Saturday, August 23, 2008

Motivation

Cora, whom I think is the reincarnated soul of that Evil Knievel, loves "rides". This involves putting her in a laundry basket, and then swinging it like a single bucket theme park creation, powered by the parent. The faster, wilder, crazier or more disorienting you spin, the louder she giggles.

I folded laundry this morning. I was sitting in the chair, my feet surrounded by piles of neatly folded clothes when Cora plunked herself down in the laundry basket next to me. "I need ride." she said.

I looked at her. "I need ride." She repeated, then when I didn't move, "Please."

"Okay," I said, "Mom just needs to get her butt in gear." I sipped some coffee, thinking that rides were a lot more fun before Cora passed the 25 lb mark. It was considerably harder to safely swing around 30 lbs of child.

However, my daughter is no dumb bunny. She stood up, not giving up her laundry basket location, leaned over and in an amazed voice goes "WOAH!" slapping my still well padded abdomen. "You are big!" she enunciated beautifully. She then proceeded to make the left over baby fat jiggle in the most un-appealing way, pulling up my shirt to give a skin view.

She got laundry basket rides till my arms felt like falling off.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Monday After

We went to nannys for the weekend. Nannys with tons of relatives is great for me. My constant vigil can be foisted off in parts on the other family members. Unfortunately it also means that the weekend chores get compressed into Friday and Monday. That would explain why, in the midst of trying to consume coffee, do laundry, vacume the living room, and deal with whatever landed on the desk of my secret alter ego (sexy working woman), Cora walked out into the hallway without pants on, rubbing something into her hair.

I know what you are thinking. It wasn't (Thank GOD) lotion, but baby soap. She knew it too, because as she massaged it in, she said "take bath". The fact that her panties were missing due to a potty training accident assured that she got one immediately.

Cora loves baths. She hates cold water poured on her head. With dishes and laundry, the bathwater for the impromptu fill started luke warm.

I got ready to rinse her hair. I put the baby down. The baby screamed. I began to rinse. She tried to stand up. I stopped her. She struggled, and started crying. I gave her a hug to sooth her. I was officially soaked. I stripped off my shirt and pants, explaining to her why I must do this to her.

I poured. She sprang up, desperate to escape the cold torture chamber. She was sobbing. Her feet slipped, and I caught her, my grip communicating fear, anger and frustration. I yelled at her for standing in the tub. The baby's voice rose to an almost brittle octave. Coras sobs began to make her hyperventilate, and there was still soap in her hair.

I poured, forced her down again, poured again. There was still soap in her hair, but I was done. I wrapped the only dry towel around a goose bump covered sobbing two year old, ignoring my own dampness. I picked her up and tossed her on her bed. I retrieved a screaming infant, soaking her. She screamed harder. My phone rang.

It was for my sexy alter ego. I didn't answer it. Voice mail is infinitely better than pretending to be important with two screaming children in the background.

Instead, I laid down next to the naked sobbing two year old, with the soaked screaming baby on my chest, wearing only undercloths, and proceeded to cry with them. Next time we go to Nannys, sexy working woman is taking the day after off. Maybe I can too...

The Perfect Guests

After a couple of nights at Nanny's house, my children have been labeled the perfect guests within their age groups. Of course, the fact that they were the only guests under six at the weekend party (happy 85th Gran) probably impacted their behavior. I, too, am enamored with their sterling behavior. My husband was impressed as well. Our gratitude and amazement differs greatly from that expressed by our relatives and other guests.

Yes, it is true that the two year old didn't scream during meals, or at least not in a way you could hear, given the volume control problem our family discussions seem to possess. Its also true that she didn't have any nuclear melt downs, slept fairly well, played nicely most of the time, and ate what was set before her. A lot of this has to do with the efforts that Nanny made to make sure she had child friendly food, the fact that she had pleanty of adults to carry her, fetch for her, or beat on with helium balloons. Actually, Coras melt downs are reserved for instances when Mom is in charge and frazzled by life.

Our infant, Nyobi, is just past the fragile stage. She's not seriously teething yet, and she just started sleeping in longer segments. Her admired behavior was just luck of the age, and the fact that she LOVES being held. She too was passed around from relative to relative out of love rather than necessity. One of the benefits of breast feeding is that she arrives back at Mom every few hours. This behavior did NOT impress my husband and I. What did impress us was her total control of bodily function.

My one brother and his wife are working on starting a family. They complained briefly that its mostly just the "working" part not the actual starting. I wish we had time for the "working" part.

I though, before the weekend, "What a perfect chance for them to learn how to change diapers, and bathe the little suckers." How many of those first panicked days of infant care did I wish I had tried it on someone else's first? In one of those impossible feats of parental thwarting change, Nyobi pooped only three times in two and a half days. this was two less than the amount of yellow gold changes I received on Monday. She did do an impressive job on each of the three occasions. I know. I changed her. My sister in law slept through two. My brother failed to show interest in the workings of that particular end of the baby, and my husband snagged the last one. He doesn't produce food so changing a butt was a good excuse to get to snuggle with his own child.

They WERE the perfect guests. Charming, smiling, and in good moods, they negotiated a mostly adult weekend with tact, fortitude and a little constipation. I actually got a chance to relax, talk and socialize. I only panicked once, when a packed house of adults suddenly did not contain a two year old, and I hadn't seen her leave for a walk (through the poison ivy) with cousin Alex.

The Monday afterwards though...thats a different story.