The Hunting Party

We had an intruder in our house yesterday who needed to be hunted down and...well, not exterminated, just relocated.

We were all upstairs in my room, working on a project together, when I had to go downstairs to fetch yet another tool. As I entered the kitchen, passing the open patio door, something whizzed past my head in a blur. I suspiciously and catiously entered the living room, where the blur had headed, and found a bird perched on my window ledge, checking out the view as if he'd rather just observe the trees from inside rather than inhabit them in reality. He looked quite content sitting there, pooping his bright blue poop all over my window.

I immediately called for Matt, as I had my hands full with Jack, and couldn't be expected to get rid of the pest myself, right? Plus, for some reason, the bird scared me. He had beady little evil eyes and although I couldn't think of anything he could do to really hurt me, I didn't want to go near him. I had visions of him dive-bombing me, or at least, pooping on me. So I called for reinforcements.

When the boys found out what I was actually talking about, they went wild! Ben and Mitchell were so excited to see this bird flying around the living room and came flying down the stairs themselves to be a part of the action. The excitement hit a snag when they discovered the poop splatters all over the floor - "Mom! He poops! Don't put Jack down!"

Matt and I armed ourselves with brooms and cautiously approached senior intruder. I'm not sure we had a specific plan worked out as to what we were going to do though, so when we got close to him and he started bashing himself into the window, then fell down dead, we felt a little...disappointed. All that excitement for the bird to just commit suicide? I could have handled that myself!

Well, this bird had some tricks up his sleeve. We were about to pick him up to dispose of him when up he flew again, whirring around as if he was just taking a little snooze! Faker! He flew upstairs this time, pooping all the way! He ended up behind/under one of the boys' beds, where he decided to lay low. We regrouped and made a new plan which involved much opening of windows and also closing of doors to keep him in one room (duh...) I moved the bed out from the wall and there he was, just staring at me with those beady eyes again. I couldn't do it! I made Matt shoo him out of there while watching from behind a closed door with the boys (it was a mostly glass door.) He flew up to the ceiling, circled once, then flew out the window. Bye bye birdie! Don't come back!

Since then, Ben has been quite diligent keeping all doors and windows closed. "Mitchell - shut the patio door! We don't want the bird coming back!" "Mom! Don't open the window! What if a bird flies in again?" I think they secretly would love for it to happen again. It must have seemed quite the adventure for two little boys - chasing a bird around, leaping over splats of poop, waving mops and brooms in the air, shouting, laughing, just on the line between fear and hilarity.

Guess We Ran Out of Seats...

Matt was home all morning this morning (yay!) so I headed off to the gym to enjoy some time to myself at a normal hour for such activities (as apposed to 6am or 8pm.)  When I returned home, I quietly came in the back entry, so no one heard me coming.  When I entered the living room, I found all 4 of my "dudes" having a great time together in a way that never happens when the lone female/stick-in-the-mud is around.

Does this look like an appropriate place to sit - especially for a baby?  No, I didn't think so, but they had daddy right there and so enjoy their "dude time" with him.  Who am I to question how a father and son tempt fate?  I have to trust that he was ready to catch humpty dumpty when he decided to "have a great fall."

A Difficult Morning Forces Some Deep Thought

This morning was an early morning - earlier than usual, that is.  The big boys hauled themselves out of bed much too soon, resulting in cranky, whiney boys and a cranky, annoyed mom.  After handling each situation poorly and becoming increasingly disappointed in myself as a mother, I began thinking of ways to not just eliminate bad behavior in my children, but how to teach them healthier alternatives - what to do rather what not to do.  I want to do this for their own good - not just so that I am less annoyed.

Today we begin with shouting/whining at me from across the room or another room entirely.  Mitchell especially is going through a very whiney phase right now (which I will have to deal with seperately and am very open to suggestions on this one!) and even when he is not upset, his "normal" voice is very high pitched and loud.  This is not acceptable, as it severely annoys me and puts me on edge, and also because it puts him in a complaining, demanding mood, even when he otherwise would not be.  "The voice" has got to be transformed into a more appropriate, even sound that does not rile anyone up.  

So as I sat there, being barraged by constant loud/whiney voice from Mitchell, it hit me that if he had my undivided attention and was close to me, it would eliminate the need to shout or whine.  I had the sudden inspiration that if he was actually touching me, he'd be close enough to put this new inspiration into effect.  I sat him down next to me and explained to him that I could no longer hear him if he was not actually touching me.  Starting this morning, he is no longer allowed to talk to me unless he is touching me.  Seriously.  I pretend that I cannot hear him until he is physically touching me.  Now, I fully expect this to make the situation worse - at first.  He will shout at me from another room and I will ignore him rather than shout back.  That will frustrate him and he will shout louder.   When I still "can't hear him," he will turn it up a notch and add in the whiney voice.  All this I realize could result from my idea.  My hope though, is that once he remembers to actually come up to me and touch me, and because of this I immediately turn to him and give him undivided attention and eye contact, he will quickly understand what is expected of him and the shouting/whining voice will slowly make its departure.  

I feel like because I write and tell stories so much of the funny aspect of my interactions with my kids and skip over the unentertaining aspect of parenthood that is discipline (who really wants to read about that part?), many people get the impression that I do not discipline at all, but merely sit back and let my kids run wild and do as they please.  This is not the case.  I do allow them to act appropriate to their age, and also enjoy and allow a certain amount of boyish antics and craziness into our lives, but training and discipline is a constant part of my day - sometimes I fail at it, sometimes we make real progress.  I find real comfort in Dobson's "Bringing Up Boys" because it points out how boys were created and wired to be active and need a certain amount of craziness and activity that I, as a mom and a female, cannot quite understand the need for.  Reading that book set me free and relaxed me quite a bit.  I stopped trying to "tame" my sons; rather, I now aim to "direct" them in their crazy, energetic activities and provide boundaries for their abounding energy.  Expecting them to be like myself was only frustrating us all.  I am a female and I am an adult.  They are neither.

 

With each new phase my boys go through, all my ideas and rules have to be re-considered and re-worked to make sense for us.  I feel I am at one of those crossroads with Mitchell (yet again.)  His need for special attention from me has become clear to me, as is his need to be corrected in his unacceptable behavior.  With hard work and diligence on both our parts, I hope to have worked out a system to bring my adorable and comedic middle child back to a normal decibel in his communication and also to provide him with what he might be missing - some more personal attention, perhaps?  Any insights, comments, or criticisms you might have on this issue we face are more than welcome!

I apologize for the deviance from the normal light-hearted and often humorous entries I normally post.  I felt the need to point out the other side of my interactions with my kids this time.  I love my boys so much and want what is best for them - it sure is a lot of work trying to figure it all out and then implementing it as well!

Big Lady

Some of you will read this and think I am "one of those moms" - the kind whose kids are disturbing the peace and going a bit crazy.  Others of you, I hope, will read this and think my kids are hilarious and get a laugh out of their antics, just as I do.

We had to buy our city vehicle stickers today and since I have 3 kids, I had to do this with 3 kids in tow.  I had Jack in my arms, chewing my keys up, and Ben and Mitchell fully exploring the space of the place.  As I was busy with the paperwork, I heard some serious laughing going on.  A bit annoyed that they were not standing quietly beside me with hands to themselves, quietly lost in their own thoughts (haha), and also a tad curious as to what was so funny, I turned to take a look.  Ben had found a life-sized cardboard woman and was busy walking her around the store, making scary noises at Mitchell, who was feigning fright and making the appropriate noises for such a scene.  

My first instinct was to stop their game and put an end to the silliness and make them come stand by me.  I suppressed this instinct though because they really were using "inside voices," were not bothering anyone (in fact, everyone was quite entertained and laughing as well), and were just making so much fun out of a bothersome errand.  I wish I could find so much fun out of my everyday and often annoying business.  

Her name was "Big Lady" and she had a suspicious likeness to our babysitter.  I bet she works for a lot cheaper though...

A Sweet Surprise

Today, Mitchell came running up to me, telling me he had a special surprise for me.  Now with Mitchell, I never quite know what to expect when he says this (or what to expect from him in general, for that matter).  When he says he has a surprise for me, it could be anything - poopy underwear, a dead bug, a gooey booger, something of mine broken into pieces, a random toy...the sky is the limit with Mitchell and his "surprises."  

So when he came running up to me with a big grin on his face and a "surprise" hidden behind his back, I wasn't sure whether to be excited or run away.  Well, he ran right up to me and whipped his hands out from behind his back, and...they were empty!  I asked him where my surprise was and he leaned over to my ear and whispered, "I love you, mommy!"  Now that was a nice surprise - not that he loves me, but that he went through such theatrics to tell me in a special way.

A Confusing Triumph

I have known for some time now that Mitchell is capable of riding his bike without training wheels, I have just been waiting for a convenient time to work on it with him when I don't have the other two boys with me.  Well, waiting for that "convenient time" has resulted in just not doing it, so for the last few days, I have positioned Ben on his bike in front (to show Mitchell what to do and also to provide the encouragement he is so great at giving), Mitchell on his bike in the middle, with me close behind holding him steady as well as trying to push my stroller with Jack in it (wish I had a picture of that to show you.)  We have to somehow get this caravan of craziness maneuvered around busy Chicago sidewalks without crashing into things or each other and without getting hit by cars (although how a car could manage to not see a sight such as this from far away and have plenty of time to avoid us would be pretty unbelievable.)

Well, I'm glad we figured out a way to get it done because, as I suspected, he can ride it!  We just skipped the training wheels stage and the boy never needed them!  He has always had the balance, he just needed someone to keep him moving as he learned how to actually pedal.  So great, right?  He can ride, I can stop pushing him around, the boys have one more thing to do together.  Unfortunately, with Mitchell, things are never quite so simple.  He has confused me once again by not wanting to ride the bike, even though the hard part - learning how to do it - is in the past now.  We have now spent two mornings riding around our neighborhood (I now know the surrounding alleys almost as well as the streets) with Mitchell crying and crying because I am forcing him to ride his bike.  

At first, I just thought he was having trouble learning and was scared or really didn't think he could do it, but now that I have seen him ride up and down a whole alley without stopping once (crying the whole time), I wonder what in the world is wrong with this boy!  He's not scared, he just doesn't want to do it!  I can force him, but I taught him to ride for fun not for torture!  

I've held my temper in check and tried not to get too frustrated at his attitude and inability to tell me any reason why he is upset and not having fun.  It is so confusing - look at the little guy!  He rocks that bike!  He hasn't fallen or hurt himself even a little so he doesn't have that excuse. Ben and I are so proud of him and keep telling him what big boy he is and how proud we are of his accomplishment, but it seems to fall on deaf ears.  He will not be swayed - bike riding is NOT fun!

So my little Mitchell can ride a bike and I am so proud of him, but my vision of both boys riding bikes together joyfully has been shattered and I face a choice: push him to keep practicing until he enjoys it (much like our soccer experience) or put the bike away for a while longer and make playtime actually fun for everyone again?  Oh Mitchell, you have left me guessing once again!

Why Boys Don't Wear White

To me, there is nothing cuter on a little baby boy than a white onesie.  It is simple, but babyish, matches any bottoms one should choose, and never distracts from their boyish cuteness.

There is one drawback to a white onesie though - it looks like this at the end of the day (truthfully, it looks like this by mid-day, but I don't always do anything about it, knowing it will just happen all over again.)  A mess like this doesn't just happen all at once - a few hours of being a baby is needed to truly make a masterpiece out of a pure, white shirt.  We need at least one meal, plenty of drool, some mashed up and spit out Cheerios, crawling all over the place, and plenty of brotherly help.  

One example of this "brotherly help" I mentioned:  I put Ben in charge of keeping Jack away from the stairs leading down to my front door.  I just had to close my eyes for a few minutes, and in that exhausted state, I truly thought Ben would make a great babysitter.   Now before you think me a terrible mother and cut me out of your life altogether, know that I was merely dozing, not truly sleeping, and was on the chair, sitting up, not laying down for a nap in my bed.  While I was in this semi-conscious state, I could hear plenty of giggling by both Ben and Jack.  There would be a few seconds of slapping sounds on the floor (Jack crawling) followed by giggles by both boys, repeated over and over again.  It was quite a nice soundtrack to my "meditation."  My curiosity finally overcame my sleepiness and I just had to see what was going on.  Ben would let Jack crawl as far as the top of the steep stairs, then grab him by both ankles and drag him back 5 or 6 feet back to my chair where he would begin it all over again.  They both thought it was the best game ever!  I had a nice little break from chasing Jack around, keeping him out of the dangers a new crawler continually searches for, but I hate to say, this white onesie may not ever be white again.  Being drug on his belly across the floor may have been just too much for bleach to take care of this time!