Oooooooh, ooooh, twitchy woman....

My eye has been twitching for about a week.  You know that little annoying tic that makes your eye spasm?  I feel like people are pointing and whispering about my freaky eyelid.  And do you know what one of the symptoms of eye twitching is?  Stress.  Hmmmmm...stress.  Why would I feel stressed?

Well, this is the last week of school.  As a teacher, I used to live for the last few days of school.  The sweet good-byes from the students, the parties with my colleagues, sleeping in, and getting to shake up my scheduled life.  As a parent, I dread having to explain day after day why there is no school, long days with no activities, no naps, and having to shake up my scheduled life.  The kids and I have had nine months of a great schedule; we have had some time together and some time apart.  Now we're looking at a LOT of time together.  Don't get me wrong.  I love my kids and I love spending time with them.  However, what I don't love is the constant fighting that goes on between them: hitting, biting, yelling, crying, tattling, and screaming.  I cringe even typing it because I can't believe that MY kids do that.  There are always kids doing that in the grocery store or the show store or the park, and I have always felt sorry for their parents.  Now *I* am one of those parents.  My kids don't act like that in public - usually - but they act like that at home. 

It's really starting to wear me down.  I can't leave Lottie and Dallas alone in a room for more than three minutes without some sort of trauma occurring.  That means I don't get anything done all day because I'm too busy playing referee.  The only way I can get dinner cooked is by letting them watch TV in the TV room that is six steps away from the kitchen.  Even then, there is always an incident or two in a thirty minute time span. I feel like I'm running out of ways to keep everyone happy. 

Lottie will be at school two mornings a week in the summer, and I'm grateful for that.  She needs to be with kids her own age and away from Dallas sometimes.  I wanted Dallas to have the same opportunity, but he won't potty train.   No big-boy underwear, no school.  That means Dallas gets to be with me.  All.  Summer.  Long.  I give it three days into summer vacation until my other eye starts twitching. 

I know that a lot of the fighting is a phase; at least, I hope it's a phase.  I want so much for my kids to be friends and to be there for each other through all the good and bad.  They're still little, so I know there is a chance they'll grow out of this, but I also know plenty of adult siblings who don't even speak to each other.  I don't know how parents with more than two kids deal with this.  Make the kids be nice to each other?  Ignore it all and let them fight?  Sell them on eBay?  Craigslist? 

I'm doing the best I can do, but some days, it sure doesn't feel like enough. 

Grumpy and....well, just Grumpy

Dallas is Grumpy.  He's not just cranky or crabby; he's full on GRUMPY.  Very few things make Dal happy anymore.  He bites, he hits, he kicks, he cries, he stomps his feet, he yells, and he is generally disagreeable.  I know he's two years old; I get it.  But I'm SO ready for this phase to be over.  I mean, I just went through this with Lottie a scant few months ago.  I should get a break.

Let me give you an example of a typical day.  Dallas wakes up in the morning and is generally mad about something.  He refuses everything I offer him for breakfast, and believe you me, Dallas is not a kid who can go without eating.  When he finally eats, things get better for a little while, but usually the fighting with Lottie begins early.  He snatches toys out of her hands about every ten minutes, sometimes giving her a brisk smack on the head just as an added bonus.  After playing that scene over and over for a few hours, we get to replay the breakfast scene again at lunch.  More crying, more hitting, more tantrums, more pinching, more, more, more.  There is very little eating at dinner, constant demands to watch TV which turn into LOUDER demands when I deny him, and finally, the sweet heaven of bedtime.

This morning, everything seemed fine.  I should have known that Dal was lulling me into a false sense of security.  We read a book and snuggled together before breakfast, and he even told me that I was "the best woman he ever had."  Maybe a slightly disturbing statement but still sweet.  Things went downhill after that.  He did eat breakfast - hooray - but then he started throwing a fit about his shoes.  I was glad it was a school day because I got to send him off for his teachers to try to contain.  When I picked him up from school, his teacher told me he was fine and hadn't been crabby all day.  Nice.  As soon as we got home, the insanity began again.  He asked for oatmeal as a snack then refused to eat it when I made it because he was too busy playing ghost.  He hit Lottie three or four times, and he apparently did something to annoy Judy because she took a swat at him.  After I got him calmed down from that trauma, he flung himself into the kids' bathroom and slammed the door.  I didn't hear any noise, so I figured he was just taking a moment to calm down.  It wasn't until a full five minutes later that Lottie casually informed me that Dallas was stuck in the bathroom.  By the time I got to him, the waterworks had begun anew and his nose was running like a faucet.  There was another shoe fit, and then BOTH kids started crying.  Sheesh.  My poor dad got caught in the middle of the hubbub when he came to watch Dallas so I could take Lottie to get her hair cut.  Dallas "throwed a fit" and wanted to go to the salon, too, so we packed everyone into the minivan.  About halfway to Alure Salon and Day Spa, my little man fell asleep in the car.  My dad graciously stayed in the car so Dallas could continue his nap.  He slept for about an hour and only woke up when Lottie and I came back to the car.  Things were better after that, though he still gets pretty physically aggressive when he's tired or frustrated.  He's very verbal, and he knows how to express his anger, but I think sometimes he just reacts without thinking.  Gee, that's so unusual for a kid.

He still asks me to snuggle with him at night when I'm putting him to bed, so all is not lost.  My sweet Dallas is buried underneath the frustration and need/desire to be independent.  All I can do is (try to) stay calm and keep hugging my boy to let him know that I'll always be here for him.  I can also cross my fingers that his future spouse will potty train him and make him chicken nuggets every day.

Keep your friends close...

I'm always amazed when I watch Lottie and Dallas interact with one another.  Some days, it takes all I have to keep them from seriously injuring each other.  Dallas is especially aggressive lately; he's moody, he's ill-tempered, he's erratic, he's two.  Sometimes Dallas will walk into a room where Lottie has been quietly drawing or playing, and he'll haul off and hit her.  And laugh.  Other times, I'll hear Dallas wail quickly followed by Lottie saying, "Sorry, Dallas!  I'm sorry!"  I feel like I am constantly playing referee and sending people into the time-out chair.

The weird thing to me is what happens after the initial sting of the physical injury has passed.  Whichever kid is the injured party gets hugs and kisses from me and then immediately asks for the party who did the injuring.  For example, Dallas thunked Lottie on the face today with a small figure of Grumpy the Dwarf. Lottie immediately ran to me and sobbed.  Within two minutes, she flitted off to find Dallas to see if he wanted to play with her.  Two minutes after that, they were ensconced in her room playing some weird game together.  There have been times in the past where Lottie has smacked Dallas and been put, crying hysterically, into the time-out chair.  Dallas always goes to her and hugs her, comforts her, and takes her a toy.

Last week, I took the kids to Monkey Joe's to let them burn off some energy after numerous rainy days.  When we first walked in, there was only one other kid there.  Lottie immediately gravitated to him and spent an hour running around and playing with her new friend.  Dallas was happy to go to the little kids' bounce area and throw himself down, face-first, on to the big inflatables.  Soon, more people started to show up, and Lottie was thrilled at the prospect of finding even more new friends.  I noticed a group of moms who were obviously all friends sitting at a table close to mine.  I tried to chat with some of them, but they weren't really interested in letting me into their circle.  No big deal, right?  I'm a big girl.  But their kids apparently shared their desire to keep exclusive company because none of them would play with Lottie.  My sweet girl was sad and confused and just didn't understand why no one would run around with her.  At the time, Dallas was sitting at the table with me eating a snack - shocking.  Lottie turned to him with tears in her eyes and said, "Dallas, will you please play with me?"  He smiled at her with granola stuck to his cheek and said, "Of course, Lottie!"  He climbed down out of his seat, and they walked off together holding hands.

My brother is six years older than I am, and Trevor's brother is nine years younger than Trevor.  Neither of us has a lot of experience with siblings who are close in age.  My kids are only twenty months apart; Lottie was still so little when Dallas was born.  I had no idea what to expect or how they would get along.  So far, they have exceeded my expectations.  Sure, they fight, they argue, and they disagree just to spite each other, but deep down, they enjoy each other's company.  They play together on the playground at school, they make up games at home involving pirates, blankets, and a broom, and they almost always hug and kiss each other good night.   When it counts, they are there for each other and they're friends.  That's really all I can ask for.  Well, that and two minutes of silence a day.

The unsung heroine

As much as I adore my kidlets, there are times when it's easier to get things done without them around.  For example, it's impossible to clean the house with Lottie and Dallas dogging my every step and pulling out everything I just put away.  It's almost always easier to do the grocery shopping without the kids...or Trevor.

We were insanely lucky in the summer of 2008 that one of our neighbors moved to Colorado.  Before she packed up her family and left, she handed me a small piece of paper with a name and phone number written on it.  Little did I know that it was a gold mine: Nicole.  A babysitter named Nicole.  At the time, Lottie was 18 months old and I was 7 months pregnant with Dallas.  No one had watched Lottie other than her grandparents, so I was a little nervous about using anyone else.  However, I knew that I was going to need help with two kids under the age of two.  I remember being a little nervous the first time I called Nicole.  When she answered, it was loud and she told me she was at Kings' Island with her friends.  I had some reservations, but we scheduled a time to meet.  She came to the house, and I liked her right away.  She was sweet, funny, honest, and great with Lottie.  

We started slowly by having Nicole come over a few times.  Lottie was hesitant at first, and I didn't blame her.  She was still so little, not even 2 years old, and didn't know Nicole very well.  The first couple of times, Lottie cried when I left and it was really hard to enjoy whatever I was doing.  Soon, though, Lottie really started to enjoy her time with Nicole, especially after Dallas was born.  As Dal got older, we started having specific days every week for Nicole to watch both kids so I could clean or run errands or just sit in silence.  

Before I knew it, Nicole had really become a part of our lives.  She is beyond incredible with the kids; she treats them like I do.  She makes them mind their manners, she teaches them yoga, she reads book after book to them, and she really loves them.  She takes care of our house and Judy when we're on vacation, and I never have to worry if everything is okay.  When she and Dallas play trains in the basement, Nicole tidies up all the toys strewn around.  I mean, the girl cleans!! Both Lottie and Dallas are crazy about her.  At breakfast, they often ask if it's a "Nicole day."  She vacationed with us at Disney World.  She texts me funny, random things all the time.  She's always available to help at the last minute, and she even VOLUNTEERS to sit so that Trevor and I can have a night out.  Who does that???  I refuse to even use her first name when I gush about her to my friends because I don't want anyone to steal her away.  I don't think she would ever jump ship for another family, but I'm not taking any chances.  

Nicole is like my younger sister; she's really family.  I honestly don't know what we would do without her chez Wells.  

PT drop out

For the last four weeks or so, I have been faithfully going to physical therapy.  I am trying to strengthen my shoulder blade muscles in an attempt to ease the pain of a torn tendon that I got from two separate episodes of clumsy.  I usually start with ultrasound, then electronic stimulation with meds, weights, bands, and the arm bike.  Today was different.

I had a cortisone shot a little over a week ago.  At first, I was optimistic that I felt some pain relief and the thought of surgery would be a distant memory.  But by the beginning of this week, I realized that the relief I felt might be just in my head.  Once again, everything I did was making my shoulder hurt, even just sitting.  I told Bethany, my physical therapist, how I was feeling on Monday, and I did the regular therapy routine.  This morning was a different story, though.  When I told Bethany that things still hadn't improved, she said she wanted me to take a break from PT next week.  Obviously, it's not helping me a great deal, and it might even be hurting me.  Bethany wants to see if the PT is irritating my shoulder more than it should.  If I feel better after next week, we'll try therapy again with a few tweaks; if not, I'm supposed to see my orthopedist before my scheduled appointment on June 8.  Not only is the PT not making a dent in my pain, but our insurance only covers twenty PT visits a year.  I have already burned through nine of those, so I want to save some for possible post-surgery.

I'm seriously bummed about this.  I thought I would be able to PT my way through this, but I'm not so sure anymore.  The constant pain is really getting to me: it hurts when I drive, I can't sleep well, I can't lift my arm above my head, and I can't hold my kids.  As much as I dread recovering from surgery, I know I can't continue like this.  If this all comes to pass, it will be interesting to see how I handle being one-armed for a while.  Well, let's be honest.  I'll handle it just fine.  Trevor, Lottie, and Dallas are a whole different story.

Shameless

As parents, we all do things that are a little embarrassing: singing "Found a Peanut" in public, hauling a rage-filled toddler out of the grocery store, or unknowingly walking around the mall with spit-up all over one's sweater.

The epitome of debasement has to be what I did this morning: I decorated one of our bathrooms, the one all of our guests use, to look like a pirate paradise.  Why?  Because I love to fritter away my free time with crafty projects?  Because I love Johnny Depp?  Nay, my friends.  I did it to try to entice Dallas to go on the potty.  When I picked the kids up from school today, I told them that pirates had visited our house and decorated the bathroom because they wanted Dallas to start using the potty.  There was skepticism from both of my offspring.  Maybe telling them pirates had been in our house was not the best way to start.  When they saw the bathroom, I held my breath in anticipation of their reactions.  I should have gone ahead and breathed as I was met with complete silence.  

Dallas takes a while to warm up to new things, so I held on to the hope that he would eventually come around and enjoy the new pirate lair.  Instead, he spent the rest of the afternoon using any stick-like object he could find to knock down all of the decorations that the pirates had put up.  Sigh.

After dinner, Dallas was getting wiggly, so I asked him if he needed to potty.  Surprisingly, he agreed.  We both went into the bathroom, and I showed him the "treasure chest" the pirates had also left for him.  Any time he used the potty, he could pick from the treasure chest.  It was filled with lots of junk awesome stuff like gold doubloons, stickers, temporary tattoos, little pirate figures, eye patches, and pirate masks.  (There is also a treasure chest filled with bigger and better prizes for when Dallas decides to attempt "the big one" in the potty.  He doesn't know about that yet; I'm not completely loony.)  Dallas saw the booty, sat down, and did his business on the potty.  He picked out a pirate figure, and all was right with the world.  That lasted about six seconds.  You see, my kid is smart.  In those six seconds, he figured out that he could squeeze out some more and get another toy.  Which is exactly what he did.  Four times in a row.  

In the meantime, Lottie, who is also a smart cookie, decided that something was amiss chez Wells.  She already knew how to use the potty, and she wasn't getting bupkis.  She cried to me, she cried to Trevor, and she came back crying to me claiming that she felt cheated: her exact words.  Double sigh.  I gave both kids two Skittles, another subset of the potty bribery, because sometimes I find it necessary to live by the motto: "Whatever it takes."  

All in all, it wasn't a bad start to the "Please-potty-train-or-it's-going-to-be-a-looooooooong-summer" day.  We'll see what tomorrow brings.  

Heeeeeeeeeere's Mommy!

I'm officially sick of the rain.  Sick.  Of.  It.  The cold temperatures don't bother me, but I need the sun.  I can't take the kids outside to play in the constant rain, and it's really getting on all of our nerves.  Lottie and Dallas fight more when we're stuck inside, and I am exhausted by the end of the day from refereeing and trying to distract the kids from one another.  Lottie burst into tears today and sobbed because she wanted to play outside so much.  If this continues, I'm going to end up like this:

The Weather Channel website claims that the sun will shine in my zip code on Friday.  I hope that's true or I'm going to have a mutiny on my hands.