Defusing the Baby Bomb

So Gabe has been teething for, um, how old is he now? Yeah, almost that long. He's up at least once every night, and most evenings are similar. First, the tiny cries. Like he's mostly asleep and considering whether or not he should wake up, but he's leaning toward waking up. Or not. He likes to keep it interesting. So, when it's my night, I usually wait for him to make up his mind. Which I probably will stop doing, because I begrudgingly admit that leaping up and taking him on when he's half asleep is usually the better option. But anyway... so, I wait. He inevitably will be quiet just enough that he fools me into drifting off before he whimpers again, just enough to wake me up and convince me that this could go on for hours and I should really get my warm clothes on and get it in gear.

So, after theoretically putting my clothes on correctly though they've mysteriously turned themselves backwards, inside out and flung themselves across the room to hide behind, say, the banana tree, I stumble to the kitchen and make a bottle. If I make a big bottle, he won't be the slightest bit hungry, but if I make a little bottle he'll be ravenous, so really, does it matter how much I make. Nine times out of ten, no it does not.

I take the bottle upstairs, obviously, attempting to not miss any steps on the way. Into his room to do the blind diaper change where he flings himself around, getting himself stuck on the diaper tabs and likely making sure the diaper is just so far off base that he can pee out of it. Then, once his sleeper suit and sleep sack are mostly back on, it's bottle time. If he's hungry (small bottle) he'll eat quickly, which means that I'll soon feel the dripping of a previously leak-free bottle all over the place and will have to adjust the bottle, making him scream like a banshee. If he's not hungry (huge bottle) he'll arch himself backwards, slamming his head right into the nearest hard surface. Screaming like a banshee.

So, either after the bottle or after the arching back, I'll flip him over and he'll go to sleep on my chest. Yay! Almost done. Or am I? Of course not. He'll be dead asleep, sleeping like, duh, a baby, and suddenly, his head itches. For entire minutes of scratching. Hours, possibly. Then, back to sleep like nothing ever happened. After the inevitable scratching, a few things could happen. Sometimes, no actual settling down occurs and the bottle gets popped back in. Maybe he'll eat, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll scream, maybe he won't. So, any number of flips around from bottle to chest occur until I think that he's surely asleep for good. With a possible bottle refill in there somewhere.

Anyway, I should know better, because mostly, when I stand up to transition him to the crib, he wakes up. Screams, maybe, but wakes up definitely. Then I snuggle him back to his false sense of security. But when I put that hand around his chest to lower him into the crib, he always knows what's happening and wakes up again, no matter how sleepy he was mere seconds before. So I plop him ever so gently into the crib anyway, rubbing, patting, thumping his back depending on the urgency of the crying. I cover him with his favorite fleecy blanket, which he may or may not get himself hopelessly tangled in, what with all the tossing, turning and flailing he does for no good reason.

Sometimes, I pick him back up and the whole bottle-snuggle-ease-into-the-crib thing happens again. Sometimes three times or more. Some times he quiets down, only to tune back up the second my hand leaves crib space. Some times he's at full-out snore, completely still, and even waits until I'm out of the room with my hand on the outer door knob when he cries again. Inevitably, though, it almost always end up with me giving him angry looks, mumbling threatening words, and trying to figure out which stage I should start with all over again.

But sometimes, okay, at some point every night, he'll actually commit to sleeping, and I can leave. Sometimes to get into bed and hear him cry for more, but if I'm really lucky, for him to stay asleep, only making the tiniest little coughs to keep me awake for the next hour or so.

Rinse and repeat every four hours or so, and that's been nearly every night since, say January. Good times. But Jeff and I share the baby love, switching nights so we only have murderous urges every other night, and someday, it'll only be once in a while. So we'll take the advice of every other parent we've met with older kids and enjoy the time that he's a baby, crying for no good reason and waking us up at any old hour of the night to make us jump through hoops so he can get the sleep he needs. Right. Because we'll miss these late-night "feedings" and all those cute little baby things he does. Uh-huh.

And again I say, he's lucky he's cute and that humans don't eat their young.

* Oh yeah, I forgot to mention before that Alex sometimes wakes up during all of Gabey's drama. She'll scream, Jeff (or I) will go calm her down while trying to get Gabey to calm down too. Fun times two!

Well, at least he looks at the camera pretty consistently...

The Tastiest Part of All

Benches, they're what's for mid-afternoon snack when the crackers keep falling through the same bench. Clearly, Gabey is sharpening his teeth so to better defend himself from Alex's nibbliness.

Snacks at Tower Hill

Why I bother with shoes is beyond me.

Pink Eye Sucks

I've said it before and I'll say it at least one more time today. Giving eye drops to an 11 month old boy is like being a matador in a bull fight where the swords and spears are replaced with Q-Tips that you have to make stick. 4 times a day. :i Here's hoping Alex and the rest of us dodge the pink eye bullet.

Van Goghing to Her Room

Alex has been a bit punchy recently, what with being sick with a nasty virus that made her sprout random fevers for 10 days straight!!! So I'm willing to give her an ever so tiny pass on things like, say, how many peas she eats before she gets a treat. Or how many times she gets to -try- to kick my butt in Candyland. (I am the Queen of Candyland more than not, as evidenced by her frequent trips to the dark end of the basement to cross her arms and pout.) But when it comes to brother abuse, that's crossing the line.

I appreciate that Gabey likes to wrestle her. He usually loves the attention, at least for a bit. I mean, she's obviously his role model (shudder) right now, so of course, if she wants to harm him bodily while giggling, it's mostly okay by him. But she has this habit of grabbing him the easiest possible way, which for her seems to be by the neck/throat. While mildly amusing to watch because it's so very violently unlike her to be that rough, it's not cool to grab anyone by the neck. Least of all delicate little flowers like Gabey.

So I've been teaching her how to take him by surprise by grabbing him around the torso. Much more effective if a body slam is your goal, and with brothers, it should probably always be the goal, right? She just can't bring herself to do it, though. Her little arm just naturally fits right below his chin. And brother wrestling disengages her ability to hear and think rationally, so she ignores any and all protests. I'll keep working, but for now, lots of time outs have ensued thanks to incorrect wrestling techniques.

We also limit her wrestling time to the amorphous "when Gabey wants to do it" schedule. I know, I know, do they wrestle or don't they? Not when do they, but it brings them so much joy when they're both on board I can't bring myself to entirely eliminate it. It's good for their, um, large motor skills and for practicing cooperation. As in, "Gabey, go this way." Gabey - giggling acknowledgement.

The one thing we do not tolerate around here is biting, no exceptions. Alex has decided that her teeth are her most potent weapon. She uses them at the grocery store when Gabey is "staring" at her, and at home for any occasion. Yesterday, she bit his ear, and promptly went to time out, followed by a finger chomping the likes of which have not been seen in this house since the last time.

Alas, Her Highness has awoken and is crying about the likelihood of there never being pancakes in the known universe again, so I should go. Before she bites me.

The Reason I Should Blog When Gabey Sleeps

What a brat.

Yes-Baby

Gabey has embraced the word yes. It's his answer to everything, but especially it's a counter to the word no. As in, "No Gabey, don't play with the floor lamp." To which he replies (with a grin) "Yes." (more like "Jis.") and shakes the lamp more violently than before. I think yes is ultimately better, especially when I remember way back to when Alex only said no and gave us the blank stares for yes. I guess we knew what she meant, but still, it's nice to have confirmation that you guessed right about baby's needs.

QotD Alex

"There is a big problem. The music stopped and I am not dancing. That is the big problem."

Spring?

Alex and I were outside yesterday doing our usual Gabey is a sleep thing, wandering aimlessly around the yard from activity to activity. Mostly sand-based activities since the sandbox has thawed out! But I couldn't help but notice that the chrysanthemums are budding up, the Stewartia is looking like it made it through Winter, the multiflora roses and poison ivy are taunting me from the hillside, and in general, Spring is getting ready to do its thing. Even the manure is trying to lure me in, just for a quick turn with the old digging fork.

Alex is also ready to do her thing, so her I am thinking about all the fabulous things I could be working on outside when in reality, I get to pick up some sticks while Alex builds and destroys a few sandcastles. Better than nothing, but I'm so close to doing actual garden work!!! Hopefully there'll be a trip for plants soon, because Alex does like to dig and help me plant things. Well, mostly look for worms, but whatever gets my hands dirty and her doing something vaguely garden-related...I may have to buy worms to seed in the garden so I can keep her close and interested while I do something more horticultural.

The neigh-bors are busy foraging in the somewhat thawed pasture for grass, but of course they ate it all in December and it's just now seeing the light of day again, so they're also resorting to coming over to the fence for exploratory sniffs. Just in case we happen to have carrots or apples in our hands. Which we don't. But they'll keep being "friendly" just in case, I'm sure.

We went to the mall today so Mommy could do some shopping (ha) and Alex got a donut. She ate the outside edge and we brought the middle home for later. We got home, and she asked about the donut's whereabouts. I told her it was on the kitchen counter (strategically out of reach) and she told me it was "donut-o-clock" so she should have the rest of it. Yeah, well, donut-o-clock was a while ago and the donut still sits, possibly to be eaten later, but maybe to be a stale squirrel treat.

Beer, Trees and Tapestries

Pretty much sums up our day yesterday. Sam Adams brewery tour, followed by a romp around Arnold Arboretum where they had a bunch of lovely tapestries. Jeff got into some of the pictures, and much fun was had by us. Then we came home, watched Milo and Otis for the 8th time and settled in for our night of one less hour's sleep. The end.

The Slipper Incident

Since I post so many stories about everyone else and how ridiculous they are, I suppose it's only fair that I post a story that proves that I fit in just fine...

So, I guess it was sometime last week, I was doing normal things with the kids. Alex was mostly slowly eating things in the kitchen and Gabey was playing with all the random toys in the toy bowl in the living room. (The rule is that, with a few key exceptions like the music table, all living room toys must fit in the bowl, or else there are too many toys in the living room. This is hopefully just a temporary situation until Gabey doesn't really need the constant entertainment of toys in every single room. Because, though I refuse to ban the kids from any room in the house, I can also see a future where I can vacuum the living room without relocating the Tyrannosaurus, ten cars and a couple giant pipe cleaners.) Gabey was chewing on a pretend chocolate bar, likely fantasizing about a real one since the need for chocolate is a dominant genetic trait. My slippers were on the floor near him because I had been outside and, for once, managed to put on real shoes to do so.

Some time passes, and Gabey is napping. Alex is downstairs watching a little television. I decide that it's comfortable footwear time, and go to slip on my slippers. Then, it happens. My left foot comes in contact with something not belonging to the slipper. I panic! Flinging my foot around like a sort of foot epileptic, I sent the slipper flying along with, yes, the pretend chocolate bar. I also manage to twist and contort my back so severely that I kind of threw it all out of whack.

I told Jeff the tale of terror and embarrassment, and as I was telling him I sort of realized how ridiculous it all was. I have no idea what I thought was in that slipper. I mean, really, the dreaded New England Scorpion was nesting where my left foot normally lives? In any case, my back is feeling better now, and I've vowed to never again leave the slippers out where rogue toys can fall in. Where that is I'll never know, but maybe someday a place like that will exist...

Children's Museum

Here are a few pictures from our recent trip to the Boston Children's Museum. It was way more museum than any one of us could handle, but we still had a great time. During our trip we learned that Alex is almost big enough to operate a Bobcat, Gabey has amazing ladle skills, both kids clearly could have careers in woodworking, Gabey is a moth, and Daddy really likes giant bubbles.

We also learned that our kids are superior to all other children because, even when tired and overstimulated they do not vomit, scream like banshees (for more than a couple seconds) hit, roll on the floor, or generally embarrass their parents. I'm especially glad about the not vomiting part. I'm hoping that we'll never push the kids so hard that they lose their cool and their lunch at the same time, because that's not pretty for anyone involved. I'd like to think that our tendency to let the kids out of the house and into the general public will help us avoid a lot of those sticky tired kid issues because maybe, just maybe, they'll have enough practice to rock a museum day without major incident.

I'm There Too

In a shocking turn of events, Jeff took a picture of me. Here's me and the kiddies standing on the wooden pyramid thingie outside the Children'S Museum in Boston. Yes, I'm holding Alex still. She likes being the center of attention, but not waiting for the camera.

Oh Poop

Here's a dirty little story from yesterday, boiled down to the basics because Alex is upstairs watching some tv and is sure to realize I'm gone soon:

Alex got a time out yesterday afternoon for beating up Gabey. Nothing unusual. So, she's up there doing whatever it is that she does in her room when she's in time out, and I'm changing Gabe's clothes because he's drooled his way through yet another outfit. Then the screaming starts.

Now, I'm used to Alex screaming her way through the day, because it's just how she communicates right now. Not good, and we're working on it, but it's clearly just in her nature to scream every time she needs something, doesn't need something, blah blah blah. Whatever. But this screaming was the scream of a frantic Alex who was frantic for a good reason. For once.

It seems she pooped in her pants because she didn't want to leave her room before the timer went off for her time out. And then tried to escape her poopy drawers, which were unsurprisingly sticky. Getting poop all over her legs and a little on the floor. I knew we got brownish carpet for a reason! Now, I am at this point locked in a contest of wills with Gabey over the little matter of him being naked and moist while I want him clothed and dry. She's screaming about poop, and I'm torn, but made the right decision and left Gabey floundering in just a diaper and drool.

Oh, and I have a huge-ish headache and nausea, which incidentally is still hanging around a little bit today. But I digress.

So, Alex is covered in poop, Gabe is screaming, because who doesn't like screaming when someone else is screaming, and then Jeff appears to whisk away the naked, wet baby while I deal with Queen Poopsmore.

In an anticlimactic end to the story, I popped in the shower with her to maximize the chances of her emerging poop-free, and Jeff ordered pizza, since it didn't look like dinner was getting made any time soon. Gabe was dressed, Alex soon cleaned up, and life proceeded from there.

Gabe had a bad night, which was extra bad because I was dealing with chills, nausea, a headache, and general crankiness for some odd reason. Jeff took over, evidenced by the hushed "Shut up shut up shut up." whispers coming from Gabe's monitor, and I shivered and tried not to hurl. I didn't hurl, Gabe did finally shut up, and we finally got to sleep.

And now Alex has permission to take time outs, at least in part, in the bathroom.

Impromptu Playdate

"I'll never play with the basketball ever ever again!"
"I'll never do my cool trick again!"

But much fun was had despite all the proclamations of last times for everything. Despite a ban on balloons in the tent. Despite the alligator (Alex-gator?) being called a crocodile. Cars were vroomed, toy boxes emptied and *gasped* refilled at the end of the playdate. Hoops were shot, though Alex -always- dunks. The slide was put into good use, though Alex insists on going up the wrong way every single time - the cool trick she's so proud of. Snacks were eaten, because snacks have to be eaten every single time we play with others. (Note to self - have Alex play with others every day so she bulks up a bit. Gabe's catching up at breakneck speed and will eclipse her on weight before he catches up to her with height. Poor little stubby legs.)

This playdate far and away made up for the four cancelled playdates of the past with a different kid, especially since Alex got to tackle and wrestle her playmate. Which, by the way, is always our signal to send the playmate home. Before heads collide or brother gets caught up in the frenzy.