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.

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.

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!!

Poopsplosions Revisited

Exersaucers are the solution to infant constipation. If you're ever concerned about the length of time between your baby's bowel movements, plop him in the exersaucer for about five minutes.

Problem solved.

 

Tonight I got revenge for last week's poopsplosion when Peter was conveniently "on duty."

Five minutes after putting Tommy in the exersaucer we heard the ominous squirting noise. I think Tommy deflated. By the time Peter crossed the room to pick him up, there was poop up to Tommy's armpits. Peter had to hose him off.

This is the first time since Lucy was about a month old that Peter has been around for a poopsplosion. I think I'm almost as satisfied as Tommy right now.

A Category 5 Poopsplosion

Tommy got his first shower last night.

He pooped so explosively that it flew out the legs of his diaper and hit the sides of his seat. And then he kicked it.

While I was trying to determine the best approach to cleaning him up, Lucy dumped her pasta over her head.

Lucy got a shower too.

And after carrying two slimy kids upstairs by myself (guess who was working last night), I got a shower too.

Who knew showering was such a family event?!

 It's all good though - I got my revenge: