Mom Coffee

I don't know why coffee distributors haven't yet created "Mom Coffee," a special brew of strong coffee laced with a little bit of Kahlua & xanax (or something like xanax); just something to take the edge off of disastrous toddler situations at 6:30 a.m.

You have to admit, it sounds appealing. (And if it doesn't, you probably only have one child or very well behaved children & I salute you & you should probably stop reading my blog.)

I could have used some Mom Coffee a few weeks ago at 6:30 a.m. (why must they get up this early??) when Ainsley & Max started fighting (yes, 10-month olds fight with almost 3-year old sisters):

"MOMMY! MAX IS TAKING MY TOY MOMMY MAX IS TAKING MY TOY MOMMY!" Ainsley yells at me from 4-feet away.

"Ok, ok, what is wrong?" I say as I watch them struggle over an alleged toy I can't see.

"HE'S TAKING MY TEA CUP, MOM! HE IS TAKING MY TEA CUP! IT IS MY TEA CUP, NOT HIS, HE IS TAKING MY TEA CUP!"

"Ok, where is your tea cup?"

"IT'S PRETEND!!!!"

I am breaking up a fight over a pretend tea cup? Seriously? At 6:30 a.m.? This is why I should just let them watch cartoons until I have had at least 3 cups of coffee.

Mom Coffee-it would fly off the shelves. Even if you needed a prescription for it.

(p.s. The above photo was clearly taken after a lot of coffee & probably many cartoons since 1) I have my hair & makeup done, 2) both kids are dressed appropriately & 3) Ainsley's hair is done. And yes, Max is chewing on a cord, but it is not plugged in so don't worry about it. That's what boys do.)

"Max has a WHAT?"

(This could also be titled, "Did I really just tell Ainsley's teacher this story?")

Last month Ainsley asked me why Max was being so fussy.

"I think he's sick."

"Max has an e-ek-shun?" she replied.

"A what?" I say in my calmest, "what-the-hell-did-you-just-say?" voice.

"An EEEE-EKKK-SHUN."

"Max has a WHAT?" I semi-shout to her, kneeling down at her eye-level, as Law & Order SVU episodes fly through my head.

"AN EEEE-EK-EK-SHUN, MOMMY!!!!!!"

What feels like an hour goes by & then it finally dawns on me:

"Oh, an EAR infection? Does Max have an ear infection?"

"Yes!" she shouts.

So, I stop sweating & am totally relieved that I don't have to call my pediatrician, find a shrink, Google all the sexual predators in my zip code, etc. I should have left it at that. But no, I feel the need to tell her teacher.

We get to school that morning & I proceed to tell this story to Ainsley's teacher, a woman who translates toddler language every day & has probably heard much, much worse.

"So," I tell her teacher, who no doubt thinks I'm certifiably INSANE, "if it sounds like she's saying 'erection' she is really saying 'ear infection,' blah, blah, blah."

(As if Ainsley is going to be shouting "erection" to all the other toddlers during circle time.)

Her teacher laughs & tells me not to worry about it & is really sweet.

I get in my car to drive home & think WHAT IN THE WORLD IS WRONG WITH ME??? Why can't I keep my mouth shut?

Oh, well. There has to be at least one nutty parent in each class & I'm sure I could provide some humor in the teacher's lunchroom.

Good, lord. I think I'm that parent.

Future Hoarder?

I'm starting to think that one day I'm going to turn on the tv & see Ainsley featured on the A&E show Hoarders.

She LOVES any & all containers & spends her days packing all of her "stuff" into shopping bags, backpacks, boxes from Costco, stolen laundry baskets from the laundry room, etc. Then, as we move from one room to another, the boxes, bins & bags get to come with us too.

"Hold on! Wait for me! Don't leave me! I need my stuff!" my two-year old will cry. As if I have ever left her anywhere, & by the way, we are just going 10 feet into the next room.

"THAT BOB MARLEY!"

Brad achieved parental success last month when his birthday rolled around. Ainsley gave him the best gifts he could ever want: 3 cases of Diet Mountain Dew & a Bob Marley t-shirt.

For the past 9 months, Brad successfully brainwashed Ainsley into believing that reggae is the best music ever created, thus, she refuses to listen to anything else (it's actually Ziggy Marley's children's CD, but she thinks it's Bob) & requests reggae in every car in which she rides.

Thanks to our cable provider, we have a reggae music channel that continuously shows photos of people in dreadlocks while our dancing, screaming 2-year old yells "That Bob Marley, Dad?"

So I took Ainsley to Target to pick out some presents for her daddy. When they didn't have Thomas the Train pajamas in his size (oh, how I wish they did), Ainsley spotted some t-shirts.

"MOM! THAT BOB MARLEY!!" she screams, pointing to a wall across the store.

"Shhhhhhhhh! We are in a store. What are you talking about?"

Sure enough, on the wall is a Bob Marley, black Rastafari graphic t-shirt, certainly something my 30-something husband does not need to own, because he will

most definitely wear it every weekend. But she was so excited that I had to get it.

Then she saw a green shirt that said "Callaway Auto Parts" (Tommy Boy reference) & said "Mom, that's like Daddy's Dew!" referencing Daddy's Diet Mountain Dew addiction, I had to buy that one too.

Brad is so proud that he has created a little reggae-loving 2-year old, keenly aware of his obsession with a very gross soft drink. The pinnacle of parenting success, in his book.

!Ayudame! (or, Max the Jedi)

Ainsley, 5 feet away from me in hearth room: "MOM! HELP! Max is STUCK!"

Me, in kitchen, ignoring the urgency: "What do you mean he's 'stuck?'"

Max is a stationary 9-month old who refuses to crawl. He likes to sit.

Ainsley: "HE'S STUCK UNDER A CHAIR! HELP MAX! HELP! AYUDAME, MOM!"

(No, expensive nursery school didn't teach her Spanish, but her amigos Dora & Diego are doing a great job).

I call her bluff. Sure enough, Max has managed to slide himself under a chair. I still can't figure out how he moves (Jedi??).

Ainsley tried to pull him out to safety and mother-of-the-year that I am shouted, "No - don't help him Ainsley! Hold on. I need my camera."

!Ayudame!

(and yes, that is what her hair looks like in the morning, don't send me emails, send me product for curly hair) :)

Am I Raising a Toddler or Tween?

First, I would like to apologize for knowing what "tween" means, let alone using it in a sentence. But as Ainsley gets closer to age 3, I become more convinced she really is a little 13-year old trapped in a 2-year old's body. Here is my rationale:

1. She has trendier clothing & accessories than most adults. (see picture to right where she "models" her "rehab" sunglasses-stole that joke from a friend)

2. Ainsley can identify any Starbucks in Northern America as "Mommy's coffee shop!" but can't count properly when playing hide-and-seek: "1-2-3-5-8-11-31-here-I-come!!" (Tweens like Starbucks-I don't know why but they are always there)

3. In the past year, we have spent more money on hair products for her out of control curls that, most likely, she will end up at a state school for college.

4. "You should worry about yourself, Mommy. Do not worry about other people," is the answer I frequently get to most questions like, "Do you need a new diaper?" "Did you just take that toy from your brother?" Not even 3 and already a smart mouth.

5. She is a drama queen who cries at the drop of a hat. What tween/teenager doesn't do that?

6. She is a decent babysitter (for about 2-4 minutes for live babies). If she isn't babysitting Max she's babysitting one of her babies and I think all tweens like to do that.

7. She is in a long-term relationship with a 30-year old friend of ours named Tom (she knew he was the one when he brought over Dora the Explorer fruit snacks). I think most toddlers go back and forth between boyfriends but this relationship has been pretty solid for a good year.

8. I was a horrible teenager. Horrible. Horrible. So shouldn't I have a child who acts like a teenager at age 2? I think that is how karma works.

So that's my case. A pretty strong one, I think.

"It's Gone!"

Many people know that Ainsley

is interested in her brother's anatomy & why it's different from hers. We have many, many discussions about what Max does & doesn't have "down there, " (to be blogged about later) but the latest was when Ainsley "helped" me give Max a bath recently.

After she crammed herself into an infant bathtub that our infant is too big for but his sister likes, she started to give her brother a bath.

She then gave me the washcloth to wash his private area and said:

"Oh no, Mom! Max's p*nis! It's gone!"

"No, it's not gone Ainsley, it's just..." stammering mother, not really sure what said p*nis is actually doing.

"I think he's hiding it, Mom. Because he doesn't want you to wash it." wild laughter from a 2-year old (the best kind there is!). Then, in a baby talk voice, "You're a good boy, Max, you're

hiding your p*nis from Mommy, you are, you baby, you."

These are the moments when I look around to see if someone is behind me video taping because I feel like I'm on a reality show or someone is playing a joke on me. How do these little tiny toddler-people come up with this stuff? I feel like another adult really needs to witness most of my day because it is so funny/frightening/unbelievable. Toddlers really are hilarious (when they are not acting borderline-schizophrenic.)

Awards Season is Here . . .

Do you need a date to a black tie affair?

Max is your man. He is all dressed up with no place to go.

Granny Thea knit Max this hilarious & adorable tuxedo sweater for Christmas.

He wore it with tartan plaid pants that matched Ainsley's Christmas dress. They were quite the pair.

Max really is a great date-all smiles, doesn't talk much, very affectionate & gets you home early & in bed by 8 so you can read. All you have to do is change his diaper & feed him. What more do you need in a man? Not even a year old and he already owns a tux! Not bad!