Happy Birthday little girl

Wow. Five.

Graham’s Twitter year-in-review

This morning Graham woke up screaming… and screamed non-stop for about an hour.  Apparently the fact that I would not let him run around in wet pants makes me the worst mommy ever.

Sooooo… I thought I’d do a post focusing on Graham cuteness instead.  It’s there.  I promise.  Must. Remember.

Behold, Graham’s best Twitter quotes of the past year:

  • Mommy, I’m scared of my strong emotions.
  • If you walk up to Santa and say “hi”, he will throw dirt at you.
  • VIOLET! YOU’RE MESSING UP MY MESS!!
  • Look! An airplane… IT’S DRAWING IN THE SKY!!!
  • Do bees have tongues?
  • You’re the best mommy I ever seen.
  • I had an accident in my underwear. I’m not proud.
  • Can I EAT the frost?
  • Violet, remember, this is a game for kids. NO grown-ups. Don’t forget. It’s very important.
  • “Do you know what it’s great to have? A mommy.”
  • “How do you say ‘Graham’ in Spanish?”
  • Mommy, can I eat the clouds?
  • Mommy, where were you? I had a booger in my nose. Let me show you where it is now.
  • (singing) Mommy killed the radio star, Mommy killed the radio star…
  • Mom, can I have more yogurt? (pause) To put in my mouth?
  • You’re not a mother, you’re a mommy.
  • Violet, you’re the best Violet in the world.
  • (regarding his cast finally coming off) “Now I can pull my own pants down!”
  • Fly Hopter-Copter! Fly!
  • You’re smart. Mommy, you’re very very very very smart.
  • Don’t. Help. Me. EVER AGAIN.
  • (holding out his hand after crying fit) Here mommy, here’s a tear.
  • Trees are NOT broccoli.
  • to his apple slice, “You’re quite beautiful.”
  • Bears don’t eat spicy bananas!
  • Look what I have on! A ring! Now I’m a person!
  • Hey Kitty, I want to tell you something… Chicken Butt!!!
  • Time to brush teeth and go to bed? How can that be??
  • I’m naked!! I’m freeeeee!!
  • about his cherry-limeade,”I like it! Really spicy and really… drinky!”
  • There’s no more dinosaurs. They’re ’stink’.
  • Goodnight dear Violet.
  • Your hair looks gorgeous!
  • (after I told him I love him) “Yeah. I love me.”
  • Mommy, change your clothes. They smell bad.
  • I CAN’T need a diaper change.
  • while patting Violet, “Awww… sweet girl.”
  • Oh No! Daddy’s singing!
  • G-R-A-H-A-M spells…uuuuum… wall !!

new year’s revelation: we’re burned out

Imagine that you work in an office.  But at this job you wake up in the morning already at your cubicle.  Before you can grab some coffee, or even pee, there are two demanding coworkers hovering over you.  They follow you to the bathroom.  They bark orders while you eat.  They need projects to be completed before the last one is cleaned up.  They create busy work and fight amongst themselves and rarely give positive feedback.  Lunch “break” is more of the same.  Dinner, same.  You get two hours of “free time” a night, but half of it is spent preparing for the next work day.   No matter how early you go to bed, you most likely will be woken up at least once to work.  Oh… and no weekends.

Would you apply for this job?  Of course not.  But that’s what the life of a stay-at-home-mom feels like sometimes.

Am I complaining about my lame little 1st world problems?  Yes.  But it’s entirely possible for a person to go completely bonkers in a safe cozy home stocked with food and equipped modern conveniences.  I’m just trying to gain some perspective and explain why I’ve been a big giant raw nerve lately.

Let’s brainstorm some of our Roadblocks to Sanity:

  • The end of naps means the end of any kind of daily break for me.
  • Violet and Graham are not “easy” kids.  They don’t play independently for more than 5 minutes (and trust me, I’ve being trying to instill this ability in them forever).  They need more stimulation and energy than I can possibly give them by myself.
  • Graham is unbelievably mommy-centric.  He will not allow Rob to do the most mundane chore for him.  Put on socks?  NEVER!  Make lunch?  FORGET IT!  (Tickle monster chase?  Sometimes…. ) It’s much easier to give in than withstand yet another hour of screaming.  The result is that Rob is on the sidelines at a time in our parenting lives when I need more help than ever.  This is seriously frustrating for a great father and husband.
  • Because of the above, our to-do list grows ever longer and more overwhelming.

So what can I do about this?  I’ve got some ideas:

  • Sit in a coffee shop with my computer both mornings they’re in school.  SIT. JUST SIT!  Try not to spend the entire time working.
  • Spend more time with friends.  Drag myself there.  I always feel better afterwards.
  • Eat well, exercise, vitamins… yada yada
  • go out on more dates
  • more wine?

Any others?    I know this stage is not forever.  And please understand that I also realize how lucky I am to have healthy kids and a wonderful husband.  Nevertheless, I’m endlessly surprised at the always-changing ways this whole parenting thing is HARD.  We want to find ways to enjoy it, not fight it.

Thankfully, no office coworkers are as cute or sweet as Violet and Graham… and I’m assuming they don’t snuggle as well.

Pictures! With all four of us!

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As the family photographer, it’s rare for me to appear in any photos.  It’s even more rare for all of us to be in a photo together.  So at the Ike auction last spring I was happy to bid on several photography sessions from some local mama photographers.  I actually won a sitting from Virtu Photography.  A couple months ago we went to a local park for our first ever family shoot.  Deb was so patient with the kids, who were NOT in the mood to sit still and smile.  And she defied the flat cloudy day to make a nice bunch of shots.

Here’s her blog post about it.

And here’s the gallery of all the other pictures.  (lifford2009)  It’ll be up through January.

Best of all, if anyone wants to buy a print, she’ll donate 40% of the proceeds to Ike and his family.  Let me know.

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here’s what I’m trying to remember

In the past few short months Graham has:

  • moved from crib to bed
  • outgrown his highchair
  • lost his nap
  • broke his arm
  • stopped wearing diapers
  • started “school”
  • sprouted molars
  • learned to talk like a 4 year old

So in a blink he has made a giant leap from baby to kid.  No wonder he’s so grouchy.  He has no idea what the hell is going on.  And it doesn’t help that I treat him like a 4 year old too much of the time.  He’s TWO.  He’s not Violet.  And he has made most of these huge changes way earlier than his sister did.

Must cut him some slack.  Must baby him sometimes.  Must cut myself some slack.

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backseat conversation

Scene:  Driving home.

VIOLET:  Mom, when is dinner?

ME:  Dinner was two hours ago and you didn’t eat it.  That’s it.

V:  But Mom!  I’m hungry!  I want dinner!

M:  I guess you missed your chance to eat dinner.  I’m not making you another one.

V (furiously):  If you don’t make me something to eat, I’m going to EAT YOU!!

GRAHAM (panicked):  No!!! Don’t eat Mommy!

V (still furious):  Graham, if you don’t let me eat Mommy, I’m going to EAT YOU TOO!

G (still panicked):  Nooo!  Don’t eat me!

V (soothing):  Graham, I won’t eat you if you let me eat Mommy.  Okay?

G: NOO!!!

V: Okay?

G:  No.

V: Okay?

G: NO!

Car and argument continue down the road. Dinner is not mentioned again.DSC_4798

something to ponder

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We got an invitation a few weeks ago to a kid birthday party.  In it I was amazed to find a note indicating where the child was registered for gifts.  I have to admit that I was, well, a little creeped out.  Imagining any kid wandering through a toy store, marking down all the items she will definitely get at her birthday party just seems wrong.  Doesn’t that just take the fun, creativity and surprise out of it?  Doesn’t it seem like it would make the child feel a bit too entitled?  Don’t they need to learn how to smile and pretend that they like a present that actually sucks?

The more I thought about it, though, the more interesting the idea became.  What if I was the one to walk through the store and register?  Wouldn’t that avoid all those toys that the kids say they want just because they think it looks fun at the store?  Would that allow me to be sure they’d get appropriate items and not, say, slutty dolls or BB guns?  Wouldn’t it be helpful for out-of-town grandparents or childless family members who have no idea what kids like?  Or would that make me too much of a control freak?

What do you think?  Is a kid registry a good idea, or just creepy?

broken arm saga – part 2

Rob and I spent half of Labor Day on the phone to various hospitals while helicoptering around splint-sporting Graham, who seemed determined to fall and completely sever his already broken arm.  Turns out the clinic doctor was right; no one would cast an arm on a holiday, and most likely the doctors would’ve told us to wait until the swelling had gone down anyway.  Sigh.  So the rest of the day we carried Graham like a baby and watched a lot of TV.

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Rob stayed home from work the next day: the day of Waiting in Doctors’ Offices.

Orthopedic doctor #1:  “Oh, you wouldn’t believe how much strength I’ll have to use to straighten that arm out.  He’ll definitely have to go under for this.”

Orthopedic doctor #2:  “You’ll want us to put him under to straighten his bones because then you won’t have to explain to people why his arm is bent.”

Orthopedic doctor #3:  “Oh, we’ll just throw a cast on him right now.  No problem.”

Yes, we went with doctor #3.

Graham cheerfully chose a purple cast.  He sat extremely still while they put it on… until he realized there was no way to bend his arm or get the heavy thing off.  He wailed so hysterically that I thought they must have pinched his skin somewhere.  The nurse assured me, somewhat exasperatedly, that he was fine.  And he was.

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I have to say that the month that followed was surprisingly easy.  Graham went about his business as if he was not handicapped at all and seemed to love the attention he got because of his purple cast.  Only once did he clunk himself in the head hard enough to make a mark. (The rest of us, however, were not so lucky).

On Cast Removal Day, Graham actually laughed when the nurse came at him with the Saw.

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He eyed the Spreader suspiciously…

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…and was concerned about the scissors.

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But as soon as the cast came off, the pain started.  The poor little guy wailed for the doctor to put it back on.  He was so sore.

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His freshly exposed, pale, skinny little arm was extremely stinky, and we discovered two pebbles that had been lodged in there near his thumb.

Graham spent the rest of the day on the couch, cradling his arm like a baby.  It took him two days before he could fully extend it.  A week later, he still tucks it into his side when he runs.  And we think this whole incident has nudged him over to the Southpaw side.  He’ll still have a slightly bent arm for about six months.  But that’s normal for toddlers; their bones seem to be mostly made of rubber.

Now that it’s over, here are some things I’m thankful he can do:

  • take a regular bath
  • paint
  • walk outside in the rain
  • swing
  • use a regular cup
  • play in the sandbox
  • eat soup & cereal
  • splash in puddles
  • go to school with Violet
  • potty train
  • snuggle without giving me a concussion

Dear Austin Museum of Art,

In a moment of parenting idealism, I decided to take my two kids, by myself, to your Chuck Close exhibit.  After all, it was a rainy Sunday and you do have a kids’ area.  I thought they would be inspired.  At the very least I wanted to creatively kill some time.  Perhaps I should mention that my kids are 2 and 4.

Really, it’s the 4-year-old I was worried about.  She’s the wild one.  But recently, I’ve been able to reason with her.  And the 2-year-old never wanders far.  So I thought I was in the clear.

In fact, we had toured the museum, made art in the kids’ area and had gone back to compare a our work to that in the exhibit, all without incident.  I’ll admit I was so confident in my parenting skills that I let the kids run 3 circles in the empty back room.  You can probably watch it in your video surveillance.  Note how they immediately stop when I ask them to.  See how I cheerily tell them it’s time to go home.

Now here is where my 2-year-old shouts “Yay! HOME!” and bolts… right into a floor exhibit consisting of tiny bits of paper painstakingly arranged into a huge mandala pattern.

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I’m not sure if I should admit this, but watching his feet fly out from under him and hearing the sickening thud of his head on the tile was less horrifying than watching all those bits of paper explode into the air in a little mushroom cloud of art.  And it made me shudder to have to step on the display to pick up my sobbing toddler from the middle of the exhibit and carry him to the front desk.

Please apologize to your college art student volunteers.  They seemed completely terrified by the appalled mother carrying a screaming child with a cast on his arm, pulling another one behind her.  They were very nice and said that they had to fix the display quite often.  But I don’t think they realized the scope of the destruction.

I would have apologized longer, but the entire museum had come to a screeching halt and a crowd was gathering, so I pretty much ran out the door.

In conclusion, I would like to offer a promise and a suggestion:  I will not bring my kids to your fine museum again… at least for a few years, and please put a rope around your displays.

Sincerely,

Cheris

look familiar?

Last we heard, Graham was going to be on a Pampers diaper package in Europe.  Then we got a letter stating Graham’s picture would be used in a “special project”.  Whatever that is, they didn’t say.  So no diaper package.  We were fine with that.  I mean, what if he’s backpacking through the Alps one day and can’t woo the girls because he’s tainted by diaper fame?  It’s a possibility, right?

Then, while I was in Oregon, a friend emailed me this picture she took in an Austin store:

photo

Whoa.  Premium absorbency!  Yes, it’s some weird photoshopped version of me.  My family wouldn’t believe I wasn’t exchanged for a mom stunt double.  Graham looks awfully cute, though.

So the questions now:  what’s the “special project”?  Is this it?  Or will someone else find a picture of us in a magazine or on package of some sort?

Whoever spots it wins first prize: a chance to babysit the feral, broken-armed, model-boy.