Numero 1

Sylvia's behavior is definitely improving. Dave and I have been working on all sorts of "new" techniques to get her to chill out and throw less dramatic tantrums. We've been modifying her diet to have less sugar, more focus on meals instead of snacking, and dinner together eating the same thing (putting an end to the short-order cook title!). Another technique is the deep breaths and counting to 10. This one is a little difficult because toddlers tend to go from zero to fuming in seconds, but if we give her enough attention to catch it in time, this one works wonders. I've been trying to diffuse many situations before they escalate, though this is tricky due to the fact that I'm watching 2 children. Lastly, we've been removing privileges as punishments, ones that really hit home with her. If she throws a tantrum, she gets books taken away. If she complains and won't eat something with dinner? No dessert. We don't always do dessert, but this technique of bribery/reward works wonders when the kid is refusing beans.

I don't know if this type of parenting is Dr. Sears recommended, but it's working for us. And I'm a firm believer in doing things that work for your family, regardless of what critics say. I've also been trying to lay off her a bit, letting her figure out her own issues and not harp so much on the little things. I've found when I am grouchy, she gets grouchy, and the circle of crabbiness never ends. The more yelling I do, the more negative things occur. So duh, stop yelling so much.

Sylvia is a dramatic child, but drama can be positive if set on a stage and with some music and costumes. Keeping her positive behavior appropriately focused is working well for her. Doing the frustrating activities that invite bad behavior is being avoided. Seems obvious, doesn't it? Well, maybe if you're not as tired as we are around here!

Numero 2

I can't decide which is true: I love to shoot pictures of babies, or I love shooting pictures of my own baby. To be determined at a later date, I suppose!

Guess I Should Skip That After Dinner Treat

Sylvia: "Mom, your belly sure is big."

Me: "You mean, when I had a baby in there, it was big?"

Sylvia: "Well, yeah, your belly was big then. But now....."

Me: "What about now?"

Sylvia: "I'm just saying, your belly is still pretty big."

Thanks kid. Confidence level plummets to a new low.

...gonna eat me a lot of peaches...

Sylvia and I had our "like the old days" excursion this morning, leaving the men behind to figure things out on their own. Last time we went to Eckert's, I was rather pregnant with Easton. Syl and I were gathering pumpkins and apples, and the bumpy tractor ride made it seem as though Easton would make an early appearance. Luckily, that didn't happen. It was a lovely morning, a perfect 72 degrees and very few people out.

Though she is rarely pleased with me taking her photo, she genuinely enjoyed herself ( a major feat these days ). She got to pick out her one treat in the Market Store, which of course, was this monstrosity of sugar. Funny enough, we've been working on some diet modifications and limiting sugar to see if that affects her behavior. More on that later.

Next week? Sylvia and I will attempt canning some of the ripened peaches. Stay tuned...

I know, the suspense is almost palpable. Motherhood is like a non-stop thrill ride.

At the Playground

Boy One (super cute, toothless little man): "Hi, I'm Ben, I just lost my first tooth and the tooth fairy left me a whole dollar!"

Sylvia: "Aydin (her cousin) just lost his first tooth too!"

Boy Two (older,also super cute, not as social as Boy One): "Ben, who are you talking to now?"

Ben: "This little girl. That's my cousin, Joe."

Joe: "Hi, I'm Joe."

Sylvia: "I'm Sylvia. I'm this many" (holding up three fingers).

Ben: "Oh, I'm 6!"

Joe: "I'm 9."

Ben: "Yeah, I'm 6, then I'll be 7, then 8,9, and 10!"

Joe: "I'll be 10 before you. Who are you" (to me.)

Me: "I'm JJ, her mommy. I'm 31."

Joe: "Oh, really? I would've guessed you were still in your 20's!"

Don't we all wish that, kid. Don't we all.

A Case of Duality

Most days of parenting a 3 year old (not so applicable to the little man yet), I feel as though I'm playing good cop/bad cop all day long. Things can go from wonderfully fun to sour and awful in seconds, leaving both Sylvia and I in a heap of confused emotions. An activity as simple and age-appropriate like cutting with scissors along a straight line can turn into a ball of tantruming emotions on the ground. Crafting beads with homemade corn starch clay turns into a frustrating debate over the perfect rolled bead (I know, very Martha of me). Don't even get me started on making yarn people.Going to the new downtown sculpture park at 8:30 this morning may have sounded like a fun idea, but the whole morning was scrapped because of someones bad attitude (I call it her baditude, cuz I'm like that). The more I attempt to create an environment of creativity, spontaneity, playfulness, adventure, or art, the greater the chance of total meltdown occurs.

I believe much of her behavior lately is due to her age, her maturity and lack thereof, her new brother, her new role as a sibling vs. only child, ect. But I also think that with age comes new responsibilities. She has to entertain herself more, she needs to be held accountable for more, she is in charge of her space. No, we're not recruiting an army of little soldiers over here, just trying to raise some mindful and aware little humans. I haven't found the "solution" if that even exists. I haven't figured out the trigger signs, the easy way outs, the aversions, the diversions, or the bribery's (and trust me, I've been trying). Maybe I'm going about age 3 the wrong way. Maybe I haven't read enough chapters in enough books on how to avoid my child for the next year...

Anyway, I'm sure all these issues happen at some point in all kids' lives. Things change, change is scary, scariness equates to fear, fear invokes the devil, horns explode from child's head, and on and on. I guess I was spending the last year anticipating bearing another baby human into this world and too little time preparing mentally for what age 3 was going to bring. And yes, it has brought some really awesome things. She is hilarious, her dance skills are mad improving (mental note: must video her dance moves), her pretend play is increasing, the stories she tells are more in depth and detailed, her conversations are so teenage, and her musicality is amazing. Three is absolutely challenging, mentally/physically/emotionally exhausting, yet insightful and entertaining. The duality occurs in both her and I all day long. It's a tiresome battle, with lessons to be learned by both of us every minute.

Today's lesson: age 3 and age 31 is extremely fucking frustrating. Must get massage.

Oh, Wednesday

Why do they call it 'hump day' when it would be easier to call it 'Worthless Wednesday?' Awoke today by my 3 year old throwing a tantrum next to my bed. Lovely. Lucky for her life, it's Wednesday, and Dave went in late to hang with her ... huzzah! Easton and I went for a super long walk/jog at Forest Park and he actually napped in the stroller, something that has become a bit tricky lately. Now they are both sleeping and I am stuffing my face with m&ms ... double huzzah!

I can't believe it's almost August, Easton will be 8 months, Dave will be, well, a year older. I'm mentally preparing for knitting mode, though I'm currently finishing several sewing projects. Like this matching headband and reversible skirt for Sylvia

and birthday gifts for some babies I know. My quilt is soooooo close to being finished, but I kind of took a long way out, so a few more late night sessions should do the trick.

Easton is now sleeping 8-11 hours straight at night, but his naps have become shit. I guess the world can't spin perfectly, right? He's "moving" around, but not fully crawling. He is such a happy baby, and he's begun the separation anxiety stage. Oh, and his rump is chompable:

A new developement in the dramas of Sylvia are that we are re-enrolling her in preschool this fall. She'll be starting September 9 and I am really excited. It'll be 3 mornings a week and it's the same class she was in last winter when we pulled her out. We're more mentally and physically ready, as Easton was less than a month old when she had started. But most of all, I think it'll help with the issues we've been having (total mom-daughter overload). I'll miss her through the week, but I know we need to spend more time apart. Now to convince her of that...

And Who Is The Queen?

I think I have an idea...

2nd photo by her Meemaw

Getting Things Done

Remember my new favorite thing? I know I do! That's because it sits on my sewing table and mocks me everyday, several times a day. It says, "look at me! over here! if only your baby didn't nurse his entire naps, we'd be able to meet again! if only you would stop skipping lunch to eat thousand hershey kisses, you may find some motivation to work on me! if only if only if only!" And then I threw it out the window. But truthfully, I glance at my unfinished quilt and a wave of disappointment sets in. Not disappointment in the quilt itself, I'm actually pretty damn proud of it. But disappointment that I won't allow myself to start another quilting project until this one is complete. You heard me right, 1 quilt at a time. So instead, I've been sewing through my crate of "please fix me" items. Sylvia now has 2 skirts from old pre-baby t-shirts, some new leggings from crazy sale knee-length socks, and I have 2 re-fashioned skirts (well, shortened and hemmed, not really refashioned). In a way, this is only a matter of procrastination to finishing my quilt. But let's look at it positively, like, I'm actually sitting at my machine again (we had a fight last week, there were negative things said, we both had hurt feelings).

Final folded squares, ready to be filled with windows of color.

I'm self-medicating my self-diagnosed postpartum depression with endless to-do lists, tasks, cleaning, and crafting (ok, and chocolate). One thing is indicative of another, so it's not so much full circle as it is tilty-whirl spinning, but it's something that involves movement, motion, and hopefully less mania. Because as I said a few days back, the mud pit can suck you in at any point (but now I've moved on to some Keen sandals, a step above flip-flops, yet still below the hiking boots).

Finding His

Up until now, Easton was just a baby. What has changed this? He discovered his "parts," so to say. And what do little boys do when this happens? Well, they just can't seem to "let go." As soon as his diaper comes off, down the hand travels. Here we go with not-so-new revelation: I have a son, and now he knows it too.

Dinner Date

3 year old fairy, magicking her mother into a vat of mud!

I would like to compare age three to getting stuck in mud. Not the kind of stuck your car gets, where your tires slide in the same position, squealing in the delight of going nowhere. This kind of stuck is when you knew you should've worn your good hiking boots (does anyone own a pair of good hiking boots anymore?) but instead you wore some crappy old flip-flops.  And then you saw and anticipated the mud ahead, but instead of taking your crappy shoes off, or finding an alternate route, you clamber towards it, only to sink into the gooey sublime. And just when you start smacking your forehead in hindsight, you attempt to pull your gooed feet upwards, only to realize you've lost your worthless flip-flops.  Fuck it, you tell yourself. They were doing me no good anyhow. So you attempt to fight the mud, you claw through it, wasting lots of energy and gaining little ground. I don't know how to get out of this mud pit, I'm still knee dip in the shit, you could say. Fellow parents of soon-to-be 3 year olds, please wear better shoes. And parents of former 3 years olds, why didn't you warn me? Oh, that's right. You kind of did.

Anyway, enough with the mud pit analogies. We had our good friends over for dinner last night. Clare's children are similar ages to my kids, so it works out nicely as far as playdates go. And I like Clare, so it's a great match.  Her husband travels for extended periods, and we try to have toddler swap days, but when I can muster up the courage to clean my house and have dinner guests, I like to invite her to help her maintain during his long leaves. I can't imagine no husband around for as long as she does it. But in this economy, are you really going to turn down work? Anywhatsoever, they are came over for some wine and dinner and lots of playing, which inevitable wore Sylvia out (thank the lord almighty). Plus I pulled out the good camera for some back yard shots of all 4 kids (which I'm not going to post due to privacy).

Easton turned 7 months the other day. I'm too deep in said mud pit to really post about this kinda non-monumental age, so here is the gist: he really wants to crawl, but hasn't yet, sleep at night is much much much much better, he is still nursing for his entire naps, he wants nothing to do with baby food, just wants the real thing, so we're going slow on food. Best of all, he loves to dance. He'll hear the music and rock to the beat. There, 7 month post done. Now for some photos.

All I can whisper in his ear is 'don't turn 3, not just yet.'

A New Day

Things have been much better over here, sorry about that last dramatic post. I could blame it on so many things, but boiling over was bound to occur eventually. Dave took Sylvie out this morning, allowing me to get some home organizing done. Doing something that allows me to feel somewhat normal can actually be very theraputic, if you can dig that. There are so many things that I don't really get a chance to do right now, especially with a high maintenance baby and child hanging about. A task as simple as sifting through the piles of accumulated fabric can be impossible without an impromptu fashion show, which equates to messes beyond what set out to be clean. 

When father daughter returned from their free movie date this morning, Sylvia was inspired to recreate a costume for her new favorite animal: the cougar. I actually had to look up a photo of how complicated this costume was going to be. Luckily, she saw some scrap green fabric on top of the pile and abandoned the idea of faux fur and trim. She sat on a mat on the floor and proceeded to cut the fabric  and assemble buttons (for my application later, I suppose). Her exact words were, "I want to go to the store and get orange favric and cut out the shape for my costume and make a cougar dress." Flipping adorable. Though cougars aren't orange, or green, she was happy with her project and wore the created "tail." I've been trying to teach her the sewing machine lately, but she has shown absolutely no interest until this. Maybe tomorrow we'll give it a go...

Anyway, thanks to all who let me vent, the phone calls, the comments, the drinks (Rachel). It truly takes a village to raise a mother, and you guys are a big (small) part of my village.

Sylvia, Lady of Multiple Heads or Heed the Warnings to Avoid the Biggest Breakdown Ever or I Hate Mondays

As I sit here and devour a container of "reduced fat (ha!) pringles, I'm recalling yesterday morning, or referred to over here as "Our Worst Day Ever." The chips don't drown the sorrow, just momentarily cover it up (ok, slight exaggerations here).

It started out as a lovely morning. We took a walk to the coffee shop to meet a craigslist mommy for a baby boy shoes purchase. Great deals on shoes for a baby about to start crawling just can't be passed up. By the time we headed for the playground, the humidity had caught up with us. Easton passed out in the stroller and Sylvia was obviously getting crabby. Rule Number 1= observe first signs of potential melt-down behavior and avert plans accordingly. We should have gone home right then and there. But nooooooo, I needed my exercise and Syl insisted on the playground. 3 year olds can be so convincing.

We were meeting some friends there, which turned out to arrive superly duperly late (baby sleeping, I totally get it). So when we arrived early, there were 2 small girls playing in the fountain. And (cue dramatic music here) they had 2 barbies. Rule Number 2= don't bring toys to playground (this rule should have been given to those girls). In my personal experience, toys like that should be played with at home, where sharing isn't an issue. Playgrounds and parks are for outdoor play. But maybe I think that because what ensued reiterated the battle that toys should be kept away from tantrum-inducing areas.

My lovely daughter politely approached girl number 1 and asked very nicely if she could have a turn with her barbie. The girl yelled no. Sylvia asked again, her exact words being, "Please... may I please play with your doll for one minute?" So cute, so naive. The girl shouted NOOOO and flung the wet barbies hair in Sylvia's face. Sylvia decided that since the girl's mother wasn't disciplining this behavior, she would take it upon herself to do so. She scolded this girl loudly about how that's not nice, we don't behave that way, I'm very upset with you, blah blah blah. All stuff she's heard from my mouth, but she was yelling it and waving her arms wildly at this little 2 year old. I pulled her aside for time-out, telling her that it's not Sylvia's job to discipline other kids and her tone and volume level was totally unacceptable. Rule Number 3= after tantrum number 1, you may as well head home. Other's are about to follow, and they will get worse.

Finally, the girls started to share and Syl was like total BFFs, of course. I sat with Easton in the shade, unknowingly getting bitten alive by ants bigger that spiders. By the time Sylvia's friend arrived, it was time to eat. But being distracted by said friend, she quickly nibbled and was off for more play. Rule Number 4= not eating equates to more dramatic tantrum throwing. Sylvia became more and more difficult, chasing her friend around, bossing her into playing her way, not accepting no for an answer. It got so damn dramatic, her friend was running away from her and hiding in her stroller. After several 'few more minutes' warnings, I stepped in to get ready to leave. And then the Creature of Culminated Maniacal Children replaced my lovely child and freaked out. And she freaked out and freaked out and freaked out some more. I've never seen her throw a more dramatic, more screamingly inaudible, more 'thank god that's not more kid' embarrassing tantrum in all our days. When she finally stopped the initial freak out and I got her seated, she clenched her jaw tight and screamed through her teeth, her entire body shaking and turning red. It was kind of like the yummy cherry on top, but instead of wanting to eat that yummy cherry, I wanted to take that cherry and rocket it to the moon. Oh. My. God.

Of course, following this highly intense moment, a friend that I never see appears, ready to be all 'nice to see you' and what not. I was crying. I needed to leave. Sylvia was distraught, her eyes rolled so far back in her head she was seeing brain neurons firing like the 4th of July. I threw her in the stroller, buckled the baby in, and escaped quickly. And I cried the entire mile home. 

Now, I know it seems dramatic, but it has never been this bad. And I really don't care what the other mom's were thinking. All kids have melt-downs, all kids have bad moments, all moms cry and need to get the fuck out of dodge every now and again. I think it was a culmination of a few stressful weeks building up, 4 hours of sleep total the night before, prefaced by months of choppy, restless sleep, the "diet" I've been on of eating less therefore being crabby, and the serious desire to have 1 full day off (which is impossible with an exclusively nursing baby). Things build up in me, and things build up within Sylvia. She is only human, a small, multi-headed satanic child human.

And to top it all off, upon arriving at home, I called Dave at work and retold the story to him with Sylvia right there listening. I was sobbing and she witnessed the whole thing. I don't know if I was trying to make her feel guilty, or if I was holding a grudge, or if I was trying to prove a point. But later all I felt was extreme guilt. In that moment of total rage, I've never felt more inclined to spank my kid, or smack her across the face (neither of which I would ever do. violence begets violence, and I don't want to go there). I'm just being honest with you, honest with myself. Things piled up, the volcano burst, and the lava was a hot rock pelting us both.

Today has been much better, and Dave and I have worked out somethings to make my load a bit easier for a few months. We can't afford preschool or even part-time childcare (in anger, I totally threatened sending her off to daycare), so Dave is going to start taking 1 morning off a week to have alone time with Sylvia. She told me today that she wished she were still a baby, therefore I know many of her recent regressions revolve around Easton and the time I spend with him. Though I've been going above and beyond to spend alone time with her too, it's just a difficult transition, for ALL of us. We all need a break from the people we're around the most, we all need time to accomplish a task or goal we've been striving for, we all need to drink tequila every now and again.  So in the end, the major melt-down of 2009 taught my family some invaluable lessons, but I think I prefer learning lessons the easier way.

A moment alone

And thus the sibling torture practices begin...

Boating

I've been pleading for years to go for a paddle boat ride over in Forest Park. It seems so idyllic, peaceful, romantic. Last week, on the first day post 12-day heat wave, Easton went to bed super early. Sylvia, my mom, and I, decided to go on an adventure, not really knowing the plan. Headed through Forest Park, we passed the boat house. Sylvia got excited about it and I assured her we'd be back with daddy to help paddle. So we went and sat in the free seats at the Muny and watched about 40 minutes of Annie (it was way past bedtime). Dave worked all 4th of July weekend, but took the 3rd off. We all trekked over to the boathouse for a morning of a non-idyllic, non-peaceful, non-romantic paddle boat ride. What the hell was I thinking?

"Get this thing off me, dammit!"

Firstly, it's all high schoolers that work there. Whenever the care of my small children lies in the hands of slightly older children, I get nervous. Second, though a cool morning, the weather quickly turned a cloudless almost upper 80's (not ideal for manual labor boats). Third, 7 month old babies are kinda small for life jackets, making the baby a)difficult to hold and b)unhappy. Not a good combo to be stuck in the middle of mosquito valley pond with. Lastly, it is very difficult to hold a baby in a life jacket while keeping one hand on your 3 year old while holding an umbrella to shield both your children from the beating sun while continuously pedaling a paddle boat while trying to take some pictures while fighting with your husband while life-jacketed baby decides he has to nurse RIGHT NOW! 

Syl looking pissed, just totally annoyed with her mama.

Ahhh, run on sentences to prove stress are slightly relieving. Problems were quickly averted by removing Easton's life jacket to nurse, putting hats on the kids instead of the umbrella, and kicking my feet up so husband could paddle. But wow, things got stressful real quick. All in all, it was a lovely morning. Poor Sylvia was trying her hardest to enjoy herself, despite mommy's stressful breakdown. And we got to see a mama duck trailed by 12 baby ducklings (so flipping adorable, no photo of that one). And it really is a beautiful view. Next time I think we'll leave the baby on the shore!

What's Up Over Here

Yes, it's officially been summer for a while, but I haven't really been keeping up here on what we've been doing. Managing 2 little ones has got my mind all a-spin, with weird nap schedules, a baby that only wants to nurse when sleeping, a toddler that enjoys asking mama 296,445,346 questions a minute, a house to "maintain," and dealing with the hot hot heat. Today is a break, it's the 4th and raining monsoon style. Syl is getting an extremely rare treat with morning cartoons while Easton is actually napping off of me. Miracle! Thank you, USA!

First, let's start with the baby. He's been eating like a horse. In fact, he doesn't even really enjoy baby food, he's excited about the real deal food. So to say he's eating solids, well, it's literal. I'm a bit scared and excited at the same time. Scared because he's not quite 7 months old (in a few more days), so he's still supposed to be easing into solids. Plus I only started him on real food less than a month ago, so his little system is still adjusting. Also scared because the whole choking hazard thing=Solids are actually Solid!! 

On the sleep tip, nights are going much better. He goes down a little before Sylvia, around 8. If I put him in the crib right away, he usually sleeps till 4. If I move him at my bedtime, he sleeps till 5. That are much welcomed numbers compared to what was happening. It's just the nap struggle... always something with sleep. Sometimes it takes him 45 minutes to doze off, only to awake 10 minutes later. That, my little friend, is not a nap. But alas, nights are improving, so you give and you take, or you have removed from under your feet, whichever.

Sylvia is definitely 3. She asks soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo many questions, it's a bit ridiculous. Some moments are harder to deal with than others, the moments when I feel like 1 more question my head will explode. And if I ignore them, oh they just get repeated. She has really been stressing me out lately. Regressing, tantrums, fake-crying, occasional aggressions towards her brother, neediness, are to name a few. And though these aren't all the time, they are so stressful and unbearably difficult to deal with. Some days I lose it, others I deal, the terrible days I head straight for Canada without looking back.

We've been swimming every chance we get. Easton loves it, as does Syl. When the heat indices was well above any leaving the house, we would all sit in the baby pool, enjoying the slight temperature break. 

I shot my final nursery for next springs magazine. Though stressful to plan, the photos ended up lovely. My camera was so cold from the air-conditioning in the car, that the extreme humidity fogged it up for a good 10 minutes. Did I mention the shoot was outside during the heatwave and I had to bring my nursing baby? Yeah. Loads of fun.

So that's about it over here, a lot of stress, a lot of dance parties, a lot of naps. I know I'll regret saying this later, but I can't wait to be done breastfeeding. I can't wait to go back to work. I can't wait to have a little freedom back. I can't wait till the kids are in school and I'm not sole caregiver. At least that's how I feel lately, I'll kick myself later for that one. But honestly, motherhood is hard. And I'm allowed to complain a little bit, right?

Our Little Harvest

We decided to plant a "experimental" garden this year. I use that word in quotes because neither of us has ever gardened vegetables before, therefore we needed a bit of wiggle room for the trial and errors. We made it small, manageable, and gave Sylvia much of the watering responsibilities. And by that I mean she looks for worms while we water twice a day (since our monsoon season has ended). Lo and behold, the garden flourished! Though I can't say whatever happened to my radishes, everything else is growing successfully! We have a huge cucumber ready to be picked, tomatoes turning red, basil and oregano galore, and bell pepper buds showing.

I was really hoping Sylvia would get into eating tomatoes this year, with all the care and interest in their well being. But alas, she is her father's daughter, and they form a powerful anti-tomato society that I am thankfully not invited to. She took one bite into it (ya know, apple style) and declared it was too yucky.  Guess the bounty will be mine, all mine! So what did I have for lunch today? And what will I be having for lunch everyday for the next month? You guessed it!

Fresh mozzarella, greens, home grown basil and the first official tomato of the season.