Our New Pet Dinosaur - The Boy Who Refuses to be a Boy

Poor, Poor Boy

Z is sick. He woke us this morning to say his tummy hurt. I dismissed it, and told him to go back to bed. It was 630 in the morning. I'm not the most empathetic at that time of day.
Thirty minutes later, he returned with puke in his hair.
Poor kid. He has been sleeping/puking/sleeping all day. Except when he is crying, and saying:
"Mommy, my tummy hurts!" or "Can you get that stomachache out of my tummy?" or "I don't wanna keep pukin' and pukin'!"
And he keeps trying to walk a wee ways, and then drops down suddenly on the floor and curls into a little ball, crying.
I will be blogging to say that I am sick next, I am sure. Either because I am puking or because I have a massive headache from the amount of disinfectant I am spraying.

Sisters

Our kids turned four last Saturday. Today is the anniversary of our fourth year without Adeline.
The day wasn't especially more difficult than any, because it seems that lately I am constantly reminded of our huge loss in her.
Before moving here, our kids were used to spending almost every day with other kids their age.
In moving here, they lost many great little friends.

Although I am glad that our kids have each other to make the transition to their new home an easier one, I think the move has been especially hard on S.

The kids are growing older, and as they grow, their interests have moved further apart. S wants to pretend. She wants to play with dolls. The boys want to play Spiderman and trucks and cars and monsters. S is lonely and needy. She is constantly asking me to play, and it seems that I can't ever satisfy her desire for companionship. She cries at night, because she "wants someone to sleep with like the boys get to do." And I am constantly imagining (and missing) the fun she would have with her sister, her twin.
I think, in some ways, that grieving the loss of being able to mother Adeline is really hard, but it is equally (or maybe more) difficult to grieve the fact that S missed out on a huge blessing in not having known her sister.

I Forgot

I forgot how thankful I need to be:
Z went to the eye doctor on Tuesday. He was asked to identify lots of colors and images. Doc then checked Z's eyes with his handy-dandy flashlight helmet-thing, and informed, "I see brain injury. (Did you know you can see brain injury through the eyeball?!) He must have had a hemorrhage."
"Grade three", the nurse answered him.
"I thought it must have been a large one."
And then to Z, "You are one smart cookie! Do you know that? You are one lucky little boy!"
And then to me, "I really don't know how his eye sight is as good as it is. I can see damage that should be affecting his vision. He is one lucky kid."
As all of those neonatal memories came rushing back, I got all teary-eyed, and smiled, "Yup, he is."

And I remembered that the small limp he received as a result of his hemorrhage is really not so bad.

Coffee and Blankies

My sister visited for a few days. I am having withdrawal. Withdrawal from sitting around drinking warm (not cold from me from forgetting it too many times) coffee and chatting while my niece and nephews entertained my kids. Withdrawal from talking to an adult. Withdrawal from having people (and noise and chaos) around.

Z slept in our room, on the floor, while my sister and her kids were here. He sat up early in the morning, while it was still dark, and lovingly rubbed his blankie across his face. He sniffed it, and held it close to his eyes. "Mama, there are no frogs on my blankie anymore!"
I opened the shade a little, and said, "Z, that is because you are holding my dirty sock!"
He was all embarrassed!

Broken

Remember how I wear thongs? Well, I was getting dressed the other day, and I noticed S staring curiously at my butt.
"Why are your underwear like that, mama?!"
So, I abandoned the goal of setting an honest example for our kids, and said, "Um, they are broken. I need new ones."
Who wants to tell their three-year-old that she likes to have her butt hang out?
No pictures today, appropriately! :)

Perfectionism, Papa, Cheesecake and Winter Fashion

S is starting to realize that I have a perfectionistic side.

She made her bed today.

I remade her bed.

Hands on her hips, she glared at me, and asked, "What are you doing? I made that bed already? It wasn't good?" And I tried to say something about how I was looking for something under her blankets, and then remembered that "How to Behave So Your Preschooler Will Too" says that we need to set an example of honesty for our kids, even in the little things, so I stopped mid-sentence, and just looked dead-guilty. She shook her head at me and walked out. (Side note: Why is she shaking her head at me?! She's THREE!)

Then, I asked her to pick out some clothes. She came out in this lovely attire, and when I laughed and asked her to change, she said, "How come I can't wear this?" (Geez mom, you are so picky!)
________________









I made cheesecake for tomorrow's Christmas get-together, and B set up "house" in the cupboard where my baking stuff usually resides. He was in there for most of the morning.
________________






Keith is home today. It may be the first Christmas Eve he's had off since we've been married.
Whenever K is home, I am totally off the hook. My kids want nothing to do with me. Who would want me when their Papa lets them hang all over him like monkeys all day? Even when asked, I just can't bring myself to wrestle...I can't. I'm not good at it. I don't like flinging my kids around and acting wounded and yelling, "Pow! Pow!" I leave that up to K. I would much rather read Christmas stories, play with playdough, set up their train track, or color. You know, quiet things. I'm glad they have their Papa.
__________________

Also, Merry Christmas!

Santa and his Christmas Tree

Merry Christmas!

Love to all,

B

Christmas stuff, mostly

I just put up our SECOND tree last night.

With much effort, I tried not to complain about the fake Christmas tree that K hauled up from the basement. I couldn't involve myself in decorating the thing, because Christmas isn't Christmas (to me) without a real tree....
But I have to admit, K and the kids did a great job. It looked good, actually.

Then, a couple of mornings ago, before I was fully awake, I heard a CRASH....
and then an "Uh, oh."

Silence.

I dragged myself out of bed, practically crawling down the hall in my tired state, to see my darling boys standing before a prostrate Christmas tree.

"We tried to get the angel", they mumbled, staring at the needle-filled carpet.

I tried to resurrect the thing, but the stand cracked in two, and the top wouldn't stay on.

K picked up a real tree yesterday, and we put it up last night, with the Muppets Christmas Story playing in the background. Well, my background anyway....the kids were glued to the TV. They didn't want to decorate again, I guess.

---------------------
We received a big ol' box filled with chocolates and cookies from our dear Scottish friend, Gillian, who now lives in N. Ireland. I love her exponentially now. Does that word even make sense there? The box and card were addressed to the whole family, yet it took me at least two days to decide to share with K and the kids.
I have to say, I am not about saving these delicacies. When Beth, Diana and I received them, I quickly ate three candy bars (or if you are British, you can call them biscuits, which makes you feel less guilty about eating so much junk).
The box is nearly gone, and it isn't even Christmas yet. Where do you think it is going? I would blame my family, except I don't think K has eaten any, and I dole out only one per day to the kids. Poor, deprived kids.
---------------------
I haven't been blogging, because I really have little to say, but how about this for an ending:

B: Mama! Z and S are saying they are cats, and they aren't!
Me: B, it is ok. You are right. They aren't cats, but they are just pretending.
B: No, they aren't. They are "realing!" I don't like it! I don't want them to be cats.

Antibiotics

In Rhode Island, our kids were not on their best behavior. They whined. They fought with K and I and with each other. They cried because we looked at them funny. They fought some more. B slammed Z's finger in a door. S pulled Z's hair. Z spent lots of time screaming...the kind of scream that pierces your ears. We stayed with K's family, and I was a little embarrassed at our failure to raise good kids.

I spent much of the ride home being perplexed....wondering how we were going to raise one kid in particular (B) to an even kind of stable and contributing member of society.

We actually decided to look into different parenting techniques, because the one we were using was not working.

Their bad behavior only escalated when we got home.

Although B was the subject of my worries at night when I couldn't sleep (Would he always be this selfish? Will he grow up to be a jerk? Is he going to be verbally abusive to his wife?), Z and S weren't much better. S cried and whined for most of the day, and Z used what I have deemed his "fighting voice" whenever he got the chance.

I finally took them to the doctor. When she came in to check them, I told her she could either prescribe medicine for them or take them home with her. I was done with these kids.

She prescribed meds.

S had a "major sinus infection". B had a double ear infection, one of which their doctor was sure was pretty painful, and Z had an ear infection in one ear and a sinus infection as well.

I actually clapped.

I wasn't necessarily happy that my kids were sick, but I was SO happy that there was a reason behind the devil children I had been experiencing lately.

I will give a cheerful update in 24 hours, when their meds are kicking in and they are on the mend.

Top Ten Reasons to Get Out of Bed

10. My eye hurts.
9. I forgot my blankie.
8. I forgot my cat.
7. I forgot my treat (for staying dry all day, which they still get, because whenever I try to wean them off of it, even for a day, Z pees his pants).
6. My leg hurts.
5. I want to see Papa (who they know is not home).
4. I am too tired. (I am not kidding! Good one, huh?)
3. My lips hurt (even though he refuses chap stick).
2. I didn't eat supper (not true).
1. My "china" (vagina) is stinky. Okay. It's true. I do tell her to make sure to wash her "china", cuz (OH MY GOSH!) girl's front butt's stink when they don't wipe good! But really....What in the world!? When you have run out of every other option, does your brain trick itself into thinking that your mom would care if your "china" is stinky TWO HOURS after you were put in bed?! Does she think I am going to lovingly indulge her in a sweet-smelling bubble bath at this time of night? How does one know, exactly, if one's "china" is stinky anyway, especially when donning footed pajamas?!

Lying

Our kids are getting adept at lying. I am not sure I like it.
The lies are usually fashioned this way:
Me: B, did you hit Z?
B: Um....what will I get if I did hit Z?

S: MOM! Z took my toy that I was playing with!
Z: No. It is mine! I was playing with it first.
Me: When were you playing with it, Z?
Z, in a mumble: Lasterday (yesterday).
Me: Good try, Z. Give it back to S.

S, crying and pinching her butt cheeks together, like she always does when she has to poop: Eeeeee! (Running to hide), Errrgh, (still pinching those cheeks together).
Me: S, go poop. Right now.
S: I'm not doing that noise because I have a tummy ache and have to poop (she knows the drill). I have a headache. That's why I said, 'Eeeee!'
Me: Go poop.

Halloween

I never told you:
Our boys were dragons for Halloween.
S was a geisha.

We didn't really go trick-or-treating, because the houses are too far apart. The reward wouldn't be worth the work.

But we did go to a church Halloween party.

They were supposed to go dressed up as Bible characters. K told everyone S was Rahab, and the boys were Jacob and Esau (you know...the competing twin brothers....). There ya go. Quick fix.

Sticky

K just went to get icecream, and paused to ask, "Did you know there is a shirt in the freezer?"

I did know.

I am trying to freeze a wad of gum off of it.

I broke down and gave my kids gum today.

One kid "saved it" on the front of his shirt.

One kid chewed it all day....for nine hours straight. And cried and fought when I asked her to take it out for bed.

I stepped in the third kid's, because it was stuck in a pile on the carpet.

We're going back to the "gum is for adults" rule.

Moms

Z sat at the table and ate a sticky popcorn ball.
He had to pee, but he couldn't get off of the stool, because didn't want to touch the anything with his sticky hands (yes, he is obviously my son).
I helped him down. He ran to the bathroom.
"Mom! (jumping up and down, crossing his legs, grabbing his boy parts) I need help with my pants! My hands are messy!"

"Mom! I can't get on the potty! My hands are sticky!"
(After peeing), "Mom, I need help down! I don't want popcorn on the toilet!"
"Mom, can you get the step (stool)? I don't want to get the step all dirty!"

And finally, "Mom, can you turn the water on?"

While washing his hands, Z turned, smiled huge, and asked, "Geez, do you have to do EVERYTHING around here!?"

Stairs

I was feeling bad already, because I was leaving the kids with Keith for the weekend.
Then, B fell down the stairs, right in front of me.
I saw him crawl up the stairs on his knees, attempt to stand on the last stair, and then mis-step and fall backwards, hitting his head, and then sliding down on his back the whole way down to the last step.
I ran down and grabbed him up.
He cried a long time, and in between tears and gasps for breath, sobbed, "I just wanted someone to save me!"

Oh. My. Gosh.

Now I am feeling crappily (where'd that word come from?) worse.

Epilogue: He is fine. He peeled himself out of my arms, after a few minutes, and said his head was better.

More Epilogue: B made sure to report, as soon as I returned from my trip (no pun intended), that he lost his balance on the stairs again (what the heck!?), and his Papa didn't fail him. K caught the boy before he actually fell. "Papa caught me, and you didn't, mama."

Oh. Nice. Thanks for sharin', buddy! :)

Triplets

All the time. Every day. Usually several times a day...people ask if our kids are triplets.
Maybe I am being too technical. I don't know. I just know that to call them triplets makes me feel like we are dismissing our baby girl, Addy. I don't want to do that.
When they were babies, I tried to get out of saying "yes, they are triplets" by dodging the question. I would quick ask the asker a question instead.
How old are YOUR kids? What were their names? Or I'd make a comment about the weather. Or the cracks in the sidewalk. Anything.
Once, I remember some guy asked if the kids were triplets, and I answered, "Not really," and kept walking. Away. He yelled after me, "Um, you can't NOT REALLY have triplets. They are, or they aren't!" So, I turned, glared, and replied, "They are not triplets. They are quadruplets. But since one of our kids died, I don't like to have to explain that to every person I meet." He quickly shut up, and mumbled an apology.

It is a conundrum. I can say, "No, they are not triplets" and feel bad that I have to explain our losing Adeline to someone who just wants a happy answer. Or I can say, "Yes, they are", and feel horrible for dismissing our daughter.
My solution (not necessarily a good one, but a solution none-the-less) is this:
Curious Stranger: "Are they triplets?"
Me: "They are all three years old" (or "They are all the same age").
The person ends up looking confused, but asks no more questions. Usually.

Today, someone asked the all-too-common question, and B piped up, (with way too much delight), "Yup, we are TRIPLETS!"
And something inside of me cringed. And I wanted to cry. And I couldn't smile at the guy who was saying something about how full my hands must be.

I could teach my kids (and have tried....to no avail) that they are quadruplets, but that people assume they are triplets, because they don't know Adeline. But is that really fair for them to have to explain to everyone anyway? And do people want to hear that from a three-year-old?
I am at a loss as to what to do with that question....especially now that the kids can answer for themselves....and they have been taught by everyone else that "Yes, we are indeed triplets! Look at us! Aren't we cute!!?"

Eh, heck. Maybe I need to just suck it up and get over it, but it doesn't necesarrilly seem that easy.

Ode to Mwankies

We had a nurse once. A neonatal nurse. She was cute. And nice.
She prayed for our kids (more than we had the energy to sometimes)....and she encouraged us with good news (when there was some).
When there was bad news, she broke it to us gently.

She patiently gave B, who really just wanted to be left alone, his space.

Z was spoiled rotten most nights. He cried when she was around, because he knew she was his girl!
"His Jane", we used to call her.

She gave them their 1st book. One that declares how they are specially and wonderfully made.

She and her husband were the first people we trusted to watch them for a weekend away.

She came along on their first camping trip.

And she gave them their life-long comforts.....their blankies, or what the kids have lovingly deemed their "Mwankies".

Almost four years later, they still WILL NOT sleep until their Mwankies are safe in their beds with them.

Thanks again, Teresa.

We love you tons.

Assertive

I once was worried that Z was too nice, and not assertive enough.
When he was younger, he would let other kids take his toys. A shrug and a blink, and he was off to get another toy.
If someone was crying because they dropped their ice cream on the floor, Z would give them his.
Tonight, when there was one piece of pizza left, he eyed it for a second, and then asked, "Mama, do you want that pizza?"
I told him I didn't.
He then said, "Can I have it?" What three-year-old thinks of his mom (or anyone but himself) first when it comes to toys or food?

So, I worried that he might be too nice. That he might get taken advantage of.
Today, he showed me otherwise:

B hit and kicked him.
After being sent to his room to think of a better ways to handle his frustration,
B finally came out, gave Z a hug, and said, "I am sorry for hitting you."
B started to walk away.
Z didn't let him go that easily, "What about you are sorry for kicking me?"
B muttered another "Sorry" over his shoulder as he walked away.
Z pointed to the ground in front of him, and demanded, "Come over here and say it."

Well. OK. I would say we have no reason to worry then.

Questions and Three-Year-Old Answers

We bought the Table Topics Question Box for Families. Here are some of the questions (and answers) so far:

What would you like to be when you grow up?
Z: A lion
B: A bear, so I can bite Z, cuz he will be a lion

Where would you like to work when you grow up?
B: I want to work in a church, like Papa.
Z: In the city, in the shiny building!
Mama: What would you like to do in the shiny building (assuming that he’s already aspiring to be a big, city guy…)?
Z: I will clean the floors with my brush.
Mama: Oh, right.

What is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for someone?
S: Let them in my room. (Shows where three-year olds' priorities are…)

What would you want to eat at your ultimate birthday party?
S: Gingerbread, but sugar is my best food.
B: Raisin Bran
Z: Cereal with milk in it, mom!
(Do we need to get out more?)