Oh, what do you do in the summertime...

Oh, what do you do in the summertime, when all the world is green? Do you swim in a pool, to keep yourself cool, or swing in a tree up high? Is that what you do? So do I!

But not Peter. When it's over 90 degrees outside he prefers to wear fleece footed jammies with snowmen. Obviously, this was not a battle I won (I'm definitely on a losing streak lately). Thank goodness I have A/C to deal with my son's fashion sense.

That Kind of Mom

One day last week Peter decided he wanted to go outside after eating. As I watched him play in the backyard I had a horrible realization: I'm "that" kind of mom! You know the kind that lets her kids run around half-naked in filthy clothes with slimy faces and sticky hands. So I apologize to all those mothers I've observed over the years with unkempt and questionably dressed children. I'm sorry I thought bad things about you and now I understand. Sometimes you just have to let your kid run around with no pants, an oatmeal dotted shirt, snow boots (Peter INSISTED he wear those), sticky peach juice hands, snot-covered face and hair containing remnants of the last meal.

Yes, Peter stopped himself when he noticed the water on the slide. I guess he thought he was already dirty enough.

And to You February I Bid Adieu

When I became pregnant, I arrogantly and naively vowed that I would not be one of those mothers that puts her kids in so many activities that they have a hard time finding an open slot in their schedules to brush their teeth. I was going to smartly sift through the available extra-curricular offerings allowing my children to expand and develop their talents (and create new ones) and still have a fun and carefree childhood. I knew at some point I would devolve into the proverbial chauffeur/personal assistant for my children. I just always expected it to happen when I had multiple older kids—not a single 2-year-old!

Every Monday and Wednesday Peter has preschool. Unfortunately the preschool is at his EI center (Early Intervention) which is a 20 to 25 minute drive (I spend a lot of time in the car on those days). On Fridays he has a Kindermusik class at EI. Peter is also visited by an EI Specialist twice a month and a SLP (Speech Language Pathologist) once a month. Those things combined with the daily speech therapy and autism therapy we do at home keep Peter and I comfortably active.

By nature I am not one of those busy people who likes/has to be doing something all the time, so it was with horror that I looked at my calendar for the month of February. Thanks to Peter, I had at least one thing scheduled for every weekday in February except one. In addition to the things above we had extra events that crowded our calender. We're starting a new autism therapy with Peter that required a couple of home visits from a therapist. We updated Peter's EI goals so we had to meet with our EI Family Advocate and EI Specialist. When you put those all together with our regular activities and add in doctor's appointments for Peter and me, we were extra busy in February. My calendar has more than a few blanks for March and I'm practically giddy about it.

Sleep Wars With Screams and Roars

A common sight at our house

A much less common sight (and of course I woke him with the camera!)

Peter has never been a great sleeper but a couple of months ago he declared war on sleep (or on me and Ryan?). His sleep schedule has become as complicated and frustrating as the IRS tax code. Most nights he refuses to go to sleep before 11:30 and then he wakes up multiple times during the night and it's incredibly difficult to get him to go back to sleep (Peter is very good at imitating a roaring lion). I'm tired.

For whatever reason this tiredness seems worse than the tiredness experienced when Peter was a newborn. I think there must be some chemical the brain produces after delivering a baby that enables a woman's body to handle the lack of sleep and physical exhaustion that accompanies a newborn. I just want to know why there isn't a chemical to handle the toddler inducing exhaustion. True I am getting more sleep than when Peter was tiny but I'm also doing a whole lot more. For one thing, a newborn stays in one position while a toddler manages to hit 12,000 positions in less than 5 seconds (why walk when you can run and throw things simultaneously?). Also it's okay to be a bit lazy with a new baby: laundry can pile up (and it does with a spitting up and pooping machine in the house), dirty dishes can take over the kitchen, and meals can consist solely of frozen food. But that phase isn't allowed to last too long (hopefully). However, life and all its chores marches on with a 2-year-old. And another big difference is the public attitude towards fatigue. It's acceptable and even expected for a new mom to be tired. The checker at the grocery store doesn't give you a funny look when you give her your address when she asks for your phone number as long as you have that cute, sleeping baby in the carrier with you. Now, my kid not sleeping is my fault and supposedly no big deal.

But when I'm really honest with myself I realize why I'm more tired now. I've come to the awful realization that this is my life for at least a couple more decades. When I felt like the exhaustion would completely destroy me when Peter was an infant, I was comforted and strengthened by the idea that the tiredness was just a phase and that I would soon be sleeping 8 hours straight every night for the rest of my life. Now I know that I will never sleep an entire night through until I'm old and then I'll probably be up every hour with an overactive bladder and arthritis pains. I'm tired just thinking about it.

Crap!

You know you're a parent when your husband calls to you from upstairs with the words, "Hey, Kristin. Do you want to see the BIGGEST poop ever?" When did my life get so crappy? (I'm sorry, I couldn't resist!) I remember when Ryan and I used to discuss important topics. You know like who has the largest nose in our neighborhood, or why do beans cause gas. Okay, so maybe our conversations weren't always composed of mature topics, contemplative observations, or witty banter, but it is amazing how a having a baby really pitched our conversations into the crapper. Sorry, it's just too easy to make crap jokes—see what parenthood has done to me (if I was honest I would admit that I've always had a fondess for potty humor, now I just have an excuse.) Oh, and Ryan was referring to Peter's poop, just in case you were wondering.

Oops...Don't Play With That

Recently I was going through some boxes to help dejunk and organize my house—not an easy task with a toddler who has his own ideas of where things belong (does anyone else keep their spatulas on a shoe rack?). In one box I found a desktop punching bag I had given Ryan several years ago as a stocking stuffer. If you flick it says 4 different phrases: 1) You're Fired, 2) Make My Day, 3) Back Off, and 4) You Jerk. It's pretty lame even for a $3 gag gift (hence finding it a box). But since Peter doesn't have a clear grasp of what is cool and what is lame yet, he loves it. He's been carrying it around the house for a few days now.

But tonight I robbed my sweet son of his new companion and evidence of poor taste, by throwing it away (yes, I know I'm the one with the poor taste because I'm the adult who actually paid money for it). I just had this awful thought that even though Peter can't talk yet he might somehow bust out with one of those 4 phrases. Wouldn't it be awesome to record in Peter's baby book that his first words were "You Jerk!" Or wouldn't I love to hear him yell "Back off!" to his pediatrician or tell his nursery leader, "You're fired!" Yep, I certainly couldn't let that happen—I must at least retain the appearance of being a good mom.