Getting in the car should be faster with one, right?

Once the twins started school, I figured it would be so easy for the Little One and me to run errands, etc. because I would only have one child to buckle in and out of a car seat at each stop and one child to corral and police in each location. What I didn't count on was the Little One's independent streak.

When we get in the truck, I should be able to stick her in her seat, buckle her up and go. But no. As soon as she gets in the truck, she yells, "Me, too." which can mean the obvious "Me, too!" or "Do it myself!" In this case, it means she would like to climb in her seat by herself. Occasionally, she does this., but usually she walks over to her brother's and sister's seats and says, "Gone!" She may try to buckle their seatbelts, but she will manage to stay just out of arm's reach.

Should she actually get into her seat, she won't sit in it. She stands and looks into the cargo area of the truck, exclaiming in much excited gibberish. I have no idea what she is so enthralled with. There is nothing there, but an old army blanket. Eventually, I get her to sit and put her arms through her straps, only as long as we have turned the overhead light on and off and commented on the hook for hanging clothes above the door.

Inside any location is easier because there is only one set of fingers to watch, but getting in and out of the vehicle is just as hard as with three kids.

Training Them Right

Quite often as mothers, we lament the lessons our children don't learn - saying 'please' and 'thank you', picking up their toys, being nice to other kids, etc.

Then there are those rare occasions when we can think, well, there's one thing I passed on right.

Since the twins are progressing in potty training, the number of dirty diapers my husband has to change had dramatically decreased.  I'd even venture to put it at less than one per month. (I am not yet so lucky. Sigh.)

The other day after going through her usual routine of hearty grunts, flushed faces, and warnings of "Poop!" that would do the National Weather Service proud, the Little One climbed on the side of her dad's chair. (Another no-no that no amount of scolding or time-outs seems to eradicate.) She pointed to her bum and demanded, "Change!"

Her dad tried to deflect her command, directing her toward me. "Have Mama do it."

She met his suggestion with a foot stomp and "No!"

And I had one of those moments.  I felt like I had finally done something right.

Potty Training Update (Seriously will these ever end?)

I think my son has finally figured it all out. He can go pee.  He can go poop.  He can go without being reminded. He can summon a couple dribbles to get the desired color of candy treat. Success!

and we move on...

The Little One is catching the bug. She really likes the treats, demanding them whenever anyone else earns one. Smaller, other treats are not acceptable.  Only the same as her brother or sister get. She warns me whenever she has to poop, pointing to her bum and yelling, "Poop!" and "Change!" Unfortunately for her, this is not a pleasant process nor a quick one. I have yet to get her to sit on the potty during this process, but I don't blame her.  If I was her, I'd want an epidural. She is also starting to tell me when she just needs to be changed, mostly at bedtime as an excuse to get out of her crib.  She's much farther along than the twins were at this age.

Her sister. Sigh. It's been a long, hard, uphill, bumpy road and we have several miles to go. After a UTI, we are making progress.  Some days this feels only like I am closer to giving up. But today... she pooped on the potty. She warned me that she had to go.  And she was upset that she had gone in her pants.  All firsts in a very long time.

Preschool starts in nine days. One is ready to go and one might be. Keep your fingers crossed.

She's talking!

Having mastered walking, toddler running (walking so fast you look like you're going to trip and your cheeks jiggle) and climbing, the Little One is now working on her speech.

Few of her words are probably recognizable to anyone but me, but her growing vocabulary is sometimes helpful and other times, oh dear. 

One morning she came out with 'genk you' (thank you), cow, NO! and MINE! (with an emphasizing foot stomp).  The thank you was really cute.  I just hoped we wouldn't progress quite so quickly to the more defiant side of the spectrum. 

Her words also show what topics conversations revolve around in our house.  We decided to play in the backyard the other afternoon and I hurried outside with a plastic bad to retrieve the landmines left by the dogs.  The little one was already standing in the middle of the yard, pointing to the ground and yelling, "Yucky, yucky, poop!"

You can guess what was at her feet.  At least, she didn't step in it.

Sunshine and Spring

I love these purple and white ones.
I have some deep purple ones, but they aren't open yet.

These have been moved around several times. 
I had them along a walkway and
they kept getting whacked off. 
Now they're in a landscaping bed and reasonably
safe until the sprinklers need to be adjusted.

Not a tulip,
but the only flower
I can grow easily.

Primroses.  Also not a tulip,
but they're really colorful.

Following Dutch tradition, I must have tulips in my yard. I'm not particularly good at cultivating them, but I have managed to get a few to grow. Generally I'm lucky if I get them in the ground before mid-April and my husband doesn't decide to pile something where they're planted or dig up that area in order to put sprinklers in or rearrange the landscaping. I've finally convinced him not to whack off the leaves and stems as soon as the petals fall and not the bulbs are coming back and producing beautiful flowers.

I can't imagine what happened to this flower.

I think these are double tulips. They are really pretty. 
They just barely escaped the menacing
hands in an earlier picture. 

Her Carnivorous Habits

Whenever the Little One eats, I'm reminded of Jimmy Buffett and 'Cheeseburger in Paradise.'  She's not a huge fan of hamburger, but any other meat disappears from her tray faster than the dogs go after Cheerios that fall on the floor.

Ham, steak, chicken, hot dogs, sausage.  She loves it.  If it's on her tray, she gobbles it up. (Unless it's too well disguised -- chicken in spaghetti sauce -- she won't eat it.) Whatever the meat product is, it's the first thing gone from her tray.  If she sees more on your plate, she whines to the point of a tantrum until you share.

For lunch on Sundays, we always have pancakes and smokey links (sometimes called roasties, but not by my mother, but that's another story. She claims she doesn't call them that, she just calls them roasties. huh?) We require that the kids eat at least one pancake before getting their allotted two roasties. (There are days when they would each eat a whole package.  The fat content of that makes me just a bit queasy.) The twins are filled with excitement at the prospect of cutting their roasties.  They wield their forks and hack away at the little sausage links. Not so with the Little One.  Of course, hers are served pre-cut. She scarfs them down so fast the first bite is barely past her lips before the second piece is on its way up - a process I'd call chain-smoking. In a matter of seconds, they are gone.  The little finger points to my plate. Anything else offered ends up on the floor. Yesterday, I tried to hide my roasties under my pancakes, but to no avail.  She just wasn't fooled.

We call her 'our little carnivore.' I wonder if she dreams of cheeseburgers.

Our Redundancy Officer

As the Little One grows, we are discovering her particular talents and wishes.

She prefers to have her pacifier all the time.  We only allow her to have it at naptime and bedtime, but that doesn't stop the tantrums when she can't get into her room to get it.

When she's done eating, she takes off her bib.  She's even figured out how to remove the one that wraps around her arms.  I've tried doubling up her bibs especially for messy meals like spaghetti, but she still manages to escape.

Her other talent is making sure I do things multiple times.  If I pick up her water or milk cup, she throws it back on the floor. She follows me around as I pick up toys, yanking books off the shelves, dumping out blocks and throwing doll clothes on the floor. Immediately after I put them away.

I suppose I should be glad for the job security.

Mooning Episode (potty training update #3)

Okay, this time I'm really tackling it.  I know they can do it, they get the concept.  I just have to brace myself for the misery of extra laundry and numerous puddles.  That's right, I'm talking about potty training and not having my children be the first to go to college in diapers.  Previous attempts are documented here.

So I went straight to underwear again.  They both excitedly donned their big kid underwear and did okay.  I altered strategy a bit and decided to reward dry pants with gummy bears too.  (The little one really likes this idea as she gets a treat no matter what.) This worked okay.  My son peed in the potty when asked, but usually dribbled in his underwear before he went to the bathroom and never went to the bathroom unprompted.

My daughter can hold it like the Hoover Dam.  She seemed to sense my brain waves about asking if they were dry.  When I would go to ask her if she was dry, I would find her with soaked pants and standing in a puddle. Maybe the smell of gummy bears inspires her.  I was about to offer her one, but found her standing on her potty (with the top closed) in a puddle. <>

They couldn't wait to show their big kid underwear to their dad when he got home from work. As soon as they heard him come through the door,  they ran to greet him and whipped down their pants.  My son proudly displayed Mater on his bum.  My daughter was a little too enthusiastic and yanked down her underwear too, giving her dad a big moon as a welcome.

Our regularly scheduled sleep

The little one has decided that regular naps and sleeping through the night is overrated.

We are now lucky if she sleeps an hour and a half in the afternoon.  She always wakes up grumpy - well, for her. (She's generally pretty pleasant.) It's not really that bad, but the twins are out of sorts between their rest-time and supper time.  Any shortage of rest multiplies the disgruntledness of the household.

The little one has never been fond of sleeping through the night, but after a few weeks of reprieve, she has renewed her ability to wake up within five minutes of me either climbing into bed or falling asleep.  We'd hoped she'd outgrown the habit.  Unfortunately, a cold and teething brought it back into her repertoire.

Some days it would be so nice to have an easy button that programs their sleep schedules to the amount of sleep they need rather than the amount of sleep they get.  Or programs to the amount of sleep I think they need. Even better.

I suppose I would have to use it on myself as well.

The Little One’s a Girly-girl

Generally, I'm pretty low maintenance. Getting all gussied up involves blow drying my hair (with the intent that it is dry, not to straighten it or style it) and putting on lip balm. A really fancy date includes shimmery lip gloss and a swipe or two of mascara. 


So I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my girls. Both have weather-predicting hair. The more humidity, the more curl. So their hair will require more maintenance than mine. 


They're also quite particular. My daughter is dressing herself now and it's rare that I can pick out her clothes for her. I must say she does a better job than her dad whose color-blindness causes him to match light blue socks with pink outfits. She insists that everything match. Pink shirt requires pink socks. Striped shirt requires striped socks. Unfortunately, she only has two pair of striped socks and more striped shirts. 


The Little One has not progressed to choosing her own attire but she is showing other signs of being a girly-girl. She adores jewelry. For Christmas, we got the girls several beaded necklaces and bracelets. The Little One will adorn herself with several pieces and then clap. (She hasn't learned the 'take one accessory off before you leave the house' rule yet.) She'll walk around waving her hands so her bracelets catch the light. If she can't find the jewelry, she'll choose something else – shoelaces, mallets from the xylophone connected with a string – to wear as a necklace instead.

Her most frequently chosen accessories – other than her blanket – are a green purse and a cell phone. The purse is the perfect proportion for her and she carries it over her shoulder or in the crook of her elbow with the cell phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. Rarely is another purse acceptable, causing much consternation with her older sister who also favors the green purse. On the occasions where another handbag is needed to accessorize her ensemble, she has resorted to a white fur muff, a purple felt basket with a penguin on it, and a videotape with the film pulled out for a shoulder strap. (How she managed to open the front door of the cassette and pull the tape out far enough I'll never know.)


I suppose I'll have shopping buddies when they're older, although I imagine the credit card will take a hit.

 

Climbing

The little one had become a climber. Since walking as fast as her feet would carry her did not cause enough trouble, she added a new skill to her repertoire.

Faster than a speeding bullet up the stairs.  Quicker than a cat into the rocking chair. More troublesome than a barrel of monkeys onto the stool in the bathroom (giving her much greater access to the contents of the countertop. Oy.

She's standing on the little chairs and rocking in the rocking chairs.  She has mastered one of our regular rocking chairs and rocks away with a huge grin on her face.

She zips up the stairs in the time it takes me to brush my teeth.  I'm constantly running up to bring her back down.  She knows that her bedroom -- and her blanket and pacifier -- are up there and she goes to get them.

While she has mastered going up all these things, she has one problem.  Unless it's a one step descent, she can't go down.

Minus Two, Plus One.

The Little One has had seven teeth since August.  Four on top, three on bottom.  And for the last week she's been my little Klingon.  Normally, she's very much a mama's girl, but she will spend more than five minutes not clinging to my pant-legs when we are home.  This week, she's cried whenever I set her down and whenever she fell down.  She also woke up almost inconsolable in the middle of the night.  Since she's usually pretty easy going and falls back to sleep or giggles to herself after I crawl around the floor to retrieve her pacifier, having her cry at night was unusual.  This morning I discovered the culprit for her distress.  A new tooth!

Her sister wasn't so lucky. A couple weeks ago, my daughter tripped and split her lip on the edge of the bathtub.  As squirrelly as she often is, this time she just plain tripped.  Her swollen lip healed after a few days, then we noticed her teeth were changing color.  Instead of bright white like their neighbors, they were fading to gray.  We visited out dentist and he recommended a pediatric dentist.  That dentist hoped they could save the teeth by performing a baby root canal.  Cringe-worthy, yes! But something had to be done or an infection could damage her permanent teeth.  We scheduled the root canal, dreading it.  Who likes to go to the dentist themselves, let alone send their child into a white knuckle experience? (I white-knuckled it even through cleanings.)

Our appointment was Monday and we were met with bad news.  The X-rays showed that her teeth had deteriorated too far to be saved.  She is three years old and would have to have two of her front teeth pulled. Mom was close to tears.  The little trooper made it through the whole process without crying.  She now has the gap-toothed grin of a 1st grader and it doesn't seem to bother her at all.

Spilled Milk

It's been one of those days.  You know what I mean. The little one woke up at 4:45 this morning.  She went back to sleep, but her brother and sister woke up shortly after her.  They climbed into our bed and effectively pushed me out. I sought refuge on the couch which had been taken over by a snoring dog.  I went to the kids' room and crawled into my son's bed.  As soon as I was comfortable, they came tromping in, wanting their beds back. I returned to my bed and managed to fall back asleep.

The rest of the was an unending sequence of spills.  Mostly milk.  My daughter dumped her milk off the counter because cups cannot be more than two inches from the edge of the counter. The little one chucked her sippy cup on the floor, shooting milk everywhere. Aren't the covers supposed to prevents spills? Then she wedged her bottle between the wall and her bed, pointing down so that milk dripped along the wall behind the baseboard to the floor. My daughter dripped her applesauce on her chair and the floor. I boiled over the macaroni.

I know you're not supposed to cry over spilled milk, but I was certainly getting close.

The 'I can stand!' Stage

The little one has learned how to pull herself up on things, most notably the side of her crib.

Whenever I lay her down for her nap, she pulls herself up and chucks her pacifier over the side, usually in such a way that it lands behind the clothes boxes stashed under her bed.  Most days, it takes three tries of laying her back down before she falls asleep.  She, of course, can't do this herself because she hasn't figured out how to sit down by herself without hitting the floor or bed very hard. She will stand and cry because she's is stuck.

While not convenient at nap time, the situation has come in handy during the times I need to contain her and do something with the twins but I don't have time to put her in the exersaucer or high chair.  Like when one of them in stomping their feet in a fresh puddle in the living room and the little one is heading straight for it. I can stand her up by a chair and she can't go anywhere. LOL. Or when all she wants to do is crawl down the stairs.  Stand her up next to the cupboards and she's stuck.

Luckily, she's excited enough about standing that she isn't ticked off about her predicament for a few minutes.  My husband thinks it's funny because she looks like she's waiting to be frisked when she's standing next to the cupboards.

ETA: She has discovered that she can move along whatever she is standing next to. She  also attempts to turn away from her support and stand freely.  This is a problematic development.