June Cleaver Nirvana

I may have mentioned that I am raising very sensitive sons.

And by sensitive I mean overly-reactive.

They are sensitive about the dark, being alone, vegetables, anything they don't want to do and bugs.

BUGS pretty much tops the list - the super-frightening, extraordinarily-horrifying, death-defying list.

I am not a big spider fan so I understand that, but the anguish over ants, flies, moths, beetles, June bugs and roly-polies (yes, even cute little roly polies) I just don't get.

And then there is the bug of DEATH...

The bee.

Alias hornet or wasp (please don't get technical here, I know they are different, but the boys lump all the bee-like bugs into the bee category).

Note: None of my boys have ever been stung by a bee, hornet or wasp. To my knowledge they are not allergic to any of these stings so quite honestly they are over-reacting just a tad.

For instance, on the way home from school the other day I saw this gorgeous field of wild flowers. I stopped the minivan on the side of the road and left the field-side door open so I could keep track of the boy that was with me as I grabbed my camera and headed the 15 steps to the flowers.



I got about three shots in before the SCREAM OF DEATH coming from the minivan interrupted my floral photography session.

Crap.

I ran to the van to a panicked child who informed me that a BEE the size of TEXAS had invaded the minivan. I searched high and low for this horrifying species of bee so large that it induced shrieks heard all the way in Oklahoma.

I searched.

and searched.

and searched again.

No bee. I did find a fly...a very freaked out little fly.

Poor fly.

So when we got home I pulled out the Big Book of Insects for a little remedial bee identification training. While reading the Big Book of Insects it became clear that this is not the best book to read to children afraid of bugs. The Big Book of Insects talks about all sorts of rare creepy bugs. The Big Book of Insects shows pictures taken under magnification of bugs that are crawling everywhere on everyone at all times.

Which might explain why I have been answering incessant questions about bugs that are crawling everywhere on everyone at all times since that little lesson.

Sometimes knowledge is NOT a good thing.

Knowledge about super weird creepy bugs may not be good, but knowledge about how they react to the bugs might not be bad...

Yesterday Ryan(8) came to me with a brilliant plan.
Ryan: Mom, I have an idea.
Me: OK.
Ryan: I think I can win a gold medal in running.
Me: Really?
Ryan: Yes, what I need you to do is as soon as they start the race you need to put a bee behind my back. I can run over 20 mph if I am running from a bee...

And that my friends is how you make bug lemonade from bug lemons.

Today we are in for a treat.

I have arranged an interview with world famous Nirvana architect, Rhett.

Rhett is a 3 year old architect out of North Texas. His formal training was in other areas (potty training, pedaling a tricycle and book procurement for story time) and is predominantly self-taught in the field of architecture.

His previous architectural achievements have included unique structures created out of non-traditional building materials such as Legos, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and wooden blocks. He is a master at mixed media and demonstrates a creative streak that is unsurpassed.

Thank you Rhett for joining us today.

Hi.



Rhett, can you please show us your latest work?

Here. Look. It is by couch. DON'T KNOCK IT DOWN!


Inspired! What a unconventional take on a modern town. I am impressed with the traffic flow and advanced planning for population congregation.

No. This is family. Here is mom, dad, Ryan, Reid, Rhett (me), Grandma, Grandpa, Mimi, Bampa, Abby (dog), Scooter (cat), Lauren and Baby Benjamin.


Oh! How unexpected. So this one is your mom?

Yes. Mom.


The tall structure with the wide hips?

Yes. Mommy is big.

And the shorter, skinny structure behind it is your dad?

Yes. Mommy LARGE. Daddy MEDIUM. Rhett SMALL.


I am hoping that you are referring to SMALL, MEDIUM and LARGE in a metaphorical sense of their spectrum of influence...

Huh?

This interview is over.

It has been a mild Texas spring. We have been hovering in the mid-70s with dips to the high 50s and occasional spikes to the low 80s.

The trees and flowers seem a bit non-committal. The buds open slightly, peek around and then tentatively hang in unenthusiastic bloom. Nature has paused. Quite honestly, I can't really blame nature because it's Mother often punishes spring with an ice storm.

Despite the mildness, spring is one of the few times of year that we actually have WEATHER. You know, the kind that you have to check the news or Google in the morning before getting dressed.

Ryan has complained that whatever I tell him to wear to school seems to be wrong.

Mom, remember when you sent me to school with a COAT when it was WARM and in SHORTS when it was COLD?

Sorry buddy...if weather.com can't get it right, what chance do I have?

And then there was yesterday morning:
Time: 6:34 am
Temperature: 75
Conditions: Thunder Storms with Rain Showers

The boys come tumbling down the stairs reporting sights of lightening and sounds of thunder.

Ryan: At least I don't have to go to school.
Me: What? Of course you have to go.
But it is raining.
They don't call off school for rain.
MOM! Turn on the news and check.
Ryan. They don't call off school for rain.
YES THEY DO! Check the computer.
I am NOT going to check the computer. You are going to school!
Reid: MOM! I just saw lightening! Ryan can't go to school in lightening.

Ryan does not go to school in a pool.

It appears that my three boys are extremely important.

So important that they can't be bothered to stop their important work for something non-important...like going to the restroom.

They play chicken with their bladders to a point that it makes me have empathetic contractions.

It starts out slowly with a subtle groin hold.

Do you need to pee?

NO!

And progresses to a full body stretch on tip toe to allow more room.

Do you need to pee?

NO!

And finally comes the dancing which escalates into a disco beat.

Do you need to pee?

NO!

Of course not.

*wait for it*
*wait for it*
*wait for it*

Once the disco beat pattern is identified it takes approximately 8.5 seconds for the following to happen...

• All movement stops suddenly.
• Eyebrows raise and shoulders are pressed back.
• Entire body pivots toward closest bathroom.
• Full speed run toward closest bathroom ensues.
• Tunnel vision occurs.
• Belt/button undoing may commence.

And what happens when the bathroom door is closed due to prior occupation?

• The dasher screeches to a halt.
• Stares at the door in disbelief.
• Pauses.
• Horrified look crosses face.
• Full brain shut-down occurs.
• No ability to problem solve is present.

And that is why I am needed.

Every day this happens and in this moment I am the most important person in the world. The smartest mom ever to have walked the earth. The wisest sage in the land.

I am Toilet Yoda...

Why don't you use the other bathroom?

Help you I can, yes...

Rhett's recent victory in kicking the binky habit has resulted in an unmasking of the underlying disorder for which he was self-medicating.

Toddlerphrenia.

His 8 days of clean and sans-pacifier have taught me that his self-medication dosing was very effective.

And now?

His current behavior is a wild variation between the toddler extremes of fierce independence and sobbing dependency.

It appears the pacifier was a plug for drama.

POP the plug...

...release the drama.

Rhett will be in the middle of a task - showing competence, exuding confidence - and then without warning, in the blink of an eye, a wind of change happens...

It starts with a whine...escalates to a sob and peaks with a full blown tantrum.

He has a serious case of Toddlerphrenia.

The other night we were all in the living room watching TV. Ryan was laying on the floor, Reid was laying next to me on the couch with his thumb in his mouth and Rhett was on my lap.

Rhett's eyes were fixed on Reid and he kept playing with his fingers.

He fanned his fingers out and deliberately placed his index finger on his lips...

"See mommy, I do what Reid do!" pointing to his index finger in his mouth.

"Reid sucks his thumb" I responded while folding his fingers down in my hand and pulling his thumb out to show him.

He stared at it in wonder.

He looked up with a smile and put his thumb in his mouth. Every once in awhile he would pull it out to marvel at it...

It had been there the whole time...just hiding on his hand.

Thumb...the new binky?

Surprisingly, the initial amazement has worn off. I occasionally notice that he has a finger in his mouth, but it hasn't proven to have pacifier power.

Is it wrong that I am a little disappointed?

I really thought a small daily dose of thumb would help control the acute exacerbation of Toddlerphrenia...

I have mentioned a few hundred times that Rhett(3) has had a bit of an addiction. He could be the poster boy for Pacifiers Anonymous (PA).

It started out so innocently...he cried and we needed a quick fix of peace and quiet so the binky pushing began.

Unlike the other boys, he actually took to the pacifier. It was pure heaven at first, but then he needed more, more, more.

More binkies.
More pacifier time.
More urgent cravings.

It was an ugly out of control spiral...

We had a binky intervention...twice. There are even family members who refuse to associate with him when he is using.

Tough love.
Tough times.
Tough side effects.

At one point I began strict pacifier rehab. He resisted treatment. I caught him stealing moments with his binky. I saw him sneaking hits. I saw him hiding the evidence.

He had to shake this habit before it ruined his life.

Ruined his life?

It isn't like his drug of choice is illegal...

At that point we cut him a little slack.

Enablers.

At that point we decided to ignore the problem and hope it goes away.

Denial.

That was several months ago. We have given Rhett free and unfettered access to a never-ending supply of pacifiers. Slowly the pacifiers have been wearing out. Slowly the highs haven't been as high.

Tonight as Rhett went up to take a bath blog-Stedman asked him if he wanted to take his binkies upstairs while holding out a handful of pacifiers.

Rhett turned and said "no".

I asked him during his bath why he didn't want his binkies.

He said "because I am not a baby".

And he went to bed cold turkey.

He woke up about 45 minutes later shaking from withdrawal, but his resolve was firm. I am scooping him up and taking him to my bed.

This could be a rough night, but it is the first step...

I don't remember what parenting book it was that I read early on, but it made a huge impact on how residents of the Nirvana relate to each other.

The book stressed how important it was for children to have choices. These choices needed to be concrete and age-appropriately narrowed down.

I interpreted that to be a simple question of either/or...

Ryan, would you like to do your math or phonics homework first?
Reid, would you like to stay with your dad or come with me?
Rhett, would you like the blue or yellow cup?

Simple enough.
Effective.
My choice of their choices.

I started noticing that the boys were doing the same thing back to me.
Simple enough.
Effective.
Their choice of thier choices.

They use the technique in completely different ways.

Ryan is a master of the Multi-level Reward-based Either/or:

Mom, would you rather I do my math homework and then play the Wii or do my math homework and then play my DS?

The Extreme Sweeping Statement Either/Either is Reid's favorite:

Mommy, would you rather I never go with you or stay here forever?

What brought this to my attention this morning was Rhett's Non-sequitur Either/or at my bed this morning at 6:15 am with blue power ranger suit in hand:

Mommy I am starving! Would you feed me NOW or put on this costume on me?

I am a little worried that he isn't aiming HIGH enough.
Breakfast around here is a given.
Donning a power ranger suit has high probability.

Every once in awhile he could try for an Either/And...

It was a bit inconvenient for me when Ryan(8) learned to read. Blog-Stedman and I had to stop spelling things in public.

We adjusted.
Life went on.

What has been much more difficult to deal with is his ability to understand time.

Not just the time of day.
Not just the day of the week.
Not just the month.

But the date.

The date.

Crap.
Super crap.

He is the date police.

The Barney Fife of expiration dates.

I am not trying to feed my family over-due food. I am very conscientious of expiration dates on dairy and meat products, but I might slide....just a bit on some of the other food groups.

If a bag of chips sits unopened in the pantry for 45 days, does it REALLY need to be wasted?
If a can of pumpkin puree might have been left-over from 4 Thanksgivings ago, can't I sneak it into a 2009 pumpkin pie?
If a jar of pickles has been refrigerated, can't I believe in the preserving powers of pickle juice beyond what a calendar says?

Not according to Ryan.
Nope.
Nada.
Absolutely not!

The first thing he does when he comes into the kitchen is check the date on whatever I am preparing. If the date is overdue, he lays down the law. If the date is coming soon, he leads an expiration interrogation.

If you pour him milk in the morning and then put it back in the fridge, he is going to ask to see it before drinking.

And no amount of my reassurance will suffice.

Recently we went out to eat. We were all sitting at the table eating chips and salsa waiting for our food to arrive. Ryan picked up the chip container and looked at the bottom:

"Where is the expiration date?"

Poor Abby.

She started out as an only child.

Pampered.
The objection of affection.
Celebrated.

She had the run of the house.

I mean she ran the house...


And then a human baby came along.

Poor Abby.

She was fine for about a year.
Continuing as before...
until the human baby started walking.

Then her 50 lbs. of bulldog exuberance became a problem.

She is the most hyper bulldog I know.

She would get excited and jump.

50 lbs. of bulldog exuberance jump.

Poor human baby.

During that first year the human baby seemed to always be CONTAINED in something.
A swing.
A bouncy seat.
A walker.
A bouncer.
A stroller.
A crib.


These were all Abby buffers.
Human baby safety bubbles.

When human baby began to walk.
He walked AWAY from the safety of the buffers.
He walked TOWARD Abby.

It was just too exciting for Abby - she needed to greet human baby with 50 lbs. of bulldog exuberance.

She needed to be put outside.

Poor Abby.

And that is how Abby ended up an outdoor dog.

As she aged she has gotten less hyper. As she aged I have gotten more children.

Abby's clout has dropped. and dropped. and dropped.

Poor Abby.

She is still 50 lbs. of bulldog exuberance when the kids go outdoors to play.

For awhile I put her in a different part of the yard so she wouldn't knock them down. Now that both the kids and the dog are older I figure the kids can outrun her.

Ryan (8) doesn't have a problem with the dog. He just has a problem with not wanting to go outside sometimes. The other day we had friends over and this was overheard:

McKenzie (8): Your dog is so cute.
Ryan: Does that mean you want to go out and see her?
Yes! Let's go out and see her.
You don't want to do that.
Why?
Our dog always bites new people.
Really?
Yes, our dog has bit me several times.
Oh.
Let's go upstairs and play.
OK.

Poor Abby.

To set the record straight - Abby has never bit anyone in her life.

Blog-Stedman addressed the lies immediately. The next morning at breakfast I could not stop thinking about it and brought it up again:

Me: Ryan, why would you tell someone that Abby bit you?
Ryan: Well, she might have tried once.
I would NEVER have a dog around that would bite! Never.
Don't give away Abby! I love her.
Why would I give her away?
Because she bites people.
But she doesn't. Why would you say that when it isn't true?
Please don't give my dog away!

Yes, this argument could have continued in this circular manner for hours. By the end of the conversation I was on the defensive. Assuring him that the dog was going no where.

Poor me.

I say bring the dog inside and put the human out in the back yard...

Ever since Ryan(8) started to talk we have suspected that he has a future in the legal profession. He has shown excellence in the field of debate. He has a passion for justice. He has a gift for finding the loophole.

Should we send him to third grade or law school?

I am now wondering if any sort of school is necessary...maybe we should just send him straight to Congress.

Why Congress?

He has placed earmarks in the Nirvana budget through creative interpretation of the law.

The law: The boys each get a weekly allowance according to age. On each birthday their allowance increases by $1 per week.

Ryan recently had a birthday so his allowance was increased.

Blog-Stedman and I then overheard him calculating new allowance rates for both Reid(5) and Rhett(3) whose birthdays are in June and December. These calculations were made with plans for increased brotherly spending on his behalf.

Me: Ryan! Reid and Rhett's allowances won't go up until their birthday. Only yours goes up this month.

Ryan: *with a twinkle of understanding in his eyes* You said we get an extra dollar on EACH birthday.

At that rate he will be receiving a Congressional salary before getting out of middle school...

Reid (5 almost 6) is the middle child and has always been the forgotten one. From birth he has been my easiest, my most accommodating, my quietly independent child.

The un-squeaky wheel.

Thank God.

He is flanked on either side by brothers with spirits as large as hurricanes. He huddles in the middle to weather their storms.

About 6 months ago he started throwing tantrums* every time we left the house.

I don't want to go to karate.
I don't want to go to my friends' house.
I don't want to go to the park.

Everywhere is bad.

*Let me clarify that a Reid tantrum registers around 1 on the tantrum-Richter-scale. I try not to judge, but really, after seeing his brothers' tantrums I would think by just using pure genetics he could put a little more effort into the show.

One day blog-Stedman watched the pre-karate fireworks as I wrangled Reid into his ghee.

Gee.

We had a chat before I left to take the boys to class about whether it was karate or life that was bothering Reid. We decided it needed further investigation and possibly a change in schedule.

We got to karate and Reid completed his class without incident and with his full participation - as usual.

While we stayed to watch Ryan's class he climbed up onto my lap and we had a conversation...

Me: Reid, you did very well in karate today.
Reid: Yes.
Why the big fuss before we came?
I don't know.
Do you like to do karate?
Maybe.
Would you rather do something else?
Swimming.
OK, we can do that. It will take about a month to make the switch.
I like to swim.
I will talk to the karate class and cancel your lessons here.
Yes.
*we sat quietly for a few minutes while I thought about the details of the change and then thought I might want to ask one more question*
Reid, if I switch you to swimming you may NOT throw a fit before class - do you understand?
*pause while Reid thought about it* Mom, I think I better stay in karate.

I believe that life is an information gathering experience. I read a vast variety of books, listen to a wide range of music, have friends from different circles, and will talk to just about anyone about anything.

I find joy in random tid-bits.

Pockets of knowledge are one of my favorite things.

AND nothing is better than a good story.

*God enters laughing*
*rubbing his hands together*
*peering over heaven's ledge to catch this daily event*

Act I:
Holly finds appropriate cone to pick up second grader from school carline. The minivan doors automatically open and Ryan gets into the back seat tugging at his rolling backpack.

Holly: What did you do in school today?
Ryan: huh?
School. Did you have a nice day?
*silence*
Are you OK? How was school?
ummmm.
Did you have a spelling test?
huh?
Spelling test...did you have one?
I can't remember.
What about math? Did you do the 100 facts sheets today?
umph.
Huh? Did you have the 100 facts sheets today?
umph.
I can't hear you. What happened in math?
*silence*
Did you see Caleb at recess?
maybe.
Maybe? Did you or didn't you see your friend?
Idonno. Mom, can I eat the rest of my lunch?

Holly then turns up the music in the minivan and the two drive home in peace while Ryan sits contently eating his lunch dessert.

Usually this scenario is acted out in one act. I never really thought much about it until I went to a moms night out with some of the mothers of Ryan's classmates.

I sat at the table speechless. They were each sharing stories of when the teacher said this, or when the class clown got in trouble for that, or how all the kids were complaining about the other.

What?

What is the source of this knowledge?

Girls.

Yep, that is my theory. Girls.

I have noticed in the school hallways that the moms of girls are engaged in conversation.

Conversation!

Conversation, how I long for you.

*snap out of it!*

Anyway, sorry. Last Friday there was an additional act...

Act II:
Holly and Ryan enter the house through the garage from the minivan. Ryan is pulling in his backpack from school. His face is smudged with chocolate.

Holly walks over to the computer to check her email.

Holly: Ryan, I have an email from your teacher.
Ryan: huh?
An email. From your teacher. Your art teacher.
*silence*
*pause for Holly to read*
RYAN. WHAT HAPPENED IN ART TODAY?
nothin.
No. Really. What happened?
*shoulders shrug*
Your teacher sent me this to tell me they had a party for you and two other kids.
Oh ya.
Why did they have a party?
Idonno.
Because your art was chosen to be sent to a state contest?
Oh ya. Mom, can I have a snack?

And this is why you will find me lurking in school hallways eavesdropping on the conversations of little girls...

I grew up a girl.

Then I was an adult...girl.

And for the most part, boys and men behaved well around me because I was a girl.

And then I had boys.

Lots of boys. Three if you are keeping track at home.

What I have found is that I have lived my whole life without knowing the secret to comedy.

The laugh sweet spot.

The key to the funny bone.

Through careful observation and extensive male research I have found that boys are born with this knowledge. Some keep it to themselves behind smiles, while others share it freely with belly laughs.

My boys feel the need to share it freely.

Freely as in all the time.

All the time as in even when their loving mother threatens them within an inch of their life.

But the comedy can not stop even for time-outs and spankings.

The show must go on.

What is this funny secret that lies on the Y chromosome?

Any word can be made into a hilarious joke by adding the word butt.*

Go on.
Try it.


*There also seems to be bonus comedy karma points awarded if you can orchestrate the delivery of the side-splitting lines by someone age 3 and under.

Which explains why Rhett(3) runs through the house screaming "butt train!" to the utter delight of his brothers who are literally rolling on the floor with laughter.

Literally.

And as Rhett passes his loving mother on his noisy ministry of comedy all she can do is stifle giggles behind empty threats in the hope that this show stays at home and never goes on the road.

When Ryan (now 7) was 5 we laughed and said we didn't know if we should send him to Kindergarten or law school. Really, grades K-College just seem like a formality to get him to a point where he can use his God-given skills of debate.

I would welcome formal debate training so that his arguments would be formed with a bit more framework.

Right now Ryan's arguments are not what you would call factual.

Dramatic? Yes!

Logical? Not so much.

Yet, his persistency and volume are very persuasive.

So persuasive that you just want to run out of the room, crawl into bed, put a pillow over your head and stay there in the quiet bliss forever and ever...not that anyone would ever do that.

What is it in a child that creates such antagonism?

I say it is time to go.
He says without missing a beat: No, we have 5 more minutes.
I said it was time to go.

I say that you need to eat your dinner if you want dessert.
He says without taking a breath: How many more bites do I need to eat?
I said eat.

I say that school work needs to be completed before play.
He says without batting an eye: I don't turn this assignment in tomorrow so I don't need to do it now.
I said do what I say before I end up on the 6 o'clock news!

I had to break it to him that the Nirvana is not a democracy.
Yep, tough break.

I squashed all dissenting opinions with a far-reaching time-out policy. I have found that although it hasn't ended debate, I do get a break during the time-out.

Another side effect of my debate censorship has appeared...

Ryan has taken to debating people who don't rush him to time-out. This is what was happening at my breakfast table this morning:

Rhett(3): I like toast with peanutbutter and jam.
Ryan(7): No you don't.
Yes I do!
Nope, you aren't telling the truth.
I LOOOOOOVE it.
You don't like it at all.
I do.
Ryan (slightly grinning): You are lying.
Rhett (tears streaming down face): Mommy! Ryan called me a liar!

Really. I would tune in to the news tonight if I were you...

If it were not for the peanut, my two youngest children would be withering away. Peanut butter is Nirvana lifeblood. Ewww...I am not sure peanut butter and blood should be mentioned in the same sentence.

Reid (5) is a pb&j man. He has one for every breakfast. Sometimes he asks for an additional one. Sometimes he has a side of breakfast cereal. Every once in awhile he mixes it up and has peanut butter and honey. He would then have pb&j for lunch and dinner, but I have a one pb&j-based-meal per day rule.

Rhett (2 1/2) is more of a peanut butter renaissance man. There are no rules when it comes to peanut butter. If a little is good, a lot is better. If something tastes good. If you dip it in peanut butter it will be much better.

Lately Rhett has become a picky eater. He requests "cinnamon bread with raisins, toasted, with peanut butter and raisins on top" for every meal. He is also a fan of the raisin. My one cinnamon-bread-with-raisins-toasted-with-peanut-butter-and-raisins-on-top-based-meal per day rule really cramps his style.

A few nights ago I had the audacity to make the boys grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. You would have thought I was requesting Rhett to ingest dirt. I suggested dipping the sandwich in ketchup. That wasn't good enough.

Then I remembered my favorite lunch at a little restaurant in Vail. It is a 3 cheese grilled cheese sandwich with microgreens and a side of cherry chutney. HEAVEN. The cheeses are creamy and white, almost brie-like and it tastes amazing dipped in the cherries.

Let's try dipping your grilled cheese in jam!

Then I want peanut butter!

And that is how Rhett dipped his grilled cheese in peanut butter and jelly.

And that is how Rhett dipped his chicken nuggets the next day in peanut butter and jelly.

And that is how everything I serve the boy from this day forth shall be dipped in peanut butter and jelly.

Spaghetti and meatballs anyone?

The boys get up early.

As in hours before daylight that God didn't intend for people to BE AWAKE or He would have sent the sun earlier, early.

After several years of Nirvana management I came up with a clever scheme to assure that I didn't see the boys TOO EARLY.

At first, before they could tell time, we set the TV to automatically come on at 6:30. They were allowed to come down and watch TV when they heard Peep's theme song.

As the boys have matured the rules have slightly changed. They can now tell time so no one is allowed out of their bed before 6:15 and no one is allowed downstairs until all three boys are fully dressed AND (not OR) it is past 6:30.

This means the boys pick out their own clothes. They and are assisted by a 7 y/o fashion director. Some days their clothes match. Other days...not so much.

Really, not matching is no big deal. But during three months out of the Texas calendar, weather makes it a big deal. The boys are used to wearing shorts, t-shirts and crocs 24/7. Long pants are difficult to endure, socks are painful and a coat is downright torture.

Last Friday the outside temperature dipped into the *gasp* 30s. We were scheduled to do a little hike with friends OUTDOORS. We were to meet them at 10:00.

6:30--Three boys dressed in shorts and t-shirts run down the stairs.
7:00--breakfast, discussion of plans...excitement builds for the days activities until I mention we will have to change clothes.
7:30--all joy has left the Nirvana household. Grumbling and bargaining ensue.
8:00--I go upstairs to pick out alternative, warmer clothes.
8:15--Moaning.
8:30--Wailing.
8:45--Gnashing of teeth.
9:00--Two older boys have been threatened into submission of warmer attire.
9:01--Time to take on the 2 y/o...

Yes, it is the classic battle of MOM vs. TODDLER.

Will years of mommy on-the-job training win out?
or...
Will the crafty toddler's unconventional play ruin the game plan?

The game starts as expected. Mom uses size and strength to her advantage by holding down toddler limbs while stuffing them into long sleeves and pant legs. The toddler utilizes his massive lung capacity as an effective defense.

Luckily this mother has been training for a long time and holds not only determination, but endurance. The clothes are donned.
Mom-1
Toddler-0

The mother applies socks to the flailing legs but realizes that she is outmatched when it comes to tying shoes onto such a persistent offense. She gives up the point and allows the crocs over socks.
Mom-1
Toddler-1

The mother then pulls out the dreaded coat. The toddler screams in horror. The mother delays the game by taking the coat in the car.

When the destination is reached, the mother attempts to place the coat on the child. The toddler's quick spinning and melting moves are too quick for the mother...it appears that this point will go to the toddler.

EXCEPT

The mother feigns defeat. The mother leads the toddler on the hike sans coat.

What is this mother thinking?

It is COLD!

Three minutes pass in the windy 35 degree woods.

The mother asks the toddler if he is cold.

Yes.

Would the toddler like to wear the coat the mother lovingly brought?

Yes.

Mom-2
Toddler-1

*insert end of game celebration here*

For some reason, probably do to lack of distractions, the minivan has become the place for conversation. The boys feel free to express opinions and pelt me with questions whenever we are in the car.

Often they carry on conversations between themselves and when I try to interject something it is met with a trio of "MOM! We are talking!" It is super cute and I might admit to tormenting them just a little because they deserve it.

They have been a little obsessed with the whole boy-girl thing. We have had discussions about why girls don't spend the night at our house. We have had further discussions as to what girls have exemptions from this rule, i.e. cousins, mommies, grandmas, aunts, babysitters, etc. And even further discussions revolving around what happens in families that have SISTERS.

SISTERS has been a hot topic in the van with many questions revolving around who has sisters, what sisters are like and how weird it would be to have one. The boys are in the ewww-y girl stage so usually this conversation degrades into one of them calling the other one a girl and defensive screaming ensues in stereo.

Reid (5): Mommy, can a boy have a sister?

Me: Of course, many families have both brothers and sisters.

Can a boy marry his sister?

No honey, brothers and sisters can't marry.

Why not?

It is complicated, but it is better to find a wife you are not related to...

Ryan (7), interrupting: It is because they are from the same family and have the same germs.

They have the same germs. I don't know why I interject my opinion. They figure these things out pretty well on their own.

I have noticed that every once in awhile I have "yelled" something unusual at my kids. And by "yelling" I mean a hasty order with a slightly raised voice out of pure exasperation.

I first documented this phenomenon almost a year ago with the following phrase.

"Take the baby's shoes out of the fridge!"--Holly, November 21, 2007

Yep, that is pretty unexpected, but I think I have topped that with this:

"Who threw the anvil?"--Holly, November 2, 2008

I might even dare to say that no one in the history of the world (outside of maybe an ACME cartoon character) has ever said those words.

Why does Holly own an anvil?

I don't own an anvil. It is Ryan's anvil.

Why does Holly's oldest son own an anvil at the ripe age of 7?

He got it for Christmas a few Christmases ago.

Oh. What?

Yep, when Ryan was 5 he got an anvil for Christmas. He opened the gift and said, "Oh good! Just what I wanted!"

It was true. The anvil topped Ryan's Christmas list that year. He was really into breaking rocks into smaller pieces with a hammer. He was sure that if he broke enough stones he would find a diamond.

When you use a hammer on stones, it is best to have an anvil. His anvil arrived from grandparents who also included protective eye wear. Overall it was his favorite gift.

So back to the anvil flying through the air...

Me: Who threw the anvil?

Ryan: Uhhhh...it was an ACCIDENT!

No one accidentally throws an anvil.

I did.

How?

I was holding it above my head and my arms got tired.

Alright. I think there is a new house rule that anvils stay on the ground.

It just occurred to me that strange phrases yelled at my kids often result in even more absurd rules...

I went to vote.

I took Ryan(6) with me. Usually I vote while dragging all three boys with me so just taking Ryan seemed like a treat.

He was very interested in the process. We talked about the election and what was involved. I described how there were a lot of people in our country and quite a few wanted to be president. I spoke about what was on the ballot and how I was voting for people to help run our city, Texas and the country.

He closely watched me vote. He read the Spanish words on the ballot that he recognized. He helped me put my ballot in the machine. We watched the machine accept my ballot. He got a "I voted" sticker.

I was patting myself on the back for the beautiful learning experience that I had just provided my child. On the way home we continued the discussion. He then said,

When do we find out if you win?

Honey, I am not running for president of the United States.

Why not?

I already have a job.

Please mommy! Please, just think about it. I really want you to be president.

That is really sweet of you, but no, I am not running for president.

Don't you want to be president?

Well...yes, I guess, but right now I am busy.

I really want you to be president.

Then I should run later. I could run for president when you are older. I could run for president when you can vote for me.

I'm NOT going to vote for you!

What? Why aren't you going to vote for me?

Because I am going to vote for myself.

There you have it dear reader. The official slate for POTUS 2028: Holly vs. Ryan.

Don't tell anyone, but I am voting for myself as well...



I am posting this for Spin Cycle over at Sprite's Keeper which I was introduced to through Stiletto Mom. Isn't blogland grand?

The kid's meal at Chick-fil-A usually has educational books or toys. Most likely it is something the boys play with for a few moments and then discard. The books go into our bookshelf to be read later. The toys usually find their way into the trash or donation bin.

This week Chick-fil-A's bonus in the child's meal is this insect model:



Reid was thrilled. He wanted to put it together at the restaurant, but because I am such a wise mommy I encouraged waiting until we got home so I could help with less distraction.



I started on the instructions. Following each fairly vague direction to the best of my ability.

My mommy assembly resume is impressive:
1. Ikea furniture.
2. Transformers (into and out of the action figure/motor vehicle).
3. Legos.
4. Magnet sets.
5. Tinker Toys.
I could go on. Let's just say, I can put things together.

Approximately an HOUR later I had produced this:



Not bad! It resembles a dragonfly.



Reid took one look at it and started to complain...



"It is missing a wing."
"You didn't put it together right."
"This is upside down."

Details!
Details!
Details!

I thought I had adequately hidden this:



Oops. Extra wing. Really, who needs more than one?

Let's review what I accomplished in the last hour.

I took this...



...and turned it into this:



About that time blog-Stedman came in from work. He took one look at my dragonfly and stated:

"It is missing a wing."
"You didn't put it together right."
"This is upside down."

Details!
Details!
Details!

I handed him the disfigured dragonfly and the instructions and told him to go fix it.

About 30 minutes later he returned with this:



Overachiever.

Note to Chick-fil-A: Your child's toy took two people with a combined 13 years of higher education 1 1/2 hours to assemble.

Right before bed tonight, Reid was holding his dragonfly close to his heart and said, "I can't wait until we go back to Chick-fil-A and get the bumble bee..."