Happy New Year

It’s 11:45 at night. Abbie is somehow still awake. If she makes it another 15 minutes, we might as well pour a glass of sparkling juice for her to toast at midnight. That’s the last time she gets caffeinated soda pop for supper.

Spelling Bee

Abbie is starting to learn to spell. I’m encouraging her by asking her what letter begins various things we see. She can spell her entire name, which must be a trick she learned in preschool. She knows “Tory” begins with “T.” She knows “Ian” begins with “E,” so at least I know she’s thinking. She can say the first letter of “dog,” “cat,” and “fish.” I haven’t tried “chinchilla” yet.

While reading yesterday, I asked her what letter begins “apple.” While Abbie stood silent even though I know she knows the answer, Tory blurted out behind me “A!” I was a little surprised, so I flipped to a different book and asked what letter begins the word “elephant.”

“A!” he repeated. At least I know he’s thinking.

This Iowan Life

We have the Iowa Caucuses in less than a week. This unique event gives the people of Iowa the chance to play a major role in choosing the leader of the world's most powerful country. As a result, we have no shortage of people eager to tell us who we should vote for so we don't screw things up.

Our phone rang 13 times today between 10:40am and 4pm. All of the calls were from political organizations, or at least I assume they were; I refused to answer the phone when the caller ID said the call was from "Out of Area." I don't know how many organizations called after 4pm. Everyone was down for a nap at that point, and I unplugged the phone.

Oh, Poop

On a normal day, I change four to five poopy diapers. That's like having one kid with diarrhea every day of my life.

Yesterday, the boys came down with diarrhea. This may or may not be related to the entire slice of french silk pie each ate for Christmas dinner. Tory pooped four to five times in a two-hour span. I essentially spent the afternoon standing by the changing table, waiting for the next diaper to be filled.

That's Bad. That's Good.

Bad Sign: One of Abbie's Christmas presents was a doll that came in a box that exclaimed "lots of fun pieces! We gave her a couple of the big pieces and sealed the rest in a plastic bag until Abbie is old enough to take care of them and have fun with those little pieces in a way that doesn't involve laughing when daddy steps on one.

Good Sign: Today was trash day. All of the packaging from the kids’ presents fit into the trash and/or recycling. The garbage collectors looked less than thrilled when they saw the stack of flattened cardboard boxes by the curb, although one of them took the time to read the box for the boys’ “Buildin’ to Learn Tool Bench” before throwing it in the truck. Hopefully the boys like it as much as he did.

Merry Christmas

We're out of town for the holiday, so no new posts for a few days.

Through the Eyes of a Child

I've heard that Christmas is the most fun when your kids are still young, but old enough to understand it. I don't think Abbie is really old enough to understand it yet. Mention Christmas around her, though, and her eyes will light up and she will yell "Christmas presents!" Obviously she understands something.

Lights, Action!

When I was small, my family had a Christmas Eve night tradition. We’d pile into the car, and drive around town looking at the Christmas lights. Looking back at my youth, I enjoyed all the pretty lights, even though in retrospect my parents spent most of their time driving in circles trying to find those really cool neighborhoods they’d heard about.

I’ve wanted to take the kids out looking at lights the past few years, but I’ve been reluctant. I didn’t think the lights would hold their very well in their previous mental stages of infant attention spans. Last night, we finally braved it and continued the light tradition with a few key differences. One, we didn’t go out on Christmas Eve. We’ll be out of town on Christmas Eve. Maybe we can drive around our parents’ towns on Christmas Eve watching the lights, but last night was our chance to see the lights in our hometown. Two, we cheated.

People don’t decorate for Christmas as much as they used to. I don’t know if that’s true or if it’s just my crotchety old man imagination acting up, but it seems like fewer houses are decorated today than they were 20 years ago. Half the houses on our block are lit up, and that’s better a better ratio than the quarter of houses that are lit up in our neighborhood.* This in spite of the abundance of LED strands, giant inflatable Santas, and lighted wicker deer available in stores these days.

Since lighted houses are so hard to find these days, we traveled to a campground filled with lighted displays. Cutty’s hosts a Festival of Lights filled with dozens of lighted displays. Maybe hundreds. They had an animated squirrel climbing a tree, a nativity scene, and one menorah for equal time. We crammed hours worth of lighted holiday cheer into an hour of 10 mph driving thanks to this festival.

The kids’ favorite display was a tunnel. This was a 40-foot long tunnel with lights flashing in sequence as you drove through. I opened the moon roof, and the kids gaped in amazement as we crept along while the lights danced all around.

We also stopped at their winter village with Santa and a few other highlights. This was their first exposure to Santa for the year. The boys warmed up to him immediately, hovering around his red suit. Abbie resisted, crumpling to the floor and threatening to throw a tantrum when I suggested she talk to him. She recovered when I mentioned he had candy, and walked up to his side for a piece of candy. As she approached, Santa asked what she wanted for Christmas. Abbie took a piece of candy from his outstretched and, and replied, “trick or treat.” At least she understands this is a holiday.

The winter village gave everyone marshmallows on a stick as they left, and invited us to roast them over their roaring fire. Mommy and I held a combined five sticks worth of marshmallows over the fire while watching the kids. We directed them to keep that delicate balance between not wandering away, but not standing too close to the fire. I decided the marshmallows were roasted enough after a minute of simultaneously worrying that someone will wander into the street and into the fire.

We packed the kids into the car and left, giving each a marshmallow on a stick for the ride home. The boys finished their marshmallows before I started the car. Abbie held onto her marshmallows, a surprising action for a girl who loves sugar. The boys screamed the entire way home, furious that marshmallows were within sight, but not within reach. At least they weren’t screaming from boredom.

* Yes, I counted.

"I'm a fire chicken!"

Abbie didn’t come running into the dining room this afternoon when I called “lunchtime.” Usually she rushes into the room, eager to grab her spoon, her bowl full of yogurt, and chuck both across the room.

I walked into the playroom to see what had distracted her. She was sitting in front of a toy fire truck with a line of toy figures. I asked what she was doing, and she responded with her trademark garbled speech. Eventually I deducted that her toy figures were working on the fire truck. She had a fire duck, a fire pony, and a fire chicken. I’m not sure how elaborate her fantasy was, but the fire duck was driving the truck.

'Tis the Season

While boarding the bus, Abbie’s bus driver had a surprise for us: A holiday present! It was a goody bag filled with small toys and a card. I thanked her as earnestly as I could while wondering what kind of reciprocal gift is appropriate to give to your child’s bus driver.

I Have a Plan

Dora: “Do you see something that can help us cross Crocodile Lake?”
Tory: “Boat!”

I’m sure he’s just memorized the episode, especially since we’ve watched the same episode a half-dozen times over the past week, but it’s still fun to pretend that he has the problem-solving skills of an advanced preschooler.

Hindsight

This cold is moving from the kids’ sinuses to the kids’ attitudes. I knew we’d have trouble when Abbie woke up early and screaming this morning, verifying the truism that the later kids go to bed, the earlier they wake up. When the normally peaceful breakfast time ended in tears, that’s when I should’ve just packed it in for the day and set a Dora DVD to “repeat.”

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

A Warming Sensation

Ian stripped naked after lunch today. I’m not sure what his impetus was. He was playing in the dishwater while I gathered dirty dishes, soaking his shirt. Once his wet shirt was on the floor, maybe he felt his pants were a little damp. After his shirt joined his pants on the floor, maybe he decided to finish the job and removed his diaper.

Whatever inspired his birthday suit look, he was standing at my feet and screaming as I washed dishes. Normally I tend to my naked screaming children promptly, and not just because it feels like something a responsible parent would do. I don’t like my children to go naked for extended periods for fear that they’ll leak. Abbie has some control over her bodily functions, but the boys haven’t grasped the concept of finding appropriate places to deposit their waste.

I only had a few dishes left to wash, though, so today I decided to make him wait while I finished. Doing so would help him learn the consequences of removing his clothes, plus it would let me finish washing the dishes as efficiently as possible. I figured the worst that could happen is he could on the floor, but after handling poop for over three years, a little pee on the floor is nothing. We have hardwood floors, so they’re easy to clean up. His screaming at me might drive me crazy, but it’s not like I’ve got much sanity left after three years of handling poop.

I continued washing dishes while Ian continued screaming. Ian, sensing my lack of action, upped the ante and peed on my foot. I was disturbed that he soaked my sock, but at least he stopped screaming. I abandoned my dishes and whisked him to the changing table for a fresh diaper, pants, and shirt.

In retrospect, I’m not sure why I changed course. The damage was done, and it’s not like he had anything left.

SicknessUpdate

Illnesses? Improving.

Free time? Not so much.

Germs

We have three sick children, two sick adults, and a house shut tight right now. Combine that with the snot running out of the kids noses and a failure to hygienically wipe their noses before the kids do it themselves, we have quite the germ factory in our home.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I faced my first real decision of Abbie’s preschool career: Should I send her to school sick today? Her school sent her home sick on Monday with a fever and bad cough. She seemed okay when she returned home except for the snot flowing from her nose. Still, this led to a full night of worrying about Abbie’s condition for the next day. Will her mood be good enough to go back to school? Will Abbie’s fever return? Will the snot on her face gross out her teachers and make them send her right back home?

My worrying went for naught as a winter storm pounded Des Moines with snow and ice that night. By morning, the roads were a mess, the schools were closed, and only the most essential of personnel were required to report for their jobs.* That gave me a reprieve to watch her for a day to see how she was doing.

She was cranky. My first instinct when I woke up** was to keep her home regardless of the weather, and listening to her whine through the afternoon confirmed my instinct. Her mood improved throughout the day, but when I put her to bed I still assumed she’d stay home the next day.

When I woke her this morning, she was irritable and uncooperative. In other words, her attitude was completely normal. I helped dress her and set her down to eat breakfast. She ate well enough, and went about her morning as normal except for the periodic sniffling.

I shrugged, assumed that preschool would do her good, and readied her for school. As I loaded her on the bus, I hoped that her school wouldn’t call me again in an hour demanding that I pick her up and questioning my sanity for sending such an obviously ill girl to school.

The call never came, and Abbie returned home on the bus as normal. In her backpack was a note from the school explaining that they had an unusually high number of students and faculty stay home sick on Monday. No kidding.

* I.e. mommy.
** Besides scratching.

Major Breakthrough

Tonight, Abbie said, “I want to sit on the potty.” Obligingly, I let her into the bathroom, helped her strip and sit on the potty, and hoped for the best. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but she’s been getting better about peeing while on the potty.

One minute and several grunts later, I heard the telltale tinkling that told me Abbie was peeing. She applauded her effort, and I applauded along.

This is the first time Abbie has told me she wants to sit on the potty. Her diaper was wet, so she’s not recognizing the need to go on anything close to a reliable basis, but this is still progress. Very encouraging process.

I helped her off the potty, and then we washed her hands. She’s not recognizing the need to keep her hands out of the way either, but she’s making progress.

Abnormal Routine

The phone rang this morning as I finished my breakfast. That would be a little before 9:30. My morning schedule is as follows:

7:20- Wake up
7:30- Roll out of bed
7:35- Prepare breakfast for the kids
7:40- Change and dress the kids
7:50- Sit Ian and Tory down to breakfast
7:51- Find Abbie in her room having stripped naked
7:58- Sit Abbie down to breakfast while telling her to eat fast
8:10- Put Abbie’s shoes and coat on for preschool
8:15- Load Abbie on the bus
8:20- Clean the boys after breakfast
8:25- Empty the dishwasher while waiting for the boys to poop
8:35- Change one boy’s diaper
8:40- Get tired of waiting for the other boy, make my breakfast
8:50- Change the other boy’s diaper
8:55- Determine why a boy is screaming
9:00- Finally sit down to my breakfast
9:01- Chase down a boy who just stripped naked
9:10- Sit back down to my breakfast, periodically rising to investigate screaming
9:30- Finish breakfast

I stayed in my seat through the first telephone ring. I wanted the caller ID to ID the caller before I rose from my breakfast again. Much like waiting until a boy’s screaming reaches panicked level before abandoning my seat, I wanted to make sure this was an important before I left my bran flakes to absorb even more milk. Three political candidates called last night over dinner, and I wasn’t about to let them ruin my breakfast too.

When I saw the caller was from Abbie’s preschool, I considered staying in my seat. Preschools never call to say how great your child is; they only call with bad news. Maybe Abbie bit someone. Maybe Abbie is hurt. Maybe Abbie ran through the stash of pull-ups I left in her backpack.

When I eventually answered the phone, the school nurse was on the other end. Abbie was sick. She’s been crying, and has a nasty cough with a low fever. I knew she’s had a nasty cough for about the last month, and the crying is certainly nothing new around our house. Preschools tend to get finicky about children with fevers, though, so I knew I needed to pick her up.

I loaded the boys into the car, and twenty minutes later we were at her preschool. The first thing I discovered was her building goes into lockdown mode shortly after the kids enter the building, and the only unlocked doors are the least convenient ones on the opposite end of the building next to the office.

After navigating that maze in subzero temperatures while pushing a stroller through partially cleared sidewalks, I found Abbie’s preschool room. I expected her to be huddled in a whimpering puddle, but when I opened the door she was playing happily. With another child even. She looked normal to me, but I readied her to go home. I had a quick chat with the teacher about how she was doing, and whisked her back to the car.

Before returning home, we stopped to see mommy working at the hospital. They listened to her, verified that the nasty cough that had lingered for weeks was still nothing to worry about, and we returned home. There she went about her day as normal.

Tonight was a little rough, so maybe she’s feeling sick. I’ll probably keep her home tomorrow just to be sure. Mommy and daddy are feeling a little sick tonight, so that’s probably a sign that something is going around.

Picture Post

“Are we not men? We are Devo…”



They had to kick the cat out of the box first.


I can almost hear Abbie say, “cheese.” By the way, she had chili. And her shirt says, “It’s my brother’s fault.” We’re still hoping to move the apostrophe to say “It’s my brothers’ fault.”

Grocery Story

Mommy was home this morning, and gave me the freedom to shop for groceries without children. Doing so would give me a chance for some “me time,” a chance for me to go into the world, be alone in my thoughts, and let me discover if I really want the strawberry yogurt, or the blueberry yogurt. Plus I could move more efficiently without worrying about the children, and I wouldn’t have to worry about someone sneaking a box of snack cakes into the cart without my knowledge.

I elected to take Abbie with me, though. We’ve had snow these past couple days, and Abbie hadn’t left the house since preschool Thursday morning. I thought she’d appreciate the chance to get outside the house, get some fresh air, and see some new sights. Of course the boys hadn’t left the house since library time on Wednesday, but their memories aren’t as developed so their room full of toy should still be novel to them.

I like to treat trips to the grocery store as a learning opportunity. I name objects as I pick them out to teach nouns. I count produce as I drop it in the bag to teach numbers. I scold her when she wanders away to teach boundaries.

I hadn’t taken her to the grocery store for a while, though. She already knows her numbers, so as I counted apples, she wandered the produce in search of packages sealed in plastic wrap that she could poke.

When we moved to the canned good aisles, she already knew the names of most products. She announced several products as we walked down the aisles, me clutching her hand to keep her from slipping something in the cart. “That’s ketchup! That’s salad dressing! That’s juice!”

She did a good job sticking by my side, so I didn’t have to scold her too often. She spent more time wandering in and out of the cart. She wanted to push it. She wanted to ride in the seat. She wanted to ride in the basket. She wanted to walk alongside. When she wanted out, I pulled to the ground, and she examined the shelves. I kept walking while paying minimal attention to her, glad that I didn’t have to keep moving her around the cart. Sensing my weakness, that’s when she tried to sneak a box of macaroni and cheese into the cart.

She’s learning new things, and I’d better adjust, or we’ll blow our grocery budget.

Quickest Shower Ever

Abbie woke up early from her nap today. That was unfortunate since she also fell asleep late, giving her approximately 20 minutes of afternoon sleep. I heard her stomping around her room way too early, but I ignored her. I was also stomping around my room at the time, although I was working out at the time. I was most of the way through my work out, and still needed to shower. I decided to ignore her and leave her in her room for another 20 minutes until I stepped out of the shower. Her door was locked, there was nothing dangerous in her room, and she didn’t have any clothes left in her dresser to dump on the floor. What’s the worst that could happen?

Five minutes later, Abbie walked into my room. She’d pulled the lock off her door, and strolled down to my room where I was finishing my work out. A minute later her brothers followed her into my room. Abbie made sure to open their door and also wake them from their nap early before she wandered downstairs.

Oh. That’s what could happen.

Learning Language

The boys were playing in the living room today. After dragging a blanket all the way from Abbie’s room, the decided they might as well use it. They took turns throwing it over each other, shouting “peek” as each boy pulled it from his eyes and tossed it over his brothers’ eyes. After a few rounds, Ian took control of the game, holding the blanket over Tory’s head. Tory flailed his arms, looking for a way to pull the blanket back down so he could see. Eventually Ian moved away, and Tory yanked the blanket from his eyes.

“Stop it!” he yelled.

I would’ve said the same thing. It’s always great to see the kids imitate the parents.

Situation Normal

We had Abbie’s speech tested, and she’s officially normal!*

This is a giant milestone in her development. We first had her tested at 18-months, and the results were unsurprising and depressing. Her receptive speech, the speech she understands, rested at the bottom of the normal range for her peer group. Her expressive speech, the communication she uses, hovered just above that of a rock, but that was only because a rock can’t scream or sign a half-dozen words. We knew she was behind, hence why she was tested, and were anxious to help her communicate her desires for us to grab a snack for her.

It was interesting to sit through the test and see what she can do. She knows her numbers, colors, and shapes. She doesn’t know many emotions beyond happy and sad, and even those are hit and miss. She can label probably hundreds of nouns right now. She doesn’t do possessives unless it’s with a proper name like “Abbie’s,” “Ian’s,” “Tory’s,” etc. She can do some problem solving like what happens when a ball falls in the water.** She doesn’t understand negatives, such as “the girl is not climbing the tree.” She can semi-accurately spot the one that doesn’t belong in a group, which was nice to see since that’s a 5-year-old task.

She has a long way to go to develop at a faster than normal rate in order to catch up to average for her peers. Maybe she can even pass average for her peers so she’ll have something to fall back on in case that collegiate athletic scholarship doesn’t happen.

* Normal here refers only to her falling within a range clinically accepted as “normal” for her age group. Her speech is still below average for her peers, and that doesn’t even factor in her woefully inadequate articulation. It also only measures what she can do, ignoring the fact that she’d usually rather scream when she wants pretzels instead of asking nicely like we know she can do.
** It gets wet.

Snack Time Woes

The boys are discovering the wonderful world of snacks. Daddy needs a way to get things done without being bothered. A way to load the dishwasher without the children pulling dishes out as fast as I can put them back in. A way to clean the fish tank without the children playing in my buckets of water. A way to read a 4000-word treatise on why the BCS should be abolished without the children screaming at me in stereo. The way I used to accomplish these tasks was to wait until naptime, and work while my children snooze. My children don’t nap much anymore, though, and as Abbie learned long ago snack time increases and nap time decreases.

I’d love to be the responsible parent, the kind who reaches for the brain building activities instead of food for entertainment. Right now those activities inevitably lead to fights as one boy grabs an interesting piece, the other boy steals it, and the first boy bites his sibling into submission. Therefore, games don’t work so well as minimally supervised entertainment. Food can be easily shared since no Goldfish is more interesting than another, making it more suitable entertainment when I’ve got chores to do. Plus, the boys still try to eat everything I give them, so I might as well give them something edible.

Cereal makes an optimal snack. It’s generally healthy, and breaks down when spilled into small dry bits ideal for vacuuming. When Abbie was their age, I was already giving her a small bowl of cereal for a snack. She’d daintily eat it until she lost interest in it, at which point she’d drop it on the floor, the dog would clean up, and I could go about life thinking I’d just given Abbie a filling and nutritious snack. Giving the boys small bowls of cereal doesn’t work as well, though. They usually assume the other guy has something better, and will knock his bowl on the ground attempting to inspect it. Even on those rare occasions when they eat from their own bowls, after a couple kibbles of cereal they start wondering if something tastier like chips or marshmallows could be hiding at the bottom of the bowl. They’ll then dump the contents on the ground in search of the elusive tastier pieces. At that point three bowls worth of cereal will be strewn across the floor, and our dog in her advanced middle age can’t keep up with that.

When I was in a hurry, I used to give Abbie an entire box of cereal as a snack. I knew this was folly because she’d eventually tire pour it on the ground to pick out the marshmallow pieces. I’d occasionally take a chance because if I moved quickly enough, though, I could take back the box before she lost interest in the oat pieces. The boys have no such patience. If I give them a box or bag of something requiring them to reach inside to remove the food, they’ll immediately dump it on the floor and pick it off the ground. Since neither the dog nor the vacuum can keep up with that much spilled food, this is always a disaster hygienically and fiscally.

I occasionally leave boxes foolishly within the boys’ reach. As a result, our kitchen floor currently has residue from emptied boxes of Wheat Squares, Bran Flakes, and pretzels. I’m doing my best to clean the crumbs from various corners, but the kids won’t leave me alone long enough to work, and giving them snacks to distract them seems counterproductive.

"I want ..."

Abbie asked for milk tonight. This is another step in her encouraging process of asking for things. “I want up, please,” she might say. Or “I want pretzels, please,” she might say, followed by “I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please, I want pretzels, please…”

I grabbed a sippy cup for her and filled it with milk. I’ve been encouraging her to use regular cups with mixed results. Sometimes she drinks from them. Sometimes she stares at them indignantly. Sometimes she dumps their contents on her tray. Since she was free range at the moment instead of strapped behind her food tray, I gave her a sippy cup.

She pushed the sippy cup away from her. Usually that means she changed her mind.

“I want a regular cup, please,” she said.

Impressed by her sudden maturity, I pulled a regular cup off the shelf, and filled it with milk. Not that I filled it to the top, more like just enough to cover the bottom, just in case she changes her mind and dumps it on the floor. She drank it down, set the cup on the counter, and went on her way.

I looked at the empty cup, set it in the sink, and said a thank you that she was starting to accept and even want a regular cup. Next up on the maturity lessons: Learning to accept “no.”