Category Archives: parenting (aint for sissies)

And it’s Leesie, by a nose…

Posted in blogging, laughter, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies) by

After a fun-filled but very busy week, a jammed 4-year-old finger on Friday night followed by x-rays Saturday (it’s not broken, phew!), we were happy to have a low-key family day at home on Sunday. And what’s the best way to end a lovely autumn day in the middle of summer? Movie and popcorn. Can’t get much more low-key than that.

Unless of course, you have a curious 2-year old hanging around.

I was cleaning the kitchen while the kids watched their movie and munched away when Jacob came waddling into the kitchen, eyes watery, suddenly coughing and sneezing popcorn all over the place. I knew what he had done instantly and was actually surprised he hadn’t before. Or that I hadn’t predicted it.

“Jacob! Did you put popcorn in your nose?” He nodded, face scrunched and uncomfortable.”Is it gone? Did you get it all out?”

The watery eyes told me the answer. Something was still in there. I set him on the counter and shined a flashlight up his nose. Sure enough, I could see the kernel lodged waaaaayyy up in his nasal cavity, clearly unreachable by us.

At 9 o’clock on Sunday night, I really really didn’t want to have to head into the ER to retrieve said popcorn kernel. So I called my friend Jamie, who just happens to be a nurse for Bellingham Ear Nose and Throat. She suggested plugging one nostril and having him blow out the other side.

Problem: I’ve never actually taught Jacob to blow his nose yet. Most attempts result in him breathing heavily in rather than out, which result in further coughing and discomfort when already congested. I guess I have the same attitude towards nose-blowing as I do with potty training… He’ll figure it out eventually.

Except that now we needed him to blow his nose, and doing it incorrectly could result in an even greater problem. We worked on it for a bit with only a few scary deep inhales, and soon enough, he had the blowing down. But the kernel wasn’t budging.

While I was still on the phone with Jamie giving her the play-by-play and writing down the number for their office so I could reach the on-call doc, Annalise walked into the room looking a bit sheepish. Her face was red. She was awfully quiet. I knew something was up when I saw her lean against the wall and kick her foot back and forth like her knee was a hinge with a lazy porch swing below it. Nerves. That’s her sign.

Matt spoke first. “You did not. Tell me you didn’t.” She bit the corner of her lip. “Annalise, did you do it? Did you put popcorn in your nose, too?”

The look on her face was a dead giveaway. Popcorn jammed in nostril. Times two.

Let me tell you, you have not lived until you have two children in your kitchen covering one nostril and blowing with all their might to shoot popcorn kernels out the other side. Jamie assured me that while she’s had lots of kids come in with something stuck in their nose, never once did she have siblings come in at the same time.

We’re just special like that, I guess.

My mom says it must skip a generation, this genius-shoving-stuff-up-your-nose-and-getting-it-stuck thing, because my dad did it once, too. Only he was an adult. And it was a whopper. (Not the burger. The chocolate covered malt ball.) He got a little concerned (read panicky) when he could feel the chocolate melting. I think he’s learned his lesson, because I haven’t seen him shove anything in there recently.

So on our “low-key” Sunday night, we managed to avoid a trip to the ER because both kids did eventually shoot the popcorn out. Leesie’s fired out right to the floor, but Jacob made a direct hit with one snot-covered popcorn kernel onto his dad’s chest, where it stuck. It was then we realized that while he did actually shove a popcorn kernel in his nose, Annalise had shoved an actual popped corn. I guess she wanted to one-up her brother.

She does that sometimes. Like when Jacob says to me completely out of the blue and in his sweetest voice, “Mommy, you sooooo boooootiful.” And then Annalise says to me in her sweetest voice, “Mommy, you’re beautifuler than Jacob thinks.” Hmm.

And Leesie wins by a nose…

When all was said and done, I was slightly disappointed the ER visit didn’t occur, because, well, it honestly felt a bit adventuresome to go in with TWO kids needing harmless and rather humorous issues taken care of. We could have people-watched in the ER lobby into the wee hours on Sunday night as a family. And really, how fun is that with two kids under 5 that should be home in bed?

Ah well. Two kids home safe and sound, nostrils thoroughly cleaned out for deep-breathing during sleep. Crisis averted.

And then I ran across this cartoon a friend and colleague gave me about a month ago. It seemed so very fitting tonight:

From Baby Blues Cartoon by Jerry Scott and Rick Kirkman.

big boy or baby?

Posted in laughter, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies) by

It’s summer. He’s 2 and 2 months. I’m home. He’s home. So naturally, I’ve been working on potty training Jacob.

When I say working on potty training, what I really mean is, I’ve set him on the pot a total of 4 times in the last month hoping he’ll have success. Mostly, I’m working on it by talking to him about it.

And when I say talking to him about it, what I really mean is, every time I change an unusually nasty diaper, I mention to him that since he is such a big boy, he could really go potty in the toilet next time.

So really, the “potty training” has consisted of me telling Jacob – several times in the last few weeks – what a good idea it would be for him to go potty like a big boy and hoping he figures it out for himself.

No luck so far.
I know, shocking.

I’m holding out, though. For a little while at least. Because I’m not new to this parenting thing, you know. I was a master, a master, at training Annalise.

It pretty much went like this:

  • 5 months pregnant. Plan to potty train 2-year-old before baby boy arrives.
  • Take advantage of 2-week Christmas break. PERFECT! Because Christmas break is not busy at all, and anyone can potty train a 2 year old in 2 weeks time while starting and finishing Christmas shopping, baking, packing, traveling, and staying with family out of town. NO problem.
  • Use the first day of break to cover the carpet in hospital pads, set up the potty chair, play games and take “potty breaks” while reading books about potty training. On hand: stickers and star chart, treat rewards (m&ms), and big girl panties. Mine, I mean, because they’ll be needed later when I have to put ’em on and deal with it.
  • Begin the day calmly, but keep the “potty mood” exciting! This is BIG GIRL stuff going on here!
  • By afternoon, take a nap at nap time because, well, I’m worth it. And because seriously, I’m working a heck of a lot harder at this potty training thing than she is.
  • By bed time, finish off the m&m rewards and go to bed less than thrilled about the lack of success. No worries, though. There is always tomorrow.
  • Day 2: Begin the same as Day 1. Give up after the first accident because 5-month-pregnant-gag-reflexes are on overload and frankly, you don’t want to deal with bigger messes than this.
  • Sulk for weeks – then months – about having to change diapers still.
  • Accept the fact that even though you have a very bright and capable 2 and 1/2 year old, you will be changing TWO kids’ diapers soon, because you seriously suck at potty training.
  • Thank God for the miracle when, just weeks before her brother is born, Annalise says to you out of the blue, “Mommy, I think I’ll wear big girl panties today.” And she does. And never once has an accident even though you rarely remember to take her. She just asks to go on her own.
  • Consider your potty training a success. You have about 3 weeks of no diapers before the little man arrives. Job well done.

So like I said, I’m pretty much a pro at this and am really just holding out for Jacob to show his readiness. Yeah, that’s it.

But just to speed the process along, I decided to take the boy shopping and get him some big boy undies. You know, for motivation. He picked out the Disney Cars undies and was super excited. Right up until I told him what they were for. Because really, he has no intention of going potty in the toilet.

I told him big boys go potty in the toilet… He told me he is not a big boy! I told him that yes, he actually is.

It was at this point during our conversation that he told me why he is not a big boy. “But I not a big boy, Mommy. Because I stiwl sweep in my cwib. And because I way-oh (wear) die-pees (diapers). And because I’m dist a baby stiwl. I your wittle baby, Mommy. So I can’t go potty in da toe-let.”

Funny. “Babies” don’t usually reason like that. Hmmm.

“Jacob, Mommy thinks you’re a big boy. I know you’re a big boy. Will you just wear the big boy undies and see? It will be so fun! You’ll get to wear Lightning McQueen Undies!”

“No. I not wearing dem.”

“Jacob, will you please try…”

“NO! I NOT wearing dem!” This is beginning to remind me of a dinner conversation about not eating spaghetti.

“How about you just try them on. Will you put them on for mommy?”

“No. I WILL NOT! I will NOT. PUT. DEM. ON.”

It was at this point I had finished buckling him in his car seat. I opened the package from Target and handed him a pair of Lightning McQueen undies to hold while he thought it over. Because clearly, from that last statement, he indicated he would think about it.

I unloaded the rest of the cart in silence and fumbled through my purse for my phone, paying no attention to the strong-willed “baby” in my back seat.

But then, hope!  He showed signs of giving in… “Mommy, I will wear da undies. I will wear dem for you.”

Yes! My plan is working! Proud of myself for my convincing tactics, I move from the back of the van to his open door to look at my son to tell him what a big boy he is. And I see him. Grinning from ear to ear. Clearly proud of his own tactics. “See Mommy. I wear dem for you. Wight away!”

Not exactly what I had in mind.

Just the same, he is cute as can be and rather hilarious. So I set the package of undies on his lap and – phone now found – hold it up to take a pic. “CHEEEEEEEEEEESE!” He shouts.

And I laugh, seriously impressed he was able to pull them over his head. Not an easy task, actually.

Big boy. Big boy indeed.

Floss please

Posted in laughter, my boy, parenting (aint for sissies) by

Jacob: Mama, can I have some fwoss, pwease?

Me (knowing he never wants floss to actually floss): What do you want the floss for, bud?

Jacob: To pick my boogers.

Me: Jacob, I think you should use tissue to pick out your boogers.

Jacob: No, I don’t want da tissue in my mouf. Dat’s why I want da fwoss.

Me: So the boogers are in your mouth?

Jacob: Yep. I put ’em dere after I picked my nose.

Me: And now they’re stuck in your teeth?

Jacob: Yah… Can I have da fwoss pwease?

Me: Why did you eat your boogers? That’s so gross, buddy. You need to get a tissue next time.

Jacob: But I was in time out. I was in time out when I picked my nose. So I put da boogers in my mouf and now day are stuck in my teef. Can I have da fwoss now pwease???

Who wants to kiss my adorable (and obedient) boy????

My girl

Posted in Eucharisteo, joy found, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies) by

You may have noticed that in my recent posts, Jacob has been the star. Annalise sometimes appears, but she is generally a by-stander during the hilarious antics of her brother. In some posts, she has been completely absent. There is a reason for this. And that reason is NOT that Jacob is my favorite. It is also NOT that he is funnier or cuter. It is also NOT that she is naughtier or boring.

Ok, maybe Jacob is funnier right now. But mainly because he is two and it’s part of his job. It’s funny when the two-year-old escapes and runs to the back yard buck naked and says to you as you finally discover him outside going down the slide on a sunny day, “Ooooh… My BUNS are HOT, Mama!” If the 4 year old did that, it wouldn’t be quite as funny. It would be just be naughty. And also inappropriate. And it may be funny – although not in the moment – that he stuck his hands in his diaper at the dinner table and showed us the “dirt” he found inside that was now on his fingers, but I would not be laughing and posting it for all to read if his big sister had done so. So as a two-year-old, his opportunities for hilarious entertainment are really less restrictive than with the four year old. TWO is funny. It just is.

And that isn’t to say that FOUR isn’t funny. It’s just different. I did laugh when Annalise said to me, “Mommy, what’s that kind of poo-poo called when it comes out really smoove? (smooth) Because I think I have that.” I also laughed when she believed Grandpa Kitchen when he told her there was a little man inside the red Staples button on his desk, so that each time you push the button, the little man says, “That was easy.” She ran to show me the red button and told me all about the little man that lived inside, but then she dropped it and it landed upside-down. “Oh. Never mind. Grandpa was just teasin’. I see where the battery goes.”

So yes, she makes us laugh too. But the real reason I haven’t written much about Annalise is because, well…. I can’t. Not without crying. Lately, we have watched our little girl change so much. Mature, grow, and think deeply. She is still funny. She is still naughty. She is still 4.

But in some moments, she seems 12. Or even 16. Sometimes, she asks deep questions, and we have a conversation that I didn’t know I could even have with her.

Like the other day, when she asked Matt if the people that live on the bottom of the earth are upside-down since we’re “by the top” and we’re right-side-up. Too bad Mama wasn’t around when she asked that one, because I’m fairly certain she has some major misconceptions now about the world being “round but still sorta flat at the same time.” Thank you, Daddy. Annalise now thinks the world is a pancake.

Or yesterday when she asked me, “Mommy, what does ‘evicted’ mean?” I have no idea where she even heard the word. You could insert a thousand different words there that she has asked me about after overhearing strangers’ conversations, something on the radio, or in a song.

Or like the other day when she asked me how the message I type to daddy on my phone gets to him wherever he is. And how do they know where he is? And how do the words go up in the sky and land on his phone? And why – if we pray really hard, and if God loves us really much – do sometimes our prayers not get answered with a yes, “like when I pray about that I really want to see my cousin I miss so bad. Other people get to LIVE BY their cousins and see them EVERY DAY. I don’t even get to see mine AT ALL.“ And…

My girl is growing up. I love to watch it so much, and at the same time, I want it to stop now. This growing up thing, it’s so emotional. On the parents, I mean. I’m scared to blink.

This weekend, we watched her perform at her ballet recital. She was beautiful. She did amazing. She remembered all her steps. Then at one point, she lost her footing and stumbled – just for a moment. My heart jumped into my throat, my stomach fell. Matt gasped. She continued her dance and I waited for her to turn so I could see her face. It seemed like an eternity as I watched, expecting to see tears or a face I knew was holding them back. I was ready to run backstage to meet her and hold her while she cried and to tell her it was okay and that I was so so proud of her. Instead, she turned, and I saw my girl. On her feet, on her own. Beaming with a smile.

Part of me shouted inside, “ATTA GIRL! THAT’S MY GIRL!” Another part of me cried inside, knowing she was brave and strong… all on her own. She didn’t need me standing next to her or holding her hand or telling her to get back up. Because she was big enough and brave enough and confident enough to do it without me.

The show was over, and all the performers came out with their classes for the final bow. First the oldest girls, then the next oldest, on down to the youngest little darlings in their adorable tutus. Annalise’s class was third to last – third to youngest –  led out by their teacher, as all the little girls’ classes were. She curtsied and took her place on the stage. My heart swelled with pride.

There are two things we realized that night.

1) Our girl is growing up. She is really such a big girl.

2) Our girl is still very very little.

I am so so proud of my big-little girl.

a

Just another Saturday…

Posted in laughter, my boy, my girl, my husband, parenting (aint for sissies) by

Please tell me I’m not the only mother who lets her children run around in just their undies and diaper on a Saturday while trashing the living room with every toy and kitchen utensil imaginable and waving at strangers from the window with the blinds wide open. Because the nice Jehovah’s Witness lady and little girl that came to the door today seemed a bit uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure she was reconsidering giving me the invitation to their event, but felt bad because we already knew they were already there witnessing the chaos of our home, so she gave it anyway. Her discomfort may have had less to do with the nearly naked children with their faces smashed to the window and more to do with the frazzled mother, still in her PJs with messy hair, standing on toys because no floor was in sight… at 11:30 in the “morning.”

Normally, I wouldn’t answer the door at 11:30 when I am still in my pajamas and a tornado has run through my house, but the naked children in the window waving at the lady and hollering, “MOM! SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR!!!!!!” was a bit of a giveaway that I was home.

In any case, I think the nice lady realized (to her relief, I’m sure) that we probably wouldn’t attend the event they invited us to, because as she was making a (quick) escape, Jacob loudly informed her, “HEY! MY Past-oh Phil has an owie on his neck. Only it’s not on da outside, so we can’t put a band-age on it. Dat’s why I’m pwayin’ foh Jesus to put a band-age on da inside. We pwayin’ foh him.”

Translation and Summary: Our pastor had some odd symptoms last week that led to an MRI that showed he had a dissection in his carotid artery. He is taking medication and cutting out strenuous physical activity and should be fine in 3 months. But Jacob was highly concerned when he heard me reading Matt an email that was sent out to our church explaining what happened. He asked all sorts of questions and finally suggested we put a bandage on it. I told him we couldn’t, because it was on the inside of his neck. So he said he would pray for Jesus to put a bandage on the inside. And he has.  Every day. “Dank you, Jesus, foh Past-oh Phil’s owie to be all better. You gonna put a bandage on da inside. Dank you.”  And he tells lots of people about it, too. Our door visitor this morning wasn’t the first person he’s told, and she wasn’t the last person he told today. Jacob also informed Mrs. Burkhart at Doris Jean’s Donuts in Lynden. Mrs. Burkhart knew exactly what he was talking about and told Jacob she’s praying for him, too.

Later that sweet boy sat at the dinner table eating his apples. When he put his hand in the air and said, “Momma. I got dirt on my fingers,” I didn’t think much of it. He said it a few more times before it hit me… he hadn’t been outside playing in the dirt since last night, and he had a bath afterward. Panic set in as I saw the “dirt” covered finger heading towards his face. “STOP! DON’T. TOUCH. ANYTHING!!!!” He lifted his other hand. It, too, was covered.

Turns out his entire diaper was FULL of “dirt.”

After a thorough washing, we headed back to the table, where Jacob continued to refuse to eat his dinner but had no problem eating his boogers and telling us about it. Matt thought it would be humorous to point out the irony and said, “You can’t feel too good about your cooking when he’ll eat his boogers and ate a bunch of dirt last night, but he won’t touch dinner.”

Thank you, Husband. I look forward to eating the wonderful meals you’ll be preparing from now on.

In other news, I have decided to post a weekly self-pity story like my last post – even if I have to make one up. Because all you ladies that ignored me and commented anyway sure know how to make a girl feel good. Your kind words were good for my soul. Loves.