Tantrums 101

Critter will be 2 years old in just over two months. I'm pretty sure he's a little go-getter because he's got a pretty hefty jump on just what it means to be a terrible two. To detail the specifics, he is strongly opinionated, screeches orders (that he fully expects to be obeyed IMMEDIATELY PEOPLE)no one but he can understand, and has been working hard at mastering the tantrum. As I've been watching him work earnestly at developing his tantrum skills over the past few weeks (months), I've also watched him develop a set of his own rules to further his objectives. He adheres strictly to his rules, and shows initiative when following them and flies by the seat of his pants when necessary- he should go far in life with his keen ability to 'wing it'. I tried to interview him for a tantrum article on my blog, but when approached he ran in the opposite direction screaming, "Goo Dish Kapoosh!" and went all paparazzi hater on me. So I will share with you a list of the tantrum rules that he previously provided for me instead.

Rule #1. When throwing your person on the ground, you must be aware of the possibility of hitting your head too hard on the floor. You can choose from the following two concussion free drop techniques: either knees, belly & arms, head, OR butt thump, yoga roll down, light head thump. Feel free to mix it up for variety.

Rule #2. Diaphragm diaphragm diaphragm. Acoustics mean nothing if you don't. Use. Your diaphragm.

Rule#3. Never leave a toy sitting within reaching distance of your chosen tantrum location. One can choose the following methods, but be sure to assess the situation as it arises and choose the one most likely to launch the toy into orbit. You may kick, throw, head butt, scoot, fling, or punch any toy within reach. You may also opt for the combination of the above best suited to scuttle your toy through the space time continuum. Keep in mind you get extra points if the toy launches again from a nearby wall or piece of furniture, and infinity points if you manage to break 'unbreakable' plastic. Silly grownups.

Rule#4. Location location location. Never throw a tantrum in your bedroom, your parent might just opt to walk out and close the door. Choose Wal-Mart over McDonald's- the acoustics are better and there's less competition. Never choose a room without an adult. If it looks like the adult is going to leave the room, pick the tantrum up and move it to the new location. You MUST appear cooperative and willing to move the tantrum to wherever the adult will be able to observe it, otherwise you are wasting your tantrum talents.

Rule#5. Do whatever it takes to ensure your tantrum will not be ignorable. I guarantee you that if your adult is smart they will attempt to employ the highly controversial 'ignore it and it will go away' technique at some point in the tantrum game. You MUST SQUASH THAT TECHNIQUE IMMEDIATELY. Borrow, beg, kick, stomp, throw, gnaw, scream. If you want to be a winner, you must do what it takes.

Rule #6. Longevity is the key to the game. If 15 minute tantrums don't cut the peanut butter, try 30. Be strong, be loud, be persistent.

Rule#7. And finally, if all else fails, move your tantrum location to the tops of your adult's feet. I only recommend the employment of this technique as a last ditch effort. Because, if you pull out this last stop, there's a chance of having a nap forced upon you. Use this method with caution. Trust me.

Friday the 13th Snippets and a Celebration

I haven't offered up any Snippets in a while. In fact, I haven't been too horribly faithful about blogging lately, period. However, in honor of today's up close and personal encounter with Friday the 13th, I'm offering up 13 snippets, only I'm changing it up a little bit. My snippets all involve Friday the 13th, or the number 13.

1. Hurricane Charley made landfall in South Florida on Friday, August 13th, 2004.

2. On November 13th, 1974 (which was actually a Wednesday) the real life events that inspired the Amityville Horror Movie occurred.

3. On Friday April 13th, 2029, the asteroid 2004 MN4 will make its close encounter with Earth.

4. There were 13 participants in The Last Supper. Tradition states that Judas, who betrayed Jesus, was the 13th to sit at the table.

5. Triskaidekaphobia is the fear of the number 13.

6. The original United States flag contained 13 stars for the 13 founding colonies.

7. The Francis Ford Coppola version of Bram Stoker's Dracula was released in the United States on Friday November 13th, 1992.

8. Paraskevidekatriaphobia is the fear of Friday the 13th.

9. The real life events that inspired the movie Alive occurred on Friday, October 13th, 1972.

10. There are 13 in a Baker's dozen.

11. Every month that begins on a Sunday will contain a Friday the 13th.

12. There is at least one Friday the 13th in every calendar year.

13. I turned both 13 and 18 on Friday the 13th. And today, I turn 35. I have a special affection for my Friday the 13th Birthdays, a personal kinship. I will be celebrating with chips and salsa from my favorite Mexican restaurant (instead of cake) and spending time with the two most important people in my life- my two little guys. Oh. And a trip to Starbucks. (Clumsy oaf Chas happy dance goes here)

My Fill Up

Critter is on the cusp of speaking. For a long while now, he has told elaborate stories, his big blue eyes sparkling and his little hands dancing around for added effect. I could watch him all day, painting his tales in the air with fat and sticky little jelly tainted fingers. And I do, my eyes bouncing back and forth between those hypnotizing eyes and the deliberate motion of his fat little arms like a mother's pendulum. All day long he shares his stories with me, and all day long I try to keep a straight face and carry on my end of the conversation. Our conversations are indeed two sided, but only one side of them is in English. The other one is in a much practiced language that consists of eternally long vowel conjugations, jiggly cheeks, and painting fingers.

He does say a few words, even if at this point they are approximations. Whenever his Daddy walks into the house, his feet take on a running cadence and his shouts loudly exclaim, "Dah!" as he runs to hug a couple kneecaps. If he's looking for his brother, he will knock on his bedroom door(this is almost sad to watch if Smoochie is in school), and lean in to press his little lips to the painted wood and proclaim, "Gaa!"

One of my favorites to watch is what sounds like little death threats in every parking lot we traverse, as each car passes us by, Critter waving one hand in an exuberant farewell while declaring his own verbal farewell, "Die Die". Every time I hear his approximation of Bye Bye, my mind automatically conjures up an image of SideShow Bob explaining, "No, it doesn't say Die Bart, Die, it says THE Bart, THE."

One of HIS favorite words is quite pleasing to hear. He uses it a million times a day, both as he is giving his Mama an offering of something torn, ripped, spilled, or broken (or simply sharing but at 20 months this is quite rare) and as he is given something he has asked for. He will focus on your eyes with his little blue sparklers and convey his thanks with a, "coo goo" (thank you). A million times a day I am blessed with an approximation of thanks.

Yesterday I started wondering why none of his approximations included my name. Ever. There's no ma, mama, mum, mom, or anything that even might remotely resemble any of the above forms for what I am called. And you know, I'm the one he's with 98% of his time. Bathings and feedings, diaper changes and kissed boo-boos, vastly performed by me. Heck, I'd be happy to hear an approximation of "Chas", as long as I could watch him joyfully paint the air with his fingers while he said it. But alas, there is nothing.

About the time I was thinking these things, he came and gave me a microscopic scrap of paper he had found in his spelunking adventures in his home, and engaged me in his conversation. Handing it to me like a new found treasure, he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and stated, "Coo goo."

It was then that I realized I'd much rather hear my boy say thank you than Mama. A million times a day 'thank you' is much more pleasant to listen to than a million times a day 'Mama'. Maybe I should be thankful for what I have rather than longing for what I haven't got. I've got a high spirited, independent, engaging little boy who is healthy and cute as a button. Who cares if I ever hear the word, "Mom" from him? Thank you is enough. Thank you reminds me to be grateful.

Of course, it was as if he could read my thoughts in that moment. A short time later after a diaper change (and before the obligatory after diaper change tickle) his lips contorted into an unfamiliar shaping and uttered the sound, "Mmmmmmmmmmmum-mum."

(And of course) He was lifted up, squeezed to the point of popping, and peppered with kisses while he cried out in protest, "Aaaaaaaargh!" But it was too late, my heart was already overfull with thanks.

I need a laugh

If you've followed my blog for a while, you know I love to see the humor in life. No matter how dark things get, I seem to be an eternal optimist- but I find my stores of optimism are dwindling a bit. I know it's been a while since I've posted, please forgive me. I'm at a loss, currently, for something clever and witty to say. I'm working on it, but writer's block and a few other things have muddled my brain. So today, I'm asking you to help me. Please help me out- leave me a comment with a joke. Today, I need a little laughter to restore balance to my universe. Thanks for lending me your humor- be assured it will be greatly appreciated.

On Being Me

There are certain things in my life I can count on. The fact that my youngest son's morning diaper will peel paint from his bedroom walls daily. The fact that dishes will dirty, laundry will not wash its self, and little toys will find themselves in the oddest places- a matchbox car inside the diaper genie, a section of train track in with my dish towels. I can count on daily smiles and hugs (for now until they are too cool for mom) from each of my boys, and the glorious musical chime of their spontaneous laughter. I can count on the phrase that's thrown out each weekday by Smoochie while rushing out the door to catch the bus- "See you later, Alligator." And I can count on my daily response, "After while crock-eeee-dile."

During the week, things have taken on a sense of normalcy. I have essentially grabbed hold of myself by the scruff and shaken myself out of the moping and feeling sorry for myself stage. As each day passes, I have fewer weak moments (outwardly at least) and can at last breathe a little bit. During the week, when there are two boys to care for and a whirlwind of things to accomplish for them, it is becoming easier to accept the way things are.

I will not lie. It's hard not to hope I can reverse things. The reality that I'm standing on the precipice of divorce and will have to jump whether I like it or not is enough to leave me with anxiety attacks. After all, at some point I will have to jump off the ledge willingly or wait around for the push from behind- either way there's no turning back and either way will find me at the bottom.

This anxiety is easier to set aside during the week when I have to be strong for my boys. When they are there as a constant reminder of why life is good and glorious. It's easy to ignore a panic attack when Critter is busy acting like a giggly jack-in-the-box before launching himself at me with a little attack growl. It's easy to lose myself and my worries in the moment when I'm busy reading Harry Potter books aloud nightly to Smoochie (and listening to his giggles and gasps) while we enjoy a cup of warm caramel apple cider together.

With my great love and need to care for my boys, my weeks have become almost easy. But the weekends scare me.

The boys will be spending their weekends (away from me) with Bonehead. I don't worry about their safety for I know their father loves them every bit as much as I do, and will take great care of them. In fact, my fear has absolutely nothing to do with Bonehead.

I have heard choruses of "Oh honey, good for you. You get 'me time'. Oh how great, you get time to take care of you. Good for you to have time to yourself for a change." These phrases to me are the verbal equivalent of a haunted maze.

Here's the deal. I am on the brink of my 35th birthday. I pretty much know who I am as a person. I've got a pretty solid idea of myself and who I am in this world. I really don't need time to soul search- I have faith in God, and trust that he will help me to arrive on the other end of this every bit as optimistic good natured as I have been in the past. So essentially none of this scares me. Here's what does-

In my life, I have never just been me. In my younger years, I had my mom and sister, and throughout my teenage years I rarely went a month without a boyfriend (or two). I went away to college for a year and about the time when the whole 'just me' would have stepped into the normal course of things, there was a marriage. And now, at darn near 35, I am discovering that having been married since the ripe old age of 19, I have never in my life just been me. I have never had to rely on myself emotionally. Or in the middle of the night when the stresses of life creep into my blankets with me. Until now there's been a cohabitant. Someone with which to share these things and difficult moments with.

In my heart I know that I am strong and that I can face whatever life hands me with grace and dignity. Even so, the thought of being 'just me', of losing these things (to put it bluntly), scares the crap out of me.