message that it doesn't matter what he does or how he acts.  He was probably about six years old, and it didn't even occur to him to apologize to the baby he just carelessly pushed down a slide.


But we've experienced the effects of "Cage's" mother's "parenting" before, at a local park.  And I've written too much about them already, so that's enough rant for now.


Anyway, the experience with the toddler I wanted to punch at the park makes me think about how mean other kids (especially girls) can be, and I think about how much I am NOT looking forward to seeing MJ's (or Alex's) heart broken every time some little brat thinks he or she is king or queen of the playground.  Can it really be starting already?

Yuck.

It's raining.

When you have a toddler, rain is the worst. thing. ever.

If it's sunny out, I can give MJ a bag of giant chalk sticks and she will happily scribble on the back patio for at least thirty blissful, quiet, minutes while I do all the glamorous and sexy things I enjoy doing, like unloading the dishwasher or staring into the freezer wondering what I'm going to make for dinner.

But it's raining.

We've already built sixteen different block castles and then sent them crashing to the floor, gotten dressed, eaten two delicious snacks of bananas and goldfish crackers, changed clothes when we realized we weren't going to make it to church this morning due to Alex's desperate need for a nap, painted with watercolors, and watched two episodes of Curious George (not back-to-back, good Heavens!).

Usually, Mike is pretty good at entertaining MJ while I clean, fold laundry, etc. but he's tired this morning. He couldn't sleep last night, and stayed up pretty late watching TV, and in a sweet effort to let me sleep in, got up with MJ when she randomly woke up at six. Now he's crashed out on the couch.

MJ knows it's raining and that Daddy is not in his usual rough-and-tumble mood, and is expressing her annoyance by attempting to color on anything that's not paper, climbing up the front of the bookcase, and jumping on the couch.

Must. get. out. of. here.

Busy, busy, busy!

Alex rolled over last week. LAST WEEK, and I don't think I even mentioned it to anyone. Well, I mentioned it to his pediatrician, while he was screaming because she was looking at him (how dare she) and in general, not being cute at all. I also tried to tell her how great he is at holding his head up and pushing up onto his elbows, and how much he loves watching his sister bounce off the walls. He's doing some really amazing things! When I pull on his hands, he sits up (and then usually projectile vomits from the combination of reflux and pressure on his abdomen). He can stand up by himself from this position by arching his back and planting his feet firmly on the floor. He grins and drools ferociously once this is achieved. I think maybe she didn't believe me, because as he lay there, face as red as a tomato, wailing at the top of his lungs because it was his nap time and the staff had kept us waiting waaaay too long and he was nowhere near his beloved crib, he was doing none of his great tricks.

The screaming is an issue.

Alex is not exactly a people person. Some babies are really laid-back, and just kind of chill their way through every day. Pass them around? Sure. Nap spontaneously in a stranger's arms? No problem. This is not Alex's personality. He is regimented and scheduled. Eats at 8:30am, plays until naptime, naps in his crib from 9:30 to 11:30, and then the cycle starts all over again. This continues throughout the day, until he goes to sleep between 7 and 8, and wakes up again at 8:30am. He doesn't like deviations, which makes things like running errands and taking MJ out of the house difficult. So we deal with the crying; otherwise we'd have no life! Sometimes I think I should wear a T-Shirt to circumvent the inevitable dirty looks and often intrusive comments. No, he's not hungry. No, he isn't sick. No, there's nothing wrong with him. No, please, he doesn't need to suck your finger. He's just off-schedule.

While Alex is busy learning how to roll and stand, MJ is teaching me how she sees the world. She asks to play in the dirt every day, and is fascinated by the sound of a stick clanging down the siding on the house. She discovered that when you mix colors of paint, you can create new ones, and she can name them correctly. Yup, not even two, and she knows all the colors (and can count to thirteen, and identify all the letters of the alphabet in both upper- and lower-case. I'm aware that we might have a genius on our hands). Inexplicably, she enjoys naming all the kitchen appliances. She tells me every day which one is the "fer-frig-uh-rator" and microwave, as if I might forget. She spins in circles and sings her own medley of her favorite songs, including "Twinkle Twinkle," "The Wheels on the Bus," and "Edelweiss." She points to the floor when she demands I join her in a dance to whatever music happens to be playing, and smacks the TV, calling out "high five, Fish" when The Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That is on. She thinks you can't see her if she has a bowl on her head. She pronounces her name "Uh-Kay-la" (which is an improvement over "Ba-geek-uh"). When I go into her room in the morning or after a nap, she sings, "good mooooorning," whether it's morning or not. When she finishes a drawing, painting, or "message," she holds it up, cocks her head to the side, and says, "hmmm. Boo-ful!" Everything she likes, from babies to sippy cups of milk, is "soo key-uuute!"

These babies are the best, crying or not.

All Kinds of New Things

I have been a bad, bad blogger. When I started teaching last year, I just kind of gave up trying to keep up with this thing, and in so doing lost a great opportunity to document all of MJ's amazing milestones. Now, there is a second Baby Rhodes on the scene, and nothing from his first precious four months have been recorded.

Oh, to add a few more hours onto every day.

MJ has become a toddler right before my very eyes. It happened overnight, just as I suspected it would, and now she is possibly the most brilliant, talkative, observant, friendly, hyperactive little person ever created.

Check out those curls. LOVE.

photo credit: Kristin Moore Photography

Our most recent venture has been (drumroll) potty training.

It's one of those funny things about being a mom, that you get excited about things that other, possibly more normal, people would never get excited about. One of these things is encouraging another person, through exultant celebration and the giving of stickers, to pee and poop in a specific location. I decided that I wasn't going to really sweat it. If it was time, I would know, and she would just figure it out. But the more I thought about potty training, and the more I researched it, I realized that deciding to no longer just "go" whenever the urge struck wasn't going to be something she just did on her own. We ultimately chose to follow a specific method, detailed in a book called Three Day Potty Training by Lora Jensen. Mike's cousin and his wife used this method, and their daughter was potty trained, in three days, at age 18 months. Their son was also trained the same way, and dropped his diapers in a mere four days at age 19 months (boys take longer, you know).

This information was enough to sell me on it, and I was certainly tired of having two in diapers, so we bought the book (with purchase, you also get one-on-one mentoring with the author, online). The way it works is that you have to devote an entire three-day period to exclusive potty training. This means you actually throw away the diapers, so that you can't cheat and go back when it gets hard. And it does get hard. You can't leave the house. You really can't do chores. You can't nap, or watch TV, or check your Facebook page. You spend the three days glued to your child's side, so that you can "catch them in the act" of having an accident, scoop them up and run them to the potty. The method utilizes positive reinforcement, which means that when they go, even a little bit, in the potty, they get a prize. The idea is that by the end of the three days, the child is done with diapers, and (hooray!) so are you! So, we started on a Saturday and Mike took off work on Monday so that we could devote the full three days to MJ's potty training. Honestly, I expected her to be trained within the first hour.

For us, the three-day method took eight days.

For all her 22-month-old brilliance, MJ was much happier to let go mid-sprint than actually stop what she was doing to let us know she needed to go to the potty. There were a LOT of accidents (hers) and a lot of crying (mine). Some even advised us that she was too young to be potty trained, which I knew couldn't be true, since so many other children have been trained at even younger ages. We changed the sheets on her crib, on average, three times a night. After six days, I was ready to get a refund on my investment! Then, suddenly, she started telling me "I potty?" when she needed to go. She dropped to two accidents a day, then one. As of today, she has been accident-free since Sunday morning.

Too young. Ha.

(Knock on wood.)

We are, however, doing Pull-Ups at night, which is not part of the method, but I don't think that will last much longer since she has started calling out to go potty when she wakes up and has to pee. Sigh. My little girl really is growing up.

Being a mommy of two is so much harder than being a mommy of one. When it was just MJ and me, I could devote every second of my waking hours (and many that were supposed to be non-waking, unfortunately) to her every need, wish, or whim.

Sometimes I feel guilty, that Alex is getting the short end of the stick somehow.

MJ is, without a doubt, an extremely precocious child. She is interested in everything, from what happens when she sticks her hands into the water of a flushing toilet to what Mommy might do if her colored pencils drag on the kitchen wall. Meanwhile, Alex has to be fed, which is approximately twenty minutes of time for MJ to get into something, which means that instead of lovingly staring into his gorgeous blue eyes while he eats I am constantly putting him on the floor to chase after his sister, to intercept whatever she's gotten her hands on from flying through the screen door, or rescue my (NEW!) blinds/carpet/kitchen appliances/leather sofa/curtains/walls/pantry contents/etc. from certain ruin in her destructive (I mean curious) hands. When MJ was a baby, we spent her hour of wake-time between meals and naps engaged in witty banter, staring at stimulating black and white pictures, practicing holding her head up via tummy time, and listening to a variety of brain-developing music. Alex usually spends his wake-time staring at the ceiling fan, listening to Mommy reprimand MJ for whatever she's spilled, broken, or bitten, or chewing on his hands out of sheer boredom.

What happens if there's ever a third?

I distinctly remember watching a series of home-videos with my best friend, Kristen. They belonged to her family, and had captured some of the milestones of her and her two younger brothers. The first video was of Kristen, maybe a year-old or so, taking her first steps. Family members hovered over and around her. Toys and furniture were cleared out of the way as her chubby little legs wobbled through someone's living room. Collective gasps were heard as she nearly fell, although she wasn't actually near anything that could have caused her any harm. Her dad manned the video camera and narrated every move. Soon, the video fast-forwarded several years, and showed Kristen and her brother, the second child, climbing a tree as the baby, just within the screen and not really the focus of this particular video, munched happily on some leaves he'd managed to collect in his chubby little hands.

That's what happens. The subsequent children become the independent ones, I guess, left to their own devices and to entertain themselves, at least while they aren't yet mobile. Austin certainly figured out a way to feed himself. ;) (I'm sure someone was watching him, even if from afar.) But really, people used to have way bigger families than they do now, and somehow managed to keep everyone alive, well-fed, and well-nurtured. I think about Memaw, who is a mom of five kids. Or Mike's mom, mother to six. Or Michelle Duggar, mother to nineteen.

Maybe Alex won't be too damaged after all.

Really, he does have special time with Mommy. Usually I try to get both babies to nap at the same time, so that I can get some things done (or sometimes just take a nap myself), but Alex has figured out that MJ's naptime is a great time to be awake. He also gets solo time with me in the evenings, when Mike is giving MJ her bath and putting her down for the night.

While Mommy feeds me, she looks at me, and talks to me, and makes me smile. She doesn't keep tossing me on the floor and running away. She sings to just me. She snuggles me. She dances with me. She tickles that goofy spot on my neck that makes me chortle. She kisses my cheeks and strokes my forehead. Sometimes, she nestles me under her chin and I can hear her familiar heart beat as we drift off to sleep.

I know what he's thinking: MJ should sleep more often.

photo credit: griffin photography