Smart Kids

I always thought I wanted smart kids. I thought that right up until Lucy scaled the steps on the outside of the railing at about 15 months old, in an effort to get past the baby gate.

Then she started using her toy "activity table" as a stool.

 This was useful as she could use it to empty my pantry so she could use canned goods as blocks.

Or she could use it to empty bookshelves.


Or she could use it to retrieve sensitive electronic equipment (like the telephone) from high places, and call Grandma and 911 all by herself.

I kept putting the mess higher and higher, and behind more and more locks, and Lucy kept getting better and better at climbing and getting past my locks. I always thought locks and gates were "baby proofing" but in my house they seem to be in the category of "mental stimulation."

Then Tommy was born. And then Tommy went mobile. And he makes Lucy look like an amateur.

At about 15 months old he discovered batteries. I was not aware of the extent of his discovery until I tried to turn on the TV one day and the remote didn't work. So I decided to change the batteries, and when I opened the battery compartment I found on AA battery and one AAA battery. Extensive searching revealed several other remotes and battery operated toys that had their batteries switched. I'm sure there are still more I haven't found.

My iPhone has so many passwords and locks that it takes me several minutes to log on to it. But Tommy figured out how to make it play music.

He has no fear, and his climbing skills reflect that.

This is Tommy on top of the table:

 This is Tommy on top of the desk:

This is Tommy CLIMBING THE WALLS OF THE SHOWER:

This kid is going to give me heart failure one day.

But Tommy's stunt last night took the prize for sheer destructive genius in a minimal amount of time. I made soup for dinner last night. SOUP. From a can. Takes about five minutes of heat on the stove. Takes about 30 seconds to prep. While I was making the soup, Tommy was playing under the table. I knew where he was. I was checking on him. Harmless, right? Wrong. I hollered at the kids to go sit at the table because dinner was ready, then walked into the dining room to find Tommy sitting under the chair, holding the SEAT of the chair and several screws in his hand. When I walked in he looked relieved, concerned, and then burst into tears. "I broke it, Mommy." This is the chair:

Now what am I going to do with it? How do you child-proof a chair?!


I want smart kids. I do. But holy cow are they exhausting!!

Crisis Intervention

Tommy had a rough day today.

First, I served him bananas for breakfast, at his request.
And milk, at his request.
And cheerios, at his request.

A fifteen minute tantrum ensued. All the food landed on the floor or in my hands. My reflexes have gotten quite good since becoming a parent. I salvaged most of the banana. I let him down from the high chair and he flung himself on the ground. He kicked. He screamed. "I WANT NANA!!" Dude. You had a banana. You threw it on the floor. And now it's next to your head. I should probably pick that up before you roll on it and smush it into the carpet.

After he cried himself out I put him back in the chair. With the same banana. The same milk. And about half of the original cheerios. He ate them happily.

Then, I stole his Blankie.
AND I WASHED IT.

End.Of.The.World.

He didn't find out until after Blankie had made it to the dryer. I was super sneaky. I almost managed without him being the wiser. But he happened to go upstairs about 10 minutes before it was ready to come out of the dryer.

And, well, you can see for yourself what happened. Being the bad mom that I am, I ran for the video camera to video tape his woes. Luckily for your ears, you missed the best of the screaming. While I was getting the camera, Lucy stepped in and talked Tommy down from the cliff.

Thank heavens for big sisters. Lucy deserves an award for that one. 

And I deserve an award for catching it on tape. Because not only is the video 47 seconds of charming toddler comedy gold, but it provided HOURS of entertainment this afternoon.

"That's CiCi! That's my Tommy! He's crying. My Tommy is sad. But I talked to him about the laundry and he's all happy now. See Tommy. That's you. But you don't need to cry. Your Blankie is okay. Hi Another CiCi! Hi Crying Tommy! Mommy play it again! Again! Again!"

And Tommy's comment: "Blankie! Baby! Again!"

After that, I made five more videos. You never know when you'll have a crisis.

Meet Baby

This is Baby.

Baby's gender is unknown. Baby has a blue hat. Boy. And a Princess onesie with pink flowers and butterflies. Girl.

Lucy's birthday was a couple weeks ago. Baby's gender became an issue because we wanted to buy Baby some new clothes.

"Lucy, is Baby a girl or a boy?"
"He's a girl."
"SHE is a girl?"
"No, she is a boy."
"Does Baby have a name?"
"Yeah. BABY." 

We never established gender, so Baby got a gray hoodie and gray pants. It coordinates well with both the pink onesie and the blue hat.

Here's a picture of Baby in his new clothes:

Today we had the conversation again.

"Lucy, is Baby a girl or a boy?"
"BOY."
"Oh really? What's his name?"
"His name is Daddy." (Note: Lucy has a different doll that is a "Daddy Doll, with a picture of Daddy on it because Daddy is deployed).
"No, that's not Daddy. Your other doll is Daddy."
"Right. Daddy Doll is upstairs. This is my Baby Daddy." 

I have since officially christened Baby "Peter" - "Daddy's other name."

Drama Queen

Today was Lucy's first OFFICIAL public performance.

She, and the rest of her daycare class, dressed up like flowers and sang a flower song to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for the amusement of lots of doting parents who took off work early to see the big show.

There was the kid who refused to wear his costume and threw a tantrum before the performance even began. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to wear a gigantic flower on my head either.

Then there was the little girl who was all happy in her flower costume until she walked out "on stage" and realized there was an audience. She burst into tears and bolted down the aisle to her mommy.

Then there was MY kid. She walked out on stage and paused dead center to scan the crowd while the rest of the class lined up. She spotted me, pointed, and announced to the audience, "THAT is my Mommy." Then she ran down the aisle to give me a hug. I hugged her and sent her back up to the front of the room to sing. As she was walking back to the front of the room she paused to greet people. "Hi! I'm Lucy." "Hi! I'm going to sing!" When she got back to "the stage" she told the audience. "My Mommy came to see me! I'm a pretty flower." She spun in a circle to model her costume. "I'm going to sing now." Who needs an MC when you have Lucy to narrate?  

I never heard Lucy sing. She appeared to be lip syncing while dancing around the stage. After her class sang they left the stage to bring flowers to their parents. Lucy brought me the flower, showed it to me, and kept it. Then she took her flower headdress off, handed it to me, and joined the class of five year old students that was up next. They performed a re-enactment of the story of Stone Soup. Their performance was delayed while Lucy was escorted from the stage...twice.

At the end of the performance, Lucy found me again. She also found Tommy, and pushed him in his stroller down to the stage so he could sing too. I heard her encouraging him, "Come on Tommy. Sing the flower song with me." The World's Biggest Tantrum ensued when I made them leave the stage and come home with me.

Bedtime: Bring it!

This is a post about how NOT to do bedtime.

The Teams:
Parents: Peter and Kristin
             vs.
Kids: Lucy and Tommy

The Game Plan: 
Bath.
Pajamas.
Book.
Bed.
x2.

We ran the bath.
Dumped Lucy in the bath.
Dumped Tommy in the bath.
Score one for the parents.

I forwarded the laundry.
Score: Parents 2, Kids 0.

I folded one shirt.

"MOMMMYYYY!! I need to go PEE!!"

In case I didn't mention, we're potty training Lucy.

Those are the magic words.
Lucy is out of the bath.

Parents 2, Kids 1.

Peter monitored the peeing situation.
I went back to folding laundry.
Folded three more shirts.
False alarm. Lucy is back in the tub.

Parents 3, Kids 1.

Peter started putting laundry away.
"DADDDEEEEE!! I need to PEE!!!"
Lucy is out of the tub.

Parents 3, Kids 2.

Twenty seconds later...another false alarm. Please sit on the potty for more than 20 seconds Lucy.
Okay.

Thirty seconds later.
Lucy is running around the house naked.

Parents 3, Kids 3.

I dump Lucy back in the tub.
I Finish folding the laundry. Peter is putting away the laundry.

"MOMMMEEEEE! I need to PEE!! I need to PEE in the POTTY!!"

Parents 4, Kids 4.
 
I cleaned out a drawer. Peter supervised the bath.

LUCY PEED IN THE POTTY!!!! 

Parents 50, Kids 5.

Tommy is washed. I'm feeling empowered, so I decide to vacuum the upstairs while the kids are happy in the bath.

Parents 51, Kids 5. 

Tommy climbs out of the bath.

Parents 51, Kids 6.  

Tommy pulls the clean towel off the rack and throws it in Lucy's potty. With the pee.

Parents 51, Kids 26.   

Tommy is running around the house naked while Peter chases him with the towel.

Parents 51, Kids 27.

Tommy pees on the floor. 

Parents 51, Kids 127.

Peter cleans up the floor.

Tommy is pajamaed and put to bed.

One down, one to go.

Parents 52, Kids 127.

Lucy is washed.

Lucy gets three M&Ms for using the potty.

Lucy is pajamaed.

Parents 55, Kids 127.

Lucy gets a bedtime story.

Lucy gets another bedtime story.

Parents 55, Kids 128.

Peter cleans out the potty. There is pee in every crevice from Tommy's towel adventure.

Parents 55, Kids 158.  

We tuck Lucy in. Peter steps to the left. He squishes.

Peter: "Why is the floor wet?"

Lucy: "I peed."

Peter: "When?"

Me: "Why didn't you tell us?"

Lucy: "I did! I peed my pants!" (To be fair, she did wet her pants earlier and she did tell us. She didn't elaborate that the floor was wet too, but I guess she thought that was obvious).

Parents: 55, Kids 17580.

Peter cleans the floor.

Lucy decides that in the interest of full disclosure she'll list off everything else in her room that could possibly be peed on.

"I peed my bed."
"My pillow is wet."
"My blanket is wet."
"My doll peed on her bed."
"My bed is wet."
"My doll is wet."
"My panties are wet."

I check every blanket in Lucy's bed. She has half a linen closet in her bed. She likes blankets.

Lucy runs around the house like a maniac. The bed is dry.

 Parents: 55, Kids 309857902.

A full hour past bedtime, everyone is snug in their bed.

We suck.

Tommy Is Not a Stool

Our kids are good at charming strangers. They would make great panhandlers.

Today Peter took them to the grocery store. They both came home with free balloons.

Then Lucy's balloon floated up to the ceiling.

She jumped to reach it. Too short.

She stood on her Diva Chair to reach it. Still too short.

So she put Tommy on the Diva Chair, and then tried to stand on top of Tommy. Tommy was not pleased with her problem solving skills. Lucy was still too short. Peter had to intervene and rescue both Tommy and the balloon.

And speaking of the Diva Chair, later this evening I walked into the living room and found this:

I asked Lucy what was going on.

"The bike was tired. It's sleeping now."

Obviously. Why didn't I guess that.

When I went to take a picture of the sleeping bike, I discovered that my camera had also been tucked in for the night. Nite Nite Camera. Who needs dolls when you have expensive electronics to play with instead?!

Monsters Inc.

A couple nights ago Peter was reading a bedtime story to Lucy titled, That's Not My Monster.

In case you haven't read it, it's a touchy feely book. It goes along the lines of "That's not my monster, it's nose is too bobbly," and you can feel the bobbly nose.

"That's not my monster, it's horns are too rough." 

Then Peter got to the page that says, "That's not my monster, it's eyebrows are too fluffy." The monster on the page has gigantic fake fur eyebrows. Lucy pointed to the eyebrows and said, "Like Mommy!!"

I guess it's time to pluck them.

This morning Lucy woke up and was playing in her room. She was pulling toys out of a box and explaining them to Tommy.

Lucy, demonstrating Vanna White style: "Look Tommy, it's a dinosaur. ROAR!!"
Tommy the obedient pupil: "ROAR!!"
Lucy: "Look Tommy, it's a rubber duck! Quack Quack!"
Tommy: "Quack Quack!" CHOMP! Rubber duck goes into his mouth.
Lucy pulls out a Shrek doll. "Look Tommy, it's Daddy!"

And now we know what our daughter thinks of us. I'm a monster with poorly groomed eyebrows, and Peter is an ogre. Who also has poorly groomed eyebrows.

She's not even thirteen yet. 

The Pajama Saga Continues...

In case you missed it, we've been having some pajama drama in this house.
Catch up here: Pajama Drama
And here: More Pajama Drama

Tonight when I put Lucy to bed she came to me with two pairs of footie pajamas in her hands. THE "jammies" from previous posts (fished out of the washing machine where I hid them), and another nearly identical pair. I started to undress her. I took her shoes off. Then I took a sock off.

Cue tantrum.

"NO JAMMIES!! NO JAMMIESS!!! I NEED MY SOCKS!!"

Obviously the pajama fad is over.

More Pajama Drama

That's right. The Saga continues.

So I got Lucy dressed successfully (in something besides her "jammies") this morning. Score 1 for me.
Then she brought her "jammies" everywhere with her today - including to school with her. Score 1 for Lucy.

She carried them into her classroom wadded up under her arm like a football. When she got to class she announced, "These are MY jammies."
Then she put them away in her bag and left them there all day. As soon as we got home, the pajamas came out of the bag.
She showed them to me and again instructed me. "These are MY jammies."
They got their own place of honor at dinner tonight. Score 2 for Lucy.

On the way up the stairs, I asked her if I could carry the pajamas upstairs (I didn't want her to trip) and miraculously she agreed. Score 2 for Mommy.

So then I had to poke a little. I can't just leave well enough alone. I put the pajamas on her dresser, opened her pajama drawer, and asked "What pajamas do you want to wear tonight?" She barely even looked in the drawer. Instantaneous reply - "MY jammies!" She started hunting around the room for them as I pulled out pair after pair of pajamas from her drawer.
"Do you want THESE Lucy? They're green?"
"No, no green."
"Do you want THESE Lucy? They're soft!"
"No! NO SOFT! MY JAMMIES!!!"
Score 3 for Lucy.

Needless to say, she won that fight.
She's wearing The Jammies to bed for the second night in a row. As a consolation prize though, she did agree to take my choice of pajamas to bed with her. Maybe by tomorrow they'll be the pair of choice.

Pajama Drama

Last night I made a parenting mistake.

At bedtime, I asked Lucy to lay down so I could put her "pants" on. Her silk, pink, pajama pants with puppies on them. They're soft. She likes them. Except for last night. As soon as the pants touched her leg, the screaming started. "NO PANTS!! NO PANTS!!!"

Lately we've had some bedtime battles. I thought this was another form of bedtime resistance and I disciplined her for refusing to follow directions/refusing to go to bed. After we sorted out that bedtime was not optional, her behavior improved immensely. She submitted to her pink silk pajamas. She was very sweet and gave me and Tommy hugs. And then she walked over to her drawer, pulled out a pair of too-small worn-out footie pajamas, and said, "Mommy, it's BEDTIME. I need jammies!"

The soft, silk, pink pajama pants are no longer in the category of "jammies" because I labeled them as "pants" when I took them out of the drawer. And apparently we don't wear pants to bed. Only "jammies." I tried to reason with her. I tried to explain that she was WEARING pajamas. No luck. A compromise was reached though. Lucy wore the pajamas (the "pants") I picked out for her to bed without any further argument. But, she also brought her footie pajamas to bed with her. She informed me, "I NEED my jammies," and slept cuddled up with them like a blankie.

This morning when I went to wake her up she was sitting cross legged in bed with her footie pajamas in her lap. When I opened the door, Lucy said, "Hi," in that flat voice that means I'm in trouble. I said, "Hi Lucy! How are you today," and she responded by holding up the pajamas and explaining, "THESE are jammies." In case I missed the point last night. Then, to further drive home her message, she carried the jammies all over the house today. When I picked her up from daycare, the first thing she did was grab her pajamas and announce, "These are jammies. I need my jammies." I asked her if she wanted to put them on right at that moment, and she replied (in a "duh" tone of voice), "NO. It's not bedtime!"

Deep breath.

Bedtime came around. I was excited to put Lucy in her pajamas so the argument could be resolved. Lucy was excited for her pajamas. Then bath time happened. I ran the bath. I undressed Lucy. I reached over to pick her up to put her in the tub, and she was clutching the pajamas to her chest. "MY jammies."

"Yep. YOUR pajamas. Now put them down and get in the tub." 

"MY JAMMIES!!!"

I had to pry them out of her hands to bathe her. There was lots of screaming. I dried her off and put the pajamas on her. As soon as the fabric touched her skin, she was a happy kid. When I put her to bed she was hugging herself saying, "My jammies."

Now the challenge will be getting them back off of her again tomorrow!

Trend Setter

Thanks to Auntie K for pointing this out:

Remember Lucy's stylish safety glasses?

Well apparently the fashion world was impressed with my daughter's fashion sense!

Even Tommy is one cool dude:

Good to know Lucy has a future in the fashion industry if she doesn't do anything else!

Everything is hot.

Lucy can correctly use the words "hot" and "cold." With the recent temperatures (115 degree heat index anyone?) everything has started to fall in the "hot" category.

Even ice cream.

Lucy frequently asks if things are hot. I'm not sure why she asks because she never believes our response. Last week my mother-in-law was sitting on the front steps watching Lucy play on the front porch. Lucy decided she wanted to sit on the front steps too. Before sitting down she asked my mother-in-law if they were hot. After being assured that they weren't hot, Lucy tentatively sat on the very furthest corner of the step, with only about an inch of step supporting her. She only sat down comfortably after she ascertained that she wasn't going to burn her heiny off.

She also likes to blow on things to cool them off. Last night as Daddy was preparing dinner in the kitchen Lucy stood on the far side of the baby gate and declared that dinner was hot. Then, in an effort to cool off dinner faster she tried to single-handedly air condition the kitchen by blowing through the baby gate. She also tries this technique in the car. When she gets in the car she blows air on the carseat in an effort to cool it off. She even blows on ice cream. You never know, that ice cream might burn you.

Birthday Party!

Miss Lucy turned two on July 20th. We threw a birthday party for her last Sunday. She and two boyfriends played in the pool in the backyard for about two hours. Then they ate hotdogs. Lucy got lots of gifts. Her boyfriends were a bit bent out of shape that they didn't get lots of gifts too. Tommy chewed on his hands. Here is a sampling of some of her presents:
Dressups:

It's fun to dress Daddy up too:

A bed. It was too small:

Oh wait, not a bed for Lucy. A bed for Tommy?

A bed for Tori?

Oh I get it now, a bed for dolls!

Disclaimer: Despite the position of that doll, smothering babies to sleep is not a regular practice in this house.

The bed was a big hit. Even Lucy's friends tried out the bed:

And this kitchen, which I built myself:

I'm quite proud of it.

Then there was the cake situation. I made cupcakes. There were cats, dogs, bears, birds, fish, and bunnies. I was quite proud of them too.

Lucy took one bite and burst into tears. *Sigh*

The Proper Use of Potties

The proper use of potties has been a topic of discussion around here lately.

It started several months ago, when Lucy started following me into the bathroom and learned how to flush a toilet.

Lesson #1: Do not flush "things" (toys, cats, your brother, rolls of toilet paper) down the potty.

Lesson #2: Do not flush the potty while Mommy is still sitting on it.


Lesson #3: Do not help Mommy wipe. Lucy noticed a pattern. Mommy sits, Mommy wipes, Lucy gets to flush. In an effort to expedite the flushing process, Lucy started "helping" me wipe almost as soon as I sat on the toilet.

Lesson #4: Pee goes in the potty. Lucy had this major breakthrough about a week ago when she accompanied Daddy into the bathroom. Daddy did not appreciate her efforts to "help" him pee.

Lesson #5: Doll potties do not work. I tried to put a diaper on Lucy the night after her breakthrough that pee goes in the potty. She ran away from me (not unusual) and, of all odd behaviors, crammed her naked butt into her dollhouse. When I asked her to get up so I could put the diaper on her, she replied. "NO! I go potty!" She sat with a look of concentration on her face for another few seconds, then stated "All done," stood up, and flushed the dollhouse toilet, which makes a surprisingly realistic flushing noise. Luckily for me she did not actually pee in the potty. That moment made me glad that she is not potty trained yet.

All of this had me wondering if perhaps it is time to potty train Lucy. So a couple days ago I tried putting big girl panties on her. She had them on for all of five minutes before she peed in them, through them, and onto the floor. Luckily, she peed on the kitchen floor. Unluckily, she thought that the "water" on the floor was fun to play with but was not at all bothered by her wet pants.

Your Brother is Not A...

Lucy, your brother is not a pet...

...or a purse...


...or a doll...


...or a seat...

...or a hat...


....or a toy...


...or a stool...

...or a pillow...


...or a bear...

...or food...


...or a pack mule.


Okay, good. I'm glad we cleared that up.

How to Wear a Shirt

Lucy is starting to take an interest in dressing herself. It's quite the process. Here's how to put on a shirt, according to Lucy

1. Find an arm hole.
2. Put your leg in it.
3. Pull the shirt up as far as you can.
4. Get stuck.
5. Run (hobble) in circles.
6. Trip.

7. Find the arm hole again.
8. Put it over your head.



9. Pull down until your nose pokes through.
10. Run blindly into a wall.
11. Remove the shirt.

12. Find a bigger hole.
13. Put the shirt over your head.

14. Backwards.

15. Pull down until you have a skirt.

16. Run.
17. Trip yourself.

18. Take the shirt off.

19. Take your shorts off too.
20. Take your diaper off too.
21. Do a naked dance.
22. Declare yourself "Cute!"
23. Find pajamas and wear them as a hat.

24. Roll on the floor and say "NO! NO! NO!"
25. Admit that you might need help.

Who knew getting dressed could be such an event?! 

Why Fondant Makes Good Handcuffs

Last year I made Lucy's birthday cake myself. And I iced it myself. And you could tell. She turned one, and SHE could tell. In case you haven't noticed, I am not a domestic diva. Cooking really isn't my thing. It was the mother of all pathetic homemade cakes. If you don't believe me, here's a picture:

In my defense, at least it tasted good.

This year I thought I would learn something about cake decorating, so that her two year old cake is slightly less embarrassing. Maybe she'll at least smile for her picture this year. Maybe if I improve a little bit each year, we'll have a cake she's willing to eat by the time she turns sweet 16.

I started googling cakes, and I thought that the fondant iced cakes looked really nice, and kind of like they were made out of sculpy. I like sculpy. I can relate to sculpy much better than I can to a sticky can of icing. And - bonus points! - when I googled fondant recipes it turns out that fondant only has TWO ingredients! Totally my style of cooking.

So we (as in Lucy and I) made fondant. How hard can it be? Ha. Don't ever think that when cooking with a two year old.

We dumped all the marshmallows in the bowl.

We microwaved them so they got nice and mushy. And sticky. Very Very VERY sticky.

Then we added powdered sugar to the mix. Lots and lots and LOTS of powdered sugar. But not enough. Lucy was in charge of adding the sugar. And she added sugar to the counter, to the floor, to her hair, to my hair, to her shirt, to her shoes, and to the dog as well as to the marshmallows. So when we dug our hands in to knead the marshmallows into a sculpy-like dough they were still Very Very VERY sticky. My hands, Lucy's hands, the bowl, and the marshmallow/sugar concoction ended up glued to the counter.

On the plus side, poorly mixed fondant makes great handcuffs. Lucy's hands stuck together so well she couldn't get them apart.

It took most of a bag of sugar to get the fondant to the right consistency and unstuck from the counter. While I was working on fixing that, Lucy got her hands unstuck from the counter and glued them to the bowl. This was slightly concerning as the bowl was breakable. I dumped Lucy, and the bowl, in the sink and put her in charge of "washing dishes." It took lots of hot water, but I eventually separated most of the fondant (aka glue) from Lucy and evicted her from the kitchen while I cleaned up the rest. 

This is Lucy's sad face:

It took us two more days to finish the project. On the second day we baked cupcakes (from a box). Aside from making them too large for the cups, they turned out well (because they came from a box). On the third day we rolled out the fondant and decorated the cupcakes. Cookie cutters were a bit beyond Lucy's comprehension, but she was very very good at greasing and sugaring the counter top so that the fondant wouldn't stick. Of course, she was also very good at greasing and sugaring the chair, my hair, the floor, her clothes...I'm not sure the fondant experience was worth the amount of laundry it created.

Here is our finished product:

I'm not sure I have the energy to do this again for her birthday, although I might consider using poorly mixed fondant as a toddler restraining device in the future. I can just hear my husband now: "Honey, where's Lucy?" "Oh, I glued her to the ceiling with fondant."

Goodnight Puppy

Tommy is teething.

Tommy is cranky because Tommy is teething.

At about 6:30 tonight, Tommy was DONE. I was DONE. So even though it was an hour before his bedtime, I decided to go ahead and bathe him. He likes water, so I envisioned a calm, relaxing break from crying, and then I could put both kids to bed at the same time. Well a mom can dream.

I decided to bathe him in the kitchen sink so that Lucy could continue to play in the living room (she was prancing around in front of the TV with a Wii controller, pretending to Zumba. I hope that's not what I look like when I Zumba). As soon as I turned the water on, Lucy started having a crisis.

Lucy is nearly two, and she does not do well with change.

THIS WAS NOT THE ROUTINE.

On top of that, she was upset because she was in the living room and I was in the kitchen. She was upset because I was playing with water and Tommy and not including her. She was upset because she wanted to "help" and I wasn't letting her.

Or so I thought.

I'm sure you can imagine the drama at this point. Hysterical teething infant. Hysterical crisising toddler. Fun.

I tossed Tommy in the water and started to try to calm Lucy down, and that's when I realized the REAL problem.

Puppy was dirty. This Puppy:

And Mom and Tommy were hogging the bath tub. I was on track for Worst Mother of the Year tonight for not allowing Puppy to share the tub with Tommy. So I pulled out another washcloth, held Puppy over the sink, and proceeded to "wash" him. Then I gave him to (a slightly calmer) Lucy and let her finish "wiping his paws."

All was well until I pulled Tommy out of the tub, and there was only one towel. So I had to find another towel (accompanied by hysterical crying from Lucy) and ensure Puppy was dried off. Then I had to diaper him, and clothe him in pajamas along with Tommy. Lucy very closely supervised this process. While I was swaddling Tommy, Lucy wrapped Puppy up in the washcloth. Then Lucy and Puppy and Tommy and I all went upstairs.

I tucked Tommy into his bed.

Lucy tucked Puppy into HER bed.

Then Lucy very nonchalantly started back downstairs again. Isn't that what Mommies do after their babies are in bed? She wasn't very pleased with me when I reminded her that she was still a baby and needed to go to bed too. Goodnight Tommy. Goodnight Lucy. And Goodnight Puppy.

Why Girls are Smarter than Boys

When Lucy was Tommy's age, she hated tummy time. So she promptly learned how to roll from stomach to back, thus ending tummy time.

Tommy also hates tummy time. But the only way he knows how to roll is from back to front, so he is perpetually rolling over and getting stuck on his stomach. It infuriates him. If you don't want to be on your stomach Buddy, don't roll over!!

YUM.

Lucy and I have been having mealtime battles lately.

About a week ago, Lucy decided that she was a big girl and would no longer use sippy cups. Since she was in danger of dehydration, I risked my poor carpet's life and allowed her to use a big girl cup. No lid. No straw. Straight up drinking out of a cup. She did surprisingly well with it. We had to lay down a few rules:

"No, your peas do NOT go in your cup."
"Drink your milk with your mouth, not with your fingers."
"Do not dump milk on your tray...not even if you use your napkin to clean it up again."

Since the cup has been going well, and Lucy has (mostly) won that battle, she decided today to broaden her horizons and dispense with utensils. The fork and spoon hit the floor (not that they were being used appropriately anyway), and up came Lucy's feet!

That's right, I looked over and (through significant contortion on her part) her left foot was up on the tray next to her plate. She used her hands to very meticulously put a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich between her toes, and then brought her foot to her mouth to eat it. YUM. Peanut butter toejam.

Lucy Eats With Style