A Tale of Two Mommies

…because more seems excessive…

Monthly Archives: February 2017

A Face without Egg, but Still Cracked

Sometimes I am on the cusp of losing my cool with my children in spectacular fashion, particularly with my upcoming threenager. But, I’ve learned something about myself as Little Man continues to develop a personality all his own…exploring the world in his individual ways. I can tolerate assholery from my children, and even find it amusing…or hysterical in some cases…provided the unpleasantness that entails does not affect me directly.

My son, for example, never really exhibited the typical toddler behavior of throwing random items into the toilet, hoping to see the object swirl down to a watery tomb. At least, that had been the case until very recently. It isn’t consistent, but when he is overtired the impulse to throw toys and other various items in our commode becomes a hellish dodgeball exercise while I’m trying to brush his teeth.

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(I think GOT WOD knows Gumby has nothin’ on me.)

One specific night in question had my husband taking the lead for the Little Man bedtime rituals. I was tending to my own when a giddy toddler barreled into the restroom while I was foaming at the mouth from an ambitions and overzealous tooth scrubbing.

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(Thank you, Soupy Trumpet. You get it.)

Whatever, my husband was in charge; I carried on in my own zombie-like exhausted state. But, in a second, Little Man launched for an item on the vanity, subsequently hurling my husband’s comb into the toilet. Maybe it paints me as a jerk, but my laughter produced streaked tears down my cheeks. My son was immediately shepherded out of the room, and I was once again left to my own devices.

Less amusing, however, was an incident a couple days later. I try to encourage my  son’s wishes to play, behave, or simply exist independently. One such risk is when he requests to remain downstairs while I shower. We went over the three rules and consequence for infractions. He recited all parts beautifully. He was set. Sometimes it’s fine…sometimes not…This specific occasion was the latter. I usually maneuver objects and such in preparation, but of course I would forget the steak knife in the dish drainer. When I made my way down the stairs after my shower, I was greeted with my husband’s child sitting in front of the refrigerator holding the steak knife in question in one hand, and clutching a bag of dates he scaled the refrigerator shelves to retrieve in the other. The kicker is he preemptively removed the chair he climbed to reach the cutlery, knowing I would take it away as soon as I saw him. So, I guess I’m consistent? And, that would be bad enough, but there is more to this tale. He also was surrounded by a carton-and-a-half of destroyed eggs fanned out to maximize the carnage, yet mostly contained to one room.

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(Doesn’t cleaning sixteen of these look like a good time? I was PSYCHED!)

And, to keep it interesting, Little Man pointed out the two he shoved in the cabinet under the sink…SIX HOURS LATER.

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(Yeah, I’ll own it. Not my proudest moment. Thanks, Cryptid Wiki.)

Upon seeing the vein throbbing in my neck and the glare bestowed on him, my son independently identified he would not be remaining downstairs while I shower for the foreseeable future…again. I’d like to say that event was a one of. Sadly it was repeated five days later while I was upstairs for, literally, two minutes. Little Man is not allowed to have eggs for the near future, possibly until college. We talk about why they are forbidden when he requests French toast or “eggs ‘n’ toast” for breakfast.

My in-laws visited for a long weekend in the middle of the infamous egg incidents in the winter of 2017. True to form my son had a tough time, even if it wasn’t quite the same as when my parents are in town. Toward the tail end of the visit, Little Man finished his dinner, and persistently urged Daddy to finish eating so he could have a bath. Not wanting to waste time, as well as to hasten Daddy’s eating efforts, Little Man dropped full-Monty trough.

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(Yup, Duluth Trading guy will be my son some day.)

It was hilarious…little man tushie scampering about…Then he relieved a stupendous amount of urine I would question was his if I hadn’t seen the expenditure. It was all over the floor, but fortunately missed the carpet…barely. I had the only reaction one can expect from a parent: I folded over a chair in heaving laughter I couldn’t control while Daddy cleaned his son’s latest bodily fluid spill. The event was less funny two days later just after the house became ours once again.

It was the same day as the second floor egging…fifteen minutes after to be exact, and I was no longer in good humor. The story much less interesting, as it was one more event due to over tired misbehavior exacerbated from several days of overstimulation from visitors. Little Man was unhappy with his series of consequences in a short span of time. He found it hilarious to urinate on our white carpet in the upstairs hallway…until it resulted in his “quiet time” starting an hour early with no story. Kid passed-out in his tent on the floor within ten minutes easy. Nights continue to produce a very Daddy excited toddler. But, generally, we’re all feeling much better now.

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Waste Deep and Without a Paddle

Little Man is a prolific pooper…like I feed this kid, and I have no idea how he relieves his body weight in manure on a daily basis. I regularly berate myself for not working some type of deal with a local farm or something because sheep, cows, and goats have nothin’ on Mr. Man.

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(World Animal Foundation Animals: “So, you say your poops are more stupendous…Thems fightin’ words…”)

If my son only blesses me three times a day, I consider it a win. And, I’m not talking the cute and sparse deer pebble ones that stink up an entire room before you’ve registered what happened. Each diaper fugitive is substantial enough to give my son the appearance of a banana hammock stretching down to the knees of his exceptionally long legs.

His timing is impeccable too, and I have to admit I’m kinda in awe. My son could have pooped three of his remarkably substantial loads before his nap, but still manage to trot into the hallway stating in a surprisingly accurate Brooklyn accent, “I made stinkers,” within ten minutes of me leaving him upstairs to his own devises. Today he even managed to poop five minutes before I took him upstairs, and once again within his designated time frame. When that happened, I knew he did it just to mess with me.

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(The Great Gatsby understands how he uses his personal biohazard as an intimidation tactic.)

The exclusively formula fed Warrior Queen is constipated…because she is formula fed. And, let me tell you the production that occurs every time she relieves herself. Every other day she will suddenly start screaming so loudly the neighbors likely hear. Some of it seemed so painful we began dosing her with prunes every other day…that helped soften things, but not the screaming. She generally likes making an equally big deal out of life’s big and small displeasures alike. I guess pooping can be added to the tally.

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(A screaming poop face like this emphatically communicates she means business!)

We don’t really use baby food; both kids went right to the table food we were eating in increasing sized bites as the they grew. What began as morseled tastes for my daughter is now an impressive quantity…I’m not sure where she puts it. Today for lunch she ate an entire peanut butter sandwich, some apple, and mashed potatoes and gravy. She still polished off half an eight ounce bottle shortly after…must be from my side of the family…Little Man has the same storage capacity with his daddy’s tall, lean build.

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(This is kinda how I see mealtime in my house. Thank you, Pandora’s box Wikipedia.)

Warrior Queen is up to consistently eating two solid meals a day, which means more poop…like a lot more. A few days ago they were annoying shart type messes spaced within ten minutes of each other. There was barely enough to clean, but is certainly wasn’t gas; and I was befuddled that a streak of nothing could smell as bad as it did. Things took a turn today, however, when the children committed to a truly unnecessary competition of who can provide the most dumps in a 12 hour period. Warrior Queen started strong, but she ultimately had to relinquish the title promise to the reigning shit champion…It was thrilling to experience. In anticipation I waited to see who would come out the winner. Sadly it was not the underdog this time…I’ve always liked an underdog.

At the end of a day that I could have easily done without, I’m left to consider: How would one manage to work this skill into a resume? Certainly both children show an propensity for politics.

 

Kiss the Girl

Warrior Queen is my co-piolet this evening, playing in her bouncy seat while my husband and Mr. Man play hide-and-seek with a side helping of chase. My son is exuberantly laughing in the other room, and the joy on his face compensates for the tantrum earlier prompted by a truncated nap. My daughter is joyous as well, kicking her toys over the edge of the plastic top of her surrounding ring; subsequently peering over.

In the last couple days she’s grown with the capacity for spontaneous affection, which can only mean one thing: baby kisses. It’s been a long time, but I’ve missed their grotesque wonder. Holding her, I raise her belly to my lips for a faux raspberry over her shirt. She rewards me with her wide, beaming smile before diving in to eat my face.

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(FantasyStock knows this is the last thing you see before you feel your face coated in a massive circumference of wet.)

Little Man’s were few and far between, but Warrior Queen provided several before her brother distracted her. It was an unceremonious end with toddler pleas to set the baby aside; Little Man wanted belly tickles too. He reciprocated with his special brand of affection, and some things are never too sweet.

Divides

As an educator and social worker focusing on at-risk and incarcerated populations, I catch a glimpse of society others don’t. I see the random and capricious nature of our social policy and some of the direct effects of disenfranchisement. Criminal justice disparities are easily documented, yet seldom discussed in a real, fact-based way.

Racial tension has risen to the surface within our media…sometimes accurately…often not. Following our election I’ve become more involved in politics, mainly on social media, which is where, for better or worse, much of the fight occurs. Some of the race discussion alienates me. I am a White woman, so anything I attempt is inherently wrong. I need to be an ally, but I simultaneously can’t be. It’s all fairly frustrating, even as I remain a silent reader within comment sections. I get the person/woman of color narrative, but often the messaging prompts me to remain stuck in the status quo. But, then I read Jodi Picoult’s commentary, and it makes sense in a meaningful way. I see my life’s independent evolution, and don’t feel quite as terrible…not quite as stuck or disheartened. I have some notion of what my process should be in this new age…as we move forward as a society.

But, with all of the open discussion thus far about race, I am disappointed and irked with the narrow nature of general discourse about prejudice as a whole. Embedded within honest dialogue about race is the overlying statement that race is our country’s only injustice…our only shame. To be clear I don’t want to dismiss or minimize the experiences for people of color, particularly Black/African Americans. Their struggles dragged to our surface are past due and fully deserved. Slavery is the foundation of the terrible that followed. The totality of our population is overdue for enlightenment.

That said, I don’t like the conversation beginning and ending with race. I don’t like the competition that Black/African American is the only group meriting a dialogue. I won’t presume to speak of other’s experiences…overcompensating White people greatly annoy me. I can, however, speak from the perspective of the only experiences I have right to testify, my own. I am a Jew to name one subgroup I embody. People don’t like Jews. Anti-Semitism is a very real and unpleasant issue to experience, even as I currently reside in a liberal area. My childhood and adolescence, however, was in a small conservative location, and I have stories. They are different than stories of ones pertaining to race, but it wasn’t easy. I don’t appreciate my life and situation delegitimized because of my skin color. I will not call it reverse racism, as that doesn’t exist. I call it insensitivity and narrow foresight. To be clear I don’t want this to be a competition among the groups who have it harder. I want this to be a conversation that prejudice is a bad thing, and we do our society a disservice limiting the discussion and dismissing the ways others are capable of genuinely understanding differences and intolerance.

Often within conversations about race, other groups are completely lost. Gender variant (Transgender) and orientation are newly receiving more recognition and support, but others aren’t. Individuals identifying with disability and mental health struggles confront stigma and discrimination openly, and are not even at the table of discussion or societal support despite supposed legal safe guards. Our irrational fear and hatred of Muslims and Muslim foreigners has percolated to a head with rapid, deafening force; but even as I write this small element there is hope at least on that front. Finally, let us not forget Sexism and rape culture are also real things and intertwined within every other hateful shame within our society.

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(Social Science Space explains our mark on each other best.)

So, why discuss all of this in a parenting blog…now? The start of the answer is simple: My son is growing older, absorbing his world  in ways baffling me as they occur. My daughter is not far behind. I owe them the serious consideration of how I explain their world. Do I wait for the inevitable awkward public questions or do I spend the time on my terms? I choose the latter.

How do I raise children to appreciate, love, and fight for their country and all of her inhabitants? I don’t have the answer, but my son…and even my daughter will absorb and actively seek their place in the greater world regardless of my timeline. I’m not sure what Little Man understands, but it’s always been more than I thought. In the last couple of weeks my husband and I have been dumbstruck by Little Man’s understanding of jokes we tell for our adult ears, yet my son laughs even with a dry delivery. At 2.9 years-old his language comprehension is awing. Each passing week I feel the pressure to explain…to discuss, but it’s a bit overwhelming deciding on the specifics. For now I initiate side comments as they occur to me. I regularly vent politics and social happenings within my children’s ear shot. My children’s day is without media exposure, but come the evening the news is on. Senator John Lewis appears on our television, and I explain who he is as simply as I can; he is a fighter for people with skin like him who aren’t always treated well. I respond to the questions and statements my son is beginning to express. Yes, our minority president is scary, but all of us make sure he does the right thing. We all fight him when he tries to hurt others. I’ve started pointing out differences in people on television when he is watching. I try to shape his idea of beauty in the world…expand it beyond what I’ve historically understood. The time will come when he independently notes the world’s diversity in rapid fire utterances; I commit that I won’t be embarrassed when those moments occur. I will form that dialogue and change the narrative of how he will see people unlike himself. I will continue to combat prejudicial commentary he hears whether it’s strangers or among those closest to him.

We live in a White area, but I want my son to appreciate and see beauty in the uniqueness that currently divides us. I don’t want either children to be the farce of color blind, but I don’t want them to overcompensate either. I believe in giving back. I believe in authenticity. I believe in thoughtful leadership. I believe in their brilliant futures as they define it for themselves. I believe in my role to interpret the world as I understand it based on real data and facts. I want their world to be better, and it starts with me.

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