I hit sixteen weeks (two weeks ago today) with a vengeance. As predicted, the nausea was gone. And my energy is returning. Enter melt-down number one. I now have just enough energy to be bothered by the mess that is my house. I do not yet have the energy to fully tackle it. As it is, completing one or two tasks a day (outside of the normal routine of meals, entertainment, and bus driver) is about as much as I can handle, if I’m lucky.
Thank God I’m an American and have at least twenty pairs of underwear.
There is something equal parts joyful and concerning about watching your not-quite-two-year old try to hug his bath water. On the one hand, here is this kid who just loves being alive and wants to enthusiastically give everything a hug; on the other hand, he’s hugging water that I’m eighty percent sure he’s peed in. -Andrew Hachey
How can you not want this?
I do not love animals. In the same way that I’m not a very big fan of other people’s children. I wasn’t born with a natural inclination to love all babies, nor all things covered in fur. Or feathers. Take your pick.
Even in North Carolina, where it is currently seventy-five degrees the day before St. Patrick’s Day, the winters seem long to me. I will choose too-hot over too-cold any day, despite the argument that you can always put more on but there’s only so much…blah, blah, blah. Somehow, my body tends to adjust more quickly and more readily to the heat than the cold.
Plus, I like sunshine. Call me crazy.
Last October, almost as my liturgical goodbye, I found a 90% Off Summer Sale at Rite-Aid and cleared the shelves of bubbles.
So I was just thinking about how my former thirty-minute commute to and from work used to be the best hour of my day. Exactly two stoplights and two stop signs, me and my coffee, whittling down my reading list one audio-book at a time. Or there were the days of reconnecting with my ex-boyfriend, NPR. I feel bad that I seem to have ended things without much closure. Now, when I tune in, usually right after dropping off the girls at school, I just feel like we’re strangers. I’ve been gone for so long I have absolutely no idea what’s going on in Africa right now.
Sigh.
Though I might be in the car the same amount of time every day, it is anything but relaxing or enlightening. Between fielding one hundred and one questions a minute, retrieving whatever garbage toy has once again landed outside the grasp of the 5-point harness, or quelching the inevitable Mom, she’s breathing my air argument, I’ve found that it is just easier to drown everything out with music. Unfortunately, because iPods have basically replaced CDs and my 2004 Hyundai is not equipped with a universal Apple jack, we do a lot of listening to the radio.
And at the risk of exposing myself to ridicule from high school friends and shame-shame eyes from the church moms, I make the following confession: Katy Perry has fully replaced K-Love and conservative talk radio on my list of acceptable car listening. In fact, dare I say it, I’ve never been a fan of Top-40 radio until now. It’s like in the past two years, pop has actually become auditorally digestible. And delicious.
Unfortunately, the result might be the creation of two teeny-bopper-monsters. Both of my children now request songs and artists by name, and sing and dance in the backseat like little thirteen year olds. Sometimes it is cute. Sometimes I have to suppress a shudder. But generally, I’m fully in favor of impromptu Lady Gaga inspired dance parties, even if they are from the backseat of the car.
Right now, Carter’s favorite song is “Oh-Ah Kisses.” Some of you might know it by its more common name, Pumped Up Kicks, by Foster the People. Here’s a little sampling of Eliott/Carter song lyric translation:
All the other kids with oh-ah kisses, and around and around, faster than my solen.
All the other kids who want that kisses, and around and around, faster than my father.
Yesterday Eliott announced from the backseat, “Turn it up Mommy, it’s the whistling part. I like this part. Oh, now they’re whistling and singing at the same time, so I get to choose.” And what did she choose, you ask? Well, because Eliott cannot yet whistle, she formed her own version of “whistling and singing at the same time,” which is one of those adorable sounds that will probably make me run the car off a cliff one day.
The title pretty much says it all, and as I haven’t finished baby books for either of my children I’ll consider this the next best thing. I promise, quotes have been recorded as delivered, likely within minutes of actual origination.
“Eliott, did you have any friends in your class this morning?”
“Yeah! There was the boogery one and the not-boogery one.”
Oh how I wish I could use such description in my personal life without offending anyone.
February 3
Eliott is learning to rhyme: “Napkin. Mapkin. Slap him.” February 28
“Hey mom, you know what I’m feeding Lamby Lamb? Apple juice, green grass, and beer.”
Lucky Lamby Lamb.
March 3
M (losing patience): Eliott, are you brushing your teeth?! E: No. I’m figuring. M: Figuring WHAT?! E: I’m trying to figure out how Jesus had a son named God. March 4
“We got to have the ABC’s cereal, with the little marshmallows. But no milk.”
I can’t decide if it’s cute that my child has no idea what Lucky Charms are, or just sad.
March 16
Eliott’s version of Twisted Sister (a non-conformist in the making): “YES. We’re gonna take it! YES, we’re gonna take it! Anymore…” March 21
Every time we get in the car my 4-year old requests Amy Macdonald on the radio, to which her sister always replies (singing), “E-I-E-I-O.”
March 22
M: Eliott, if we make chocolate pudding tonight, there won’t be any more milk for breakfast tomorrow. E: Mommy, I would like to have water with my breakfast. Does that sound fine? That sounds fine with me. March 26
Carter’s official first sentence: “I want this.” Let it be said, she knew before she was 2.
March 29
Elmo is making cupcakes on Dr. Oz. Carter’s head is exploding. March 30
Despite my pseudo death-lessons through balloons and refrigerator pictures, I’m just not ready to explain Bambi’s mom to Eliott.
April 5
Introspective Eliott: “If Carter dies, we might have to get a dog or a kitty cat.” April 13
E: Anji’s skinny, Dragon’s skinny, Uncle Daniel’s skinny…
M: Am I skinny?
E: No. You are not skinny. Daddy’s skinny.
M: What does skinny mean, Eliott?
E: It means you have hair on your back.
April 17
“Hey Mom, you are fat as Jesus.” -Eliott Wait for president- April 22
“I did not steal Carter’s money. I’m sharing all the money.” Eliott understands Socialism.
April 24
My neighbors are outside putting together a new basketball hoop as a family. Eliott just came in the front door and announced (unprompted), “Mom, that’s the Evil Stepmother out there.” April 30
E: In one month it will be summer?
M: Yes.
E: That means, no more Clemmons house?
M: No. That means no more pre-school.
E: No more PRE-SCHOOL!? Oh no! I’m gonna die!
That makes two of us.
May 5
Eliott: But I don’t like being good, Mommy. I like being naughty. Me: Why do you like being naughty? Eliott (eyebrows shooting up and a crazy smile crossing her face): Because it’s fun! Being good is not fun. And we have no fun toys. June 13
E: Well, then I smelled this one bathroom and it wasn’t even stinky. It smelled like princess.
M: What does princess smell like?
E: It smells like, good. It smells like steak.
June 23
Coming home from a week at Grandma’s house = “All my toys! I missed these so much!” (Not going anywhere in a hurry today. More coffee? Sure, would love some…) June 24
Sisterly love or Jr. High dance pose? You decide. June 26
When I walked into her room this morning, Carter’s exclamation could be interpreted in one of two ways: “I toot!” or “I two!” Given that today is July 7th, I’m going with the latter. Happy Birthday Big Girl. July 7
Made it to Knoxville despite the 4 going on 74 year old in the seat behind me announcing through every downpour, “We never should have left our house tonight.”
July 9
Watching Robinhood or “Robin Neighborhood,” according to Eliott, who can’t understand how Prince John is a “boy queen.” July 13
Discipline Tactic #14: “Child. DO you want a beating?!”
Carter Translation: “Bandaid? I need Bandaid.”
Fair enough.
July 26
This is what I call a successful morning. August 2
Child pooped on my foot this morning. That was a first.
August 17
Had to change my directions to the ever specific: Stop. Touching. People. Period. August 19
Eliott at CVS: “Hey mommy, are these ear drops?” (Holding up a value pack of enema kits.) “It says you can either do them with your bottom up, or your bottom down.”
August 31
As Eliott brags to the older neighborhood kids about her new ability to ride a two-wheeler, she seems blissfully unaware that her shoes are on the wrong feet. September 6
Eliott’s teacher when I picked her up at preschool this morning: “So, did Eliott dress herself today?”
Wondering what’s wrong with the Hawaiian dress and jean jacket I mumble a tentative yes, question-mark.
Teacher: “It seems she forgot to wear her panties to school.”
September 12
Things you might find yourself doing as a mother: reaching a gloved hand into the toilet because your 4 year old has informed you she thinks a toy just came out of her bottom. September 13
Eliott's list of important people. September 29
You know you’re a good parent when your children fight over who gets to pray at dinner.
October 1
“I’m a grown up. I’m practicing being a grown up,” Eliott said as she worked with her plastic fork and knife. Then, with that ever smug glaze in her eyes (knowing she was doing something so grown up) she started belting out a tune from Yo Gabba Gabba.
October 2
Dinner table wedding discussion: “I can’t believe at Erica’s party that Dragon took Erica’s underwear off and just threw it. To all the people. Yeah. I can’t believe that he did that.” – Eliott Wait October 5
When she’s wearing jeans, Carter frequently experiences moments of frustration confusing her fly for a 3rd pocket.
October 6
How’s this for honesty?
“I bite Diego nipple.” -Carter Wait, after church. October 11
Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” comes on the radio and Carter starts cracking up. Then, from the backseat she starts singing, “Ba Ba- Booger Face.”
October 28
You have not known frustration, until you have attempted to put mittens on a 2 year old and gloves on a 4 year old, and actually get all the fingers in their correct places. November 17
At the drive-thru to get my buy one get one Starbucks special and Carter yells from the backseat to the window (with authority): “I want chicken-uggets and chock-it milk!” She then repeated chocolate milk at least four times, emphasis on “chock-it” each time.
November 18
My genius 2 year old: Last night at dinner, Carter looked at Grandma Wait and said, “Grandma. You not boss!” She then smacked Grandma’s hand like a mommy disciplining a child. It took her point two seconds to realize her mistake and immediately recovered by smiling and announcing, “High five?” November 23
Eliott: Mommy, I need to send Peyton a message tomorrow.
Me: Oh. You want to write him a letter?
Eliott: Yes, and do you know what the letter will be?
Me: What?
Eliott: E. But I need to send Peyton a message tomorrow too.
November 26
Before soccer practice: Daddy: Okay, when you take their ball away, then what do you do? Eliott: Say sorry. It seems my daughter has inherited her father’s body and her mother’s brain. December 12
Carter finishes singing in her pre-school Christmas program, comes back to sit with me and announces to a silent congregation from the second row: “Mommy. Let me see your nipples.”
December 14
Yes that is play dough, hot chocolate, and dress up. Proof that fun does happen on my watch, despite my reputation for the contrary. December 16
On Christmas: The most fought over toy of the year has to be the Dirt Devil Jr I found on Craigslist last summer for about $5. Eliott was found down on her hands and knees just before church yesterday, “cleaning” under the stove with the hose attachment. Santa-mom wins again.
December 26
Dad: Eliott, you are getting so tall. You have to stop growing.
Eliott: No! I need to keep growing. That’s how life works.
Dad: But I like you small. Will you stay small for me?
Eliott: Well, no, I want to be tall. I want to be able to reach things without using stools all the time.
January 1
I have no scientific evidence to back this up but I’m guessing that the majority of a person’s early childhood memories are actually based off of pictures they’ve seen, rather than actual memories. Because of such pictures, I assume I had a pretty happy childhood. No body ever takes pictures of mom flipping out, bagging up all the toys in the basement, and hauling them to the curb.
This is why my own children will also look back on their childhood and assume it was both normal, and happy.
Me to twenty-five-year-old Eliott:
“This was pretty much a typical day around the house when you and your sister were little”:
Yes, those are leftover Halloween chocolates.I love that she can do sprinkles without supervision now.Meanwhile, Carter was working REEEAAAAL hard.
As September gave way to October, I found myself writing a check for preschool yesterday dated 11-1-11.
What?!
Where is the Fall going? (Actually, my mother is probably wondering the same thing, as I believe I’ve spoken to her on the phone a total of one hour plus six minutes since my sister’s wedding four weeks ago.) And the truth is, I have no idea, except to say that my 2011 Things To Do list is finally dwindling, and not a moment too soon, by my calculations.
Eliott’s and my teeth have been cleaned, professionally, I got a flu shot, found a potential future baby doctor, made and then rescheduled an appointment for this year, and continue to nurse two children through colds which seem to be lasting forever. I have shopped for, ordered, sent, and continue to seek perfect baby shower gifts for the endless number of close friends having babies in 2012. I have fought baby fever, lost, and priced maternity insurance for the upcoming year as well as the potential total cost for that plus pregnancy and delivery as a result. (I have discussed figures with my husband who assures me the only way we can have a baby in 2012 is if I get a job or win a minivan on The Price Is Right.)
I am caught up on the first two seasons of Dawson’s Creek and have come to the conclusion that my fashion choices in high school and the first couple years of college, though exactly as bad as I remember them, were actually completely appropriate and I dare suggest, hip. I have started reading three books, and have three angry Public Library emails in my inbox demanding the return of at least two of them. Also, I read an entire textbook on the Old Testament. Then I edited, updated, and otherwise creatively contributed to lesson plans for a new edition of the teacher’s manual…for teaching the entire Old Testament. A book I am far less familiar with than, say, To Kill a Mockingbird.
So forgive my absence from book club, my spotty attendance at Tuesday morning church social/study hour, my no’s to the last three pre-school birthday party invitations, and the fact that we have enough pork roast in the freezer to last us the next seventeen days, but we’re totally out of butter and eggs. I’m functioning on lists. But the checking-off of items is happening in no particular order.
To recap the past month, I offer a few pictures, taken in rare moments of mental clarity (or not) by my trusty iPhone. (And to think I ever debated the move to a smartphone. Hah.)
Eliott got her ears pierced. This about sums it up.One night the handle of the kitchen sink broke, just as I began the dishes.John fixed it.Eliott had RARE moments of helpfulness.Halloween went about like this.They became cuter with the prospect of actual candy (and yes, there were outfit changes).
Currently, this seems like one of those things I’ll never forget. Because I hear it every night. Sometimes twice. However, from previous experience I know that in a year or two, this will likely become another one of those things that might as well have never happened. (For the same reason I cannot hold grudges, I have learned I must write down all moments of cuteness when they happen.)
This is Eliott’s exact dinner prayer, every night it is her turn to pray:
Dear God. Thank you for this day. Thank you for this food. And thank you for Mommy and Daddy. Thank you for our jobs and thank you for our family. And help us to get a job. A-men.
That last part is carried over from the year John was about to graduate from Law School. We figure, now, it could simply mean more clients, so we haven’t stopped her. About two weeks ago, Carter decided she was ready to start praying at dinner as well. At first, she copied Eliott’s words immediately after her, which of course made Eliott mad, and recite her prayer louder, which only made Carter raise her voice in response. (The result was a little like a Pentecostal church service at the dinner table.) Anyway, we’ve worked Carter into the dinner time prayer rotation. Last night, her prayer was exactly this:
Dear Got. Thank you for day. Thank you…food? Daddy? (Incoherent noises including lots of spit.) No kitties. Back yard. AY-men!
Quick explanation: The outdoor cat who belongs to the neighbor behind our house knocked-up a stray who had her litter sometime last spring (wasn’t anyone listening to Bob Barker?!). The stray, and the litter, frequently attempted to bed down in our swing-set playhouse, much to John’s and my dismay. The last thing we need is worms in our sandbox, let alone a bunch of cats in heat right beneath our bedroom windows, know what I mean? I for one am not much of a pet lover, and I hardly count cats as pets. (What John doesn’t know is that he might be getting a .22 for his birthday.) Anyway, every time we see one or more cats in our backyard, John and I go the meal-time appropriate version of ape-shit. I’m not sure if she’s on our side, or if Carter’s prayer is to save the kitties from Mommy and Daddy. At any rate, between the two of us and the Holy Spirit, I’m feeling fairly confident we just might nip our little feline problem in the bud.
If that doesn’t work, my next step is a couple cans of poisoned tuna.
Was having a bit of trouble yesterday with the synchronization of my iPhone with some music on iTunes. (User friendly, indeed.) Needless to say, it had me a bit worked up, and as a result, I was upstairs, mostly ignoring the girls while they terrorized the downstairs. Before I had a chance to worry about what they could possibly be getting into without my noticing, Carter came up to me repeating, “I clean it–up. I clean-it—up, Mommy. I clean-it, up.”
Naturally, I assume she means the toys I had instructed both her and her sister to pick up so we could go to the gym (little did they know they would really have closer to 45 minutes to do this than the originally dictated 5). When I finally acknowledged her by saying, “Yes, Carter, yes, I hear you. You cleaned up. Good girl.” I looked down to see that she had remnants of pink and blue crayon stuck in her front teeth. “And you’ve been eating crayons again. Awesome.”
At about that exact moment I hear Eliott yelling from downstairs, “Mommy! Carter colored on the stairs! Well. Not all the stairs. Just one stair. Just one. The first one.” (How exact. Thank God for Eliott.) “Right on the carpet.”
At this announcement, Carter’s eye begin to show tinges of fear. I finally extricate myself from the frustration that is –what I thought– the simple act of putting some Lady Gaga on my iPhone to work out to, and go down to survey the damage.
There are about three spots ranging in diameter from 1-3 inches of blue and pink crayon on the first light beige carpeted stair. (I silently curse my mother for the Disney Princess glitter non-washable $1 crayons from JoAnn’s. And I curse JoAnn’s again for having them. And well, just for being JoAnn’s. Because we hate JoAnn’s.) As soon as I see it, Carter plants herself on the floor (protecting her bottom) and begins almost whimpering, eyes like a frightened doe, “I clean-it, up, Mommy. See? See? I clean-it, up.” Feeling the spots, I notice they are in fact, wet.
A little too confused to be immediately angry I ask, “How, Carter? Show me how you cleaned this up.”
She immediately stands up, puts her face to the carpet, and starts licking it.
Dear God.
My mind immediately flashes back to Fitzhugh, our family dog in Kansas whom we believed to have been abused by a former owner demonstrated in the way he immediately cleaned up after himself by eating his own poop.
What have I done?
I had to pause for a moment, just to hold her, and tell her it was okay and she was very responsible to try to clean it up all by herself, but next time, just come tell Mommy. Of course I honed in on the fear and really drove home the point that crayons do not belong on the carpet or anywhere else but at the table on paper.
When I got out the carpet spray and actually cleaned it up, she thanked me. Profusely. And rubbed my arm in support. I feel fairly confident the lesson was learned. She did repeat at least three times throughout the course of the day, “No crayons on the stairs. No no. Crayons (indistinguishable) table.” So at least there’s that.
I suppose I could preface this post with some sort of artistic commentary defining the brilliance of my 4-year-old. Unfortunately, I know very little about art.
In the way of introduction, all I really need to say is, keep in mind that what follows is an untouched, unedited, untitled, but certainly not unloved, gallery of pictures, captured by Eliott (and sometimes Carter) and downloaded directly from this:
*If The Blair Witch Project made you a little bit sick, consider yourself warned.
The UnderToad 