Operation Spray

This weekend we packed up our tent, children, fireman boots, and wine and went camping a couple hours away.  Appa and I are passionate about helping our children develop a love for nature, a taste for food cooked over a campfire, and a reverence for falling asleep to the sounds of nothing more than insects buzzing and animals rustling. However, on this particular camping trip, we had one very specific camping goal for Little Bug and Little Bro.

It was time for homeboys to learn how to really rough it....by peeing in the woods.

I assumed this would be way easy and way fun for them.  After all, isn't that sort of thing right up little boys' alleys?  But, unfortunately my recent gentle reminders to "OMG NEVER PEE ON ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE TOILET...ESPECIALLY NOT YOUR BEDROOM FREAKING FLOOR AND CARPET" were taken to heart because the first time we showed our kids how to find a secluded spot and drop trou to relieve themselves, they both looked confused, then scared, then horrified.  And they would not go.

The thing was, perhaps we wouldn't have pushed it, but the actual toilets in the campground were way worse than anything Mother Nature could offer, and I had zero interest in sitting my babies' butts on those spider hotel poop pits.  They could hold it and come home and pee on the bedroom floor before I wanted them using those toilets again.

So Operation "Spray," as Little Bro coined it, began.

It took Little Bro a couple attempts, but it was ultimately his recent fascination with waterfalls that got him over the hump.  From then on, he regularly asked to "spray in the grass," and I consider myself lucky that he still understood that one does not "spray in the grass" in front of other people or their food or tents or pets.  Because I know he secretly wanted to.

Little Bug was our hold out, but I'm really proud of him for getting past what was obviously a confusing thing for him.  Little Bro peer pressure sent him over the edge, and he got comfortable with the program after a while.  Comfortable enough that I caught him twice trying to drop trou and "pee in the grass" on his own....in front of our tent.  You win some, you lose some.

I can now proudly say that my boys are well on their way to becoming true campers.  Just wait until they find out what our next camping operation will be!

Cray Cray

My boys are not always little angels, but they are a pretty calm couple.  Sure, they scream and run, but when things get "wild" in our house, it is usually melt downs and tantrums.  I watch with equal parts curious envy and terror as some of my friends parent kids whose "wild" is a more physical (and fun) type.  Considering my 2.5 year old cries when he stands on a step stool because he refuses to step down by himself, I'm not well equipped as a mother to deal with the more physical type of toddler fun.

So imagine my shock when about 30 minutes after letting my boys have some chocolate covered mini doughnuts for afternoon snack they started going Nuts.  Bananas.  Cray cray.  Out of their minds.

I am being literal when I say that I was basically cowering in the corner of a bed as they jumped and screamed, threw things off the side of the bed or at each other or the wall and wildly flailed every appendage they could at every other appendage their brother was flailing.  Then they moved from the bed to the floor where they continued to throw themselves on the floor, roll and slide around like animals (this is actually a game we always play, just not so wildly), and dance with flailing appendages. 

At one point Little Bro managed to turn on Little Bug's radio, tune the radio, and started blaring Journey while dancing like he was on the drugs I imagine most of the members of Journey were on while writing said song.

Then they started ripped bedding of the beds, throwing open drawers and throwing clothing out with furious speed, and literally dumping books of the shelf like they were ransacking the place.  Of course, they then turned around and started throwing all the stuff around the room.  All the while Little Bug was screaming with banshee joy and Little Bro was belting out Korean kids songs with the passion of a patriot going to war.

Why didn't I stop it?

I was a little bit in shock, a little bit amused, and a little bit scared.  Clearly they were operating on some intense sugar high and I was worried taking them away from their activities would swing them into some epic melt downs.  And frankly, I would rather crack open a bottle of wine and clean up the sheets than deal with two angry little boys.

It was only when Little Bro picked up a book and tried to rip a page out that I snapped out of it and laid down the law.  You can abuse my sheets or haphazardly folded clothes and you can throw Pororo and Toki and Brendan and the-Moose-no-one-wants-to-be-chingoos-with against the wall, but you cannot rip a page out of a book, even if it is a Chuggington book that is WAY too long anyway.

I admit, in retrospect, I see the smiles and hear the laughs and love the moments, but I'm so glad that I'm on my second glass of wine and they are on their second hour of REM cycle sleep.

Sweet dreams, my little angel babies.

"Mommy, I'm TWO"

Today Little Bro acted like.....a 2 year old. Gasp! He was that kid in Korean class today: crying, screaming NO, ripping apart crafts, throwing things, etc. 

By the time I dragged him and his big brother (who is still doing really well with the oil therapy and was awesome today in class and was most definitely not that kid in class today), I was pulling out my hair trying to figure out what was going on with my littlest one.

Somewhere on the interstate, it hit me.  Little Bro IS 2 years old.  He has a right to act nuts in the middle of a class.  He should be expected to be argumentative, naughty, loud, grumpy, disobedient, etc.  And I'm not really supposed to get why.  He's 2.

Surprisingly, this is kind of a new thing for me to focus on.  Little Bro usually spends times with 3- and 4-year-olds, not 2 year olds, so I don't see a lot of the terrible 2s in action anymore.  Even more deceiving, Little Bro has the soul of an 80-year-old man and a vocabulary to match.  Quite simply, I forget he is only 2 because in so many ways he doesn't act like a 2 year old.  And that isn't a bad thing, but it makes it harder for me to keep age-appropriate expectations for him sometimes.  I'm proud of him for being so mature and living up to high expectations, but I shouldn't begrudge him his rite of passage in toddlerhood, either.

I am thinking about teaching him to say "Mommy, please give me a break, I'm only 2."  Considering he managed to learn to count to 3 in Korean without any prompting or help after learning it in Korean class today while his head was spinning in circles, I think he could knock that sentence out no problem.

Comedy

"Wear my socks in the bathtub."

[Cue laugh track]

Three nights ago Little Bug made what I have deemed to be his first official joke.  Sure, he's teased before, but he has never intentionally verbalized something he knew to be nonsensical with the expectation of getting a big reaction.

But 3 nights ago, as he was sitting on the toilet, naked but for his beloved electric green reindeer socks, he looked me in the eye, got this sneaky twisted smirk on his face, and told me he was going to wear his socks in the bathtub.

Of course, I acted MORTIFIED and then laughed and laughed.

And thus began Little Bug's new life as a comedian.

Nearly every hour of every day he gets that same smirk on his face and busts a line.  Because he is a 4-year-old boy, his favorite jokes all have to do with poop and pee pee.  Naturally.

"I pee pee in the bathtub"
"I pee pee in Little Bro's bed."
"I poo poo in Daddy's car."
"I poo poo in my underwear."

Why bother with new material when your routine works?

Every time he looks for it, the big reaction from us.  And we laugh and laugh and laugh, and it is clear that he feels like the smartest, most clever kid around.

I'm not a stand up comedy sort of gal, but I'll buy tickets to this show anytime.

Breakfast with Mama

 This morning was not a good breakfast morning...or maybe it was an awesome breakfast morning.  I'm not actually sure.

It started out with two little boys refusing to eat their bacon and eggs.  That refusal turned into defiance, which somehow turned into a hysterically funny food fight.  And the laugher coming from those two little boys while throwing food was so genuine and enjoyable that I just sat there with a dumb grin on my face watching the brotherly bond between my sons practically strengthen before my eyes.

Then I realized there was food everywhere.  And my kids were throwing it.  And watching me watch them in approval (and maybe even take some pictures with my phone).  And throwing more food.

And I wondered if in this moment I was the world's coolest mom or the world's most irresponsible mom for letting my kids bond over making a giant mess of our dining room table, floors, and walls.

I didn't have too long to ponder because someone committed the ultimate sin and threw a slice of bacon on the floor. The laughter turned to anguished wails.

And the moment was over.

I think next time I'll find slightly less socially inappropriate and disgusting ways to bond, but I don't regret this morning.

Like a Diamond in the Sky

Little Bro and I are not cut from the same cloth. I am in uncharted waters when it comes to parenting him, not only because it is him uniquely, but because my experience with temperaments like his (namely my sister) haven't always been the easiest. I love this boy fiercely, but he has brought me to my knees daily in my quest to be a good mom for him.

I love rules. I love structure and routine and control. Little Bug spoiled me because he needs and wants all those things in a mother. And as uncool as it may seem at times, I really do think it's not a bad thing to teach and expect children early and often that following rules, even small ones, matter.

Little Bro loves independence and freedom. He loves to express emotions and explore and discover on his own terms. He also really likes control. As maddening as it can be for me at times, I also think it is very important to allow him to grow and learn in an environment that suites this level of independence and control he craves.

But what is a Mama to do when structured meets freedom, when logic meets passion, when because I said so meets screw you and your table manners, too?

Frankly, the blending isn't going as well as it should, and more evenings than not I lay in bed praying that tomorrow I'll manage to let it roll off me a little more, turn the other cheek just a little farther, whisper instead of raise my voice. Don't get me wrong, we're good, Little Bro and I, but I know I could be so much better for HIM. And I want to be.

Today I tried something new. I unruled him, in a way. Modifications to our routine and rules that I would normally never dream of allowing made their way into our day. Most notably, I gave him complete control in an area where he wants it most: food. Instead of sitting him in a chair and eventually fork feeding him every bite to get food in his belly, I let him run around our house playing while I followed him around forking bites into his mouth, ala Korean Halmoni style. And wouldn't you know, he loved it, asked for food, and ate a larger lunch than he has in a long time. From there, a day that was already going good went even better. For the first time in a long time, I can't think of a moment today where I wasn't in word and spirit the Mom I want to be.

Granted, this sort of thing can't and should not be sustained. Tomorrow he's eating lunch in his chair like he always does, but the experiment got me thinking about other ways I could modify my expectations to be a little more palatable to his desires. I expect him to meet me on my side most of the time, as it should be when a parent is teaching a child to live life, but I think I can find some instances where I can return the favor.

Little Bro is one of the coolest kids I know, and I want nothing more than to make him happy while giving him life tools. I am really grateful to have the chance to expand as a person as I grow to become the Mama he needs and deserves.

My baby Big Star...all the things I don't understand about him are the things I love the most.

Just One More

I'm not sure whether to be heartbroken at having to shut them down or proud that my boys are clever enough to know that the surest way to prolong bedtime is ask Mommy for one more bear hug.

And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.
And one more bear hug.

And just one more bear hug.

45 Minute Glimpse

Today started badly.  Bad sleep, two grumpy kids and one grumpy mom, and no daddy made for a unhappy morning.  I also decided today would be a good day to force some potty training for both kids.  That lasted about 30 minutes.

I was determined to rally and knew the day was going to go up or down based on how I reacted.  A couple silly songs later, I managed to convince both kids to sit at their kiddie table and busted out the craft box.

Usually this activity can net me some decent interaction time with Little Bro, but has never lasted more than 10 minutes with Little Bug.  In fact, sitting still and focusing on anything for longer than a minute or two is so challenging for Little Bug, it is written into his IEP as a goal.  So craft or art time isn't really a go-to activity when Little Bug is home.

But today, with moderate cueing from me as I sat next to him, he participated in scissor work (or rather, scissor practice), markers, stickers, crayons, and playdoh (without even eating any).  He and his brother happily sat and created and played and giggled and focused.

For 45 minutes.

To me, that is a huge accomplishment.  Never have I seen Little Bug sit and focus for that long, and I certainly didn't feel like he was needing more cueing than he would receive with his aide at his developmental preschool.

Bottom line.  It was a huge win for us.

And that has bolstered me all day, especially considering we had a disastrous nap, and he spent his entire $150-an-hour sensory therapy session refusing to get out of a tub of dried beans, and he had not one, but TWO of his new and very disconcerting "car rages."

Because that 45 minutes gave me a glimpse of what I know will one day be able to be our new normals, and that makes fighting through the rest of today a whole lot easier.

Today I Lost My Kid

I had grand plans to post about how awesome, thought-provoking, and decadent my long weekend was, but instead I'll blournal about today....when I lost my kid.

I was in a play area in a mall I wasn't familiar with, chatting with two lovely ladies I don't usually see, and honestly, I was pretty proud of myself.  This helicopter mama was letting her 2-year-old Big Star have free roam of the enclosed play area (a tree with lots of tunnels and slides and secret rooms).  He would come check in with me and I would check in with him.  He was happy, I was happy--good times had by all. But as silly as it sounds, suddenly I just had a feeling, and went to check on my kid. And he wasn't to be found amongst the 20+ kids and adults in that enclosed area.


HOLY CRAP  HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP

Only in my head, and possibly out loud, I wasn't saying "crap."

And in that moment, I heard a woman from outside the play area yelling "does this child belong to someone?"

Turns out my Big Star had figured out how to open the only door in the play area and taken off down the mall.  Like, seriously down the mall.  A grandma had chased him down and was dragging him back as her daughter tried to figure out who the little Korean escape artist belonged to.

That would be me, the mortified mama who wasn't sure whether to scream or cry and was almost definitely in shock.

What would have happened had that grandma not made the call to chase my kid down (and he is a fast little sucker, especially in open spaces) and manhandle him back to the play area?  He was apparently almost to a corner and could have turned either way.  He is fast and fearless and tiny....and mine to keep safe.

I tried to play it cool since it was my fault ultimately for not keeping a closer eye on him and not parking my behind right next to the door, and we just moved to a position right near the door to better watch him as he continued to escape.  Which he did, over and over, with his little trademark smirk that melted my frustrated heart and made me sick to think of all the what ifs.

So that's my lesson.  In a blink of an eye your child could be gone, gone, gone.  So barricade those doors and practice your death glares before returning to the mall play area.

It's either that or the monkey leash.

The Joy of Parenthood

There are some days where the joy of being a parent just wraps you up in warm fuzzy happiness.

Today was not that day for Appa and I.

Little Bro is teething some pretty major back teeth (3), and it turns out that when you add one passionate and dramatic Big Star and three back molars, you get something that resembles a tiny but fearsome Korean monster whose unnatural war cries can immobilize its enemy with burst ear drums. The puking is a pretty neat trick to protest the pain meds, too. And of course, pain anywhere is pain everywhere, so the act of wearing shoes was probably something the United Nations would agree was torture.

I will be honest when I say it almost came down to rock, paper, scissors to decide who got the....pleasure....of putting our smallest son to sleep tonight. As I am typing this from his room while he rolls around and glares at me for stopping singing time at 50 renditions of the Elephant Song, let it be known that I took one for the team.

Little Bug, our gentle giant of a child, must have watched some National Geographic show recently on toddlers because he suddenly realized that he can and should be directly defiant or oppositional to EVERYTHING his mother or father say, suggest, hypothesize, consider, mentally consider, or send via smoke signal. And when the ten+ time outs get annoying, he decided to kick it up a notch and throw something at his brother's head, resulting in a nasty looking bruise and a NEEDED Mommy timeout so things didn't go freaking nuclear.

I love my children fiercely, I really do, but as soon as both my heavily medicated life joys are snoring away, Appa and I are cracking open a bottle of wine and toasting to the joys of bedtime.

Fear of Tears

When we had our first meeting with Little Bro, his foster mother told us through the translator that he would tantrum sometimes, and that when that happened, we should ignore him. While I was not offended, I remember later telling Appa that it felt like she was telling me what to do as a parent, which clearly I already was. His response was that she WAS telling me how to parent.....THIS child.

A month later, I replay her words in my head daily.

Little Bro had a period during his initial transition where his tears were loud and hard and super intense. And although those tears haven't made an appearance in a couple weeks, he still sobs and glares at me with what I imagine is a mixture of hatred and despair sometimes.

Like when I took a package if Rollos out of his hands today.

And in my head, as I watched his freak out and glare at me, I remembered what his foster mother said....ignore him.

Classic tantrum response for a classic toddler tantrum. No brainer. Except as a new mother to this child, still twitchy from the hard grieving and conscious of attachment, any tears from Little Bro strike fear into my heart and have me rushing to placate him.

"Don't cry! Mama will meet your basic needs like Rollos candy and playing with the dinner knives! Here small child, carry on with whatever it was you wanted to do."

It is a hard line, walking between promoting attachment and getting played by a toddler. Although Little Bro already gets a wide berth in behavior right now, his free pass is starting to get smaller and smaller as he clearly starts to act more like himself....the self that his foster mother said to ignore during temper tantrums.

Although no one can tell you how to raise you child, I am grateful she had the thought to give me permission to ignore these little things.

Besides, Twix are way better than Rollos.

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

Last night my son was wired in a great way (as best as a child can be wired at bedtime). He was being silly and happy and seriously enjoying being alive. Normally I attempt to squash bedtime sillies to preserve our calm rainbows/unicorns/soft puppies bedtime routine, but last night I couldn't stand to shut him down. He was too happy, and it was infectious.

Seriously, sometimes you have to screw the sleep training ideas.

As I tried to fit Little Bug into his jammies, he stood up on his bed and started jumping fast and hard while holding my hands. (Again, normally something I don't allow, but our calm zone was already demolished at that point.) He would jump a few times while chanting something and then fall down in a heap of laughter, only to get back up and do it again. It took me a couple goes to realize what he was doing.


Ashes, ashes, we all fall doooooooooown.

My baby was singing. A song that he was pulling the words and tune from memory. Yes, the words were in his own special garble, but they were as fully formed as he could get and very intentional. The tune was spot on.

It was so developmentally appropriate that it made my heart nearly burst.

Little Bug has always loved music. Since the moment he was born, music has been his trigger of joy and peace. I love the fact that he is finally able to participate in the music, not just experience it.

Mea Culpa

To all the mothers that I secretly cursed at when they told me "3 is way worse than 2":

I'm sorry. You were right; I was wrong.

If the twos are terrible, the threes are terrorizing, traumatic, and way too thought out. It's so much worse when the whining and disobedience is coupled with clever manipulation and an actual thought process that results in planning....planning to thwart me in the most creative and annoying ways.

It's so bad that even Appa is scared of our tiny treasure. 11 months to go and counting!

Sincerely,
A battle-worn mama

Safety Kid

As a mama, I know I shouldn't be bummed that my small child is naturally fearful and skeptical of men wearing fake beards and red velvet suits while encouraging children to sit on his lap and tell him what goodies he can bring when he breaks into their homes at night and of knocking on random strangers' doors at night and asking them to give him candy.

But I am.

Good Night, Bee Bim Bop

After showing signs of being the only child on the face on the planet who doesn't love Good Night, Moon, Little Bug has finally discovered and fallen in love with the 60-year-old classic.

I'll admit, the book has grown on me, too.

Our favorite part of the book is the bowl full of mush...or as Little Bug calls it, "bee bim bop." Each time we get to a page with the bowl full of mush on it, he points to it and says "bye bye, bee bim bop." Sometimes he kisses the picture. Sometimes he makes pretend eating sounds. But it is always, ALWAYS "bee bim bop."

I hope he never learns to read the word "mush" and grows up reading it as "bee bim bop" to his children.

Misery Loves Company

Last night was horrible.

Little Bug woke up at 10:30 pm and proceeded to be awake until 4:30 am. Most of the time he was babbling or singing or kissing my shoulder and begging to be "up on mama," things that would melt my heart during any other time of day.

I struggle with these nights. Beyond sleep deprivation, my patience is very low and I often have mama moments I'm not proud of. I raise my voice sternly, I don't always count to 10, etc. I'm not the mama I want to be on these nights.

Last night was worse because Little Bug has suddenly developed this belligerent toddler attitude...he willfully disobeys, sticks his tongue out in response to direction, and LAUGHS at me when he is scolded.

My mom once told me a story about a time when she spanked me, and I turned and looked her in the eye and laughed. She had to lock herself in her room until she could calm down because her other option was to become a mama she didn't want to be.

Last night, the scene, substituting the spanking for stern words, repeated itself. Little Bug snapped my last thread by hitting me in the face and then laughing about it. I put him in his bedroom and baby gated him in to let him cry himself into exhaustion. We did this horrible cycle for a while.

The next few hours were not pleasant, most likely for anyone in our neighborhood.

This morning I was 20 minutes late getting out of the house, only to hit freak traffic and construction that added a solid 40 minutes to my 7 minute drive (I take locals, for Pete's sake!) . Little Bug was late for breakfast. I won't even begin to go into how late I was for work.

The whole time I was trying to keep a positive attitude on the morning. I made sure to smile and sing to Little Bug, forgiving him even when I wasn't particularly feeling like it. I breezed into work with an air of "let's do this awesome day," even though I was secretly trying to invent ways to call in sick. I even took a moment to marvel at some of my favorite fall wild flowers.

But yeah, today was blowing.

Almost immediately I connected with two of my Internet-turned-real-life friends who have it much harder than I do in the sleep department. I felt bad complaining about my one-off night, but my wise friend noted that "misery loves company."

And it's true. Because after commiserating a bit with them and having some morning chatter with other mama friends, I was feeling much more myself and willing to face the day with a positive attitude.

And two DDPs and a Red Bull, but the friends have helped a lot, too.

Unicorn Fluff

So this sleep book...the one about unicorns and kittens and rainbows and slumbering babes....it's still annoyingly upbeat and positive while our nights are not so much.

But it's actually really illuminating.

In the grand scheme of sleep issues, ours are minimal. To be frank, the reason I even started modifying the routine is because I want to be able to deal with the sleep-issues surrounding the upcoming (HA!) arrival of our second son without dealing with Little Bug, but I wanted to give myself months to deal with this transition to avoid having him just cry it out and keep me up more than he is. My selfish goal is to be able to have him go to sleep by himself and stay there all night long. I want that for him, of course, but even more, I don't want to be dealing with two crying babies on my own. I'd like to be able to deal with them at night in an orderly and smooth way.

Rainbows, unicorns, dancing fairies.

And as much as I like the warmth of my baby in my bed, my husband's chest is pretty warm the 3 nights a week I get to share a bed with him....and yeah.......I'd like that back, too.

Ahem.

So this sleep book. It claims that there is a certain amount of sleep most children inherently need each night. It states that if your child is getting wiggy around bedtime, instead of saying "Oh, poor Little Bug is starting to get tired" and going on with your evening, you should just put your kid to bed.

Kid is tired = parent should put kid to bed. No matter when the botanical garden closes.

Rocket . Science.

Sadly, this no brainer statement really hit home for me. Little Bug's 8 pm bedtime was arbitrarily chosen because it worked for my schedule and he seemed to do fine with it.....minus the 30 minutes beforehand when he would start sucking him thumb and whining. I just thought that was what kids did in the evening; it never connected with me that I might be keeping him up past the time his body inherently wanted to be up.

Another instance of "I'm a first time mama and have no idea what I am doing" with a healthy dose of "I'm being unintentionally selfish and inflexible."

Sigh. I hate you, book.

So this week I've been watching Little Bug in the evenings to monitor his mood and when he starts to go down. A few nights ago, when he started to get fussy and whiny, I just started his bedtime routine early and put him to bed.

He was deeply asleep 30 minutes before his "bedtime."

And mama is a believer.

It's going to be an adjustment for us all. As a working mama, my evenings are so precious with my son, and I am going to be giving some of that up. We've still not even attempted anything serious with the going to sleep alone or staying in bed during the night or the waking up during my morning showers and pounding on the door while sobbing "baf, Baf, BAFFFFFFFF" pieces of our life, but those will come. I also know that every kid is different and that what is working for my kid would never work for another kid, including Little Bro.

Kids are lame and awesome like that.

So although this book is just a big pile of unicorn fluff, it is giving me a new way to view my child and how much of his routine I can attempt to control, which has been very illuminating.

And possibly the stuff of unicorns, kitten, and rainbows....we shall see.

Here's a Tip

On Friday morning I got on a 6 am flight with my 2.5 year old son. I was running on about 3 hours of sleep, but I had my act together.

Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.

But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.

Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.

Apparently I do a crappy job.

About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."

I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.

Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.

She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."

Let's recap.

6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).

Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."

But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.

Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.

When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."

I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).

Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.

Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.

This is the Moment

Sometimes a moment hits me square in the face, and I have this intense need to preserve it.

Last night Little Bug was taking a bath ("bubba baff", a two-word combo with some hard sounds that I am ridiculously proud of). It was past his bedtime, and I was anxious to get him to sleep. I wasn't completely, totally, 100% in the moment.

Little Bug has a nasty new trick where he likes to turn the faucet on and off. We're being very strict about this for a number of boundary and water temperature safety reasons, but my boy is stubborn and patient, making bath time one of vigilance and lameness on my part. Usually he gets his little fingers onto the faucet handle but is denied turning it. Sadness ensues. Regroup. Repeat attack.

Last night, after about 5 minutes of this dance (and after I had turned the water off for good), he finally found a moment of my weakness and quick as a flash, turned the faucet on.

Quick as it happened, I turned it off to preserve the boundary, but Little Bug, oh my baby boy......

The moment the water turned on he reeled back in total stunned elation. He let out this CRAZY triumphant laugh that was a mix between a surprised yelp and a victorious battle cry. The sound was one of the most hilarious things I have ever heard.

As I ducked my head in my shoulder to hid my laughter from a "should-be-getting-a-stern-looking-at Little Bug" all I could think was

This is the moment I want to blournal.

Shut Up

Little Bug has taken a liking to the front seat of our car and the keys. Last weekend Appa let him play "pretend driver" in our car, and although this was not the first time he has played this game, Little Bug acted like he was some possessed kid on crack. It was so funny and so very odd after a solid 10 minutes of mania.

Since then, Little Bug has M-E-L-T-E-D D-O-W-N every time we go out to the car and his horrible mama forces him into his car seat. The keys in the ignition are basically the cruelest taunt to him, and he wails and signs "please" for at least the first 2 minutes of each car ride.

It's awesome.

Last night, after an afternoon of everything being a little off, I drove the 8 minutes drive home from the big box store with Little Bug yelling (not crying) the whole time about the blasted keys. I even had to use my loud, forceful voice, which I have only ever used a handful of times with him....to no avail other than making me feel worse. When I parked in our driveway and tried to get him out of his car seat instead of giving him the keys (yelling doesn't equal getting privileges, which he knows), he got right in my face and started screaming in my ear...about the stupid keys.

I whipped my head around and formed the words.......

"SHUT UP."

Yes, I was actually going to tell my 2.5-year-old to shut up. Forcefully. Right in his chubby baby face. With the lips that I kiss him goodnight with.

Thankfully, as the first sound began to come out of my mouth, I bit my tongue and took a deep breath. Saying that wouldn't have been appropriate, kind, loving, or a good example....all things I should be as a mother.

Instead, I told him (again) that his behavior was not appropriate, took him inside, and let him wail it out on his own until some stickers caught his eye and the keys were forgotten until this morning.

Even though I didn't actually say it, I felt bad that it even almost happened. What kind of mama tells her child to shut up?