The little things that count.....

I've said it before and I'll say it again.

It is the random firsts that you sometimes remember the most.

Like that one time the night time routine started out just like it did every night.

She gives kisses to doggie.
She gives kisses to Daddy.
To Bjorn.
And Mommy.

We have a family hug, and I reach down to grab her in my arms.

"Night night, Peanut. I love you."

And instead of blowing a kiss, as she has done on every other night, she says "Night night. I wuuuuuuvveee you."

Your heart beats a little faster.

"What did you say Peanut? Did I hear you right?! Say it again!"

Then she looks right at you, smiles sweetly and says, "I wuuuuuuuuvvee you Mommy."

And you feel so special and warm and gooey inside because it is the first time she said I love you and you know - KNOW - that you will never forget this day.

Until the next day you hear her.

"I wuuuuuuuuve you baby. I wuuuuuuuuve you book. I wuuuuuvvve you cereal. I wuuuuuuuuve you sock."

You have to laugh. Because while it means so much to you to hear it, for her it is one more way to express herself. And she really does love cereal.

Sugar, Spice and Puppy Dog Tails

When I had Bjorn, I knew there were many scraped knees and bruises in my future. He wasn't yet three weeks old when he first "climbed a tree", scratching his new little baby leg in the process. I was prepared for the band-aids and the boo-boos, the seemingly permanent bruises up and down his little toddler legs.

After all, the kid spends practically all day playing soccer and baseball and hockey. He is made of dirt and snails and puppy dog tails.

I figured with Peanut, though, I would have it easy until at least, oh, junior high. When suddenly the hormones start raging and I become the enemy.

She was supposed to be made of sugar and spice and everything nice.

So why is she the one I had to take to the dentist for a chipped tooth? A chipped tooth she gave herself from throwing a tantrum?!

Yes, that's right. Throwing a balls-out, no-holds-barred tantrum. All because I made her hold my hand when we walked across the street. How dare I?!

After screaming the whole way "Myself! NO! NO! MYSELF!" because (why else?!) she wanted to do it all by herself, I placed her on the sidewalk and crouched down next to her to calm her. My sweet, little Sugar & Spice daughter till screaming, she threw herself backwards, and I caught her easily. But she immediately switched tactics and threw herself forward.

Face first. Into the sidewalk. Look, Ma, no hands!

It could've been worse. Much, much worse. As it is, she has a chipped front tooth that has not given her any problems. Literally an hour later she was biting into a full apple, no pain.

For the next few years, we have to be on the lookout for discoloration or pain with that tooth.

For the next few years, I also have to be on the lookout for tantrums, sidewalks and anything else that may interfere with my strong-willed daughters sense of right. Sigh.

Meal Time with a Toddler

I'm a strange eater.  I know that. 

Although deep in my heart, I think that everyone who loves meat so much is much much stranger than me, but, to your face, yes, I will admit that my liking vegetables (and bacon) is weird.

But my kids are even stranger eaters. Examples:

Two days ago breakfast.

"I don't want this cereal! I wanted the other cereal! And I don't like strawberries. No! I don't like bananas either!"

This morning's breakfast:

"Can I please have that cereal? I want to pour it myself. Can I pour the milk myself too? I want strawberries. I love strawberries! Can I put them in myself?"

Two days ago lunch:

"Can I have six carrots? Can I get them myself? Can I have six grape tomatoes? No no no, I want to get them myself! One, two, three, four, nine, six. Six tomatoes. Can I have 4 pieces of ham? Can I get it myself?"

Ten minutes later, when his lunch plate is devoured:

"Can I have more? I want six carrots, three grape tomatoes and four pieces of ham. Can I get them myself?"

Today's lunch:

"I don't like ham sandwiches. No, I don't like it in the shape of a dinosaur! This dinosaur has little legs and I wanted a dinosaur with looooong legs. Can I have more tomatoes? Can I get them myself?'

And don't even get me started on dinner.

Meal times are exhausting.

The magical anthem

Driving around this evening, I received a song request from the backseat.

"Mom, can you sing the hockey song? You know, the magical anthem?!"

Well, sure. If ever there was a request I needed to take, it would be to sing the magical anthem. So, I sung it with the full gusto of my dropped-out-after-two-voice-lessons voice, (maybe) missing a line here or two.

Hey - if Christina Aguilera can't remember it all, how am I supposed to?

"O'er the l-a-a-a-a-a-n-n-n-n-d of the fr-r-r-r-r-r-e-e-e-e-e-e, and the ho-"

"Wait wait wait, Mom." Bjorn interjects. "You skipped a part. The part about the tigers."

I racked my brain. Tigers?! In the Star Spangled Banner?  Have I been missing something all these years? Ramparts? Check. Broad stripes? Check. TIGERS?!

"What tigers, Bjorn?"

"Oh, Mom. You know!" as he begins singing.

"Staa-a-a-a-r-r-r-r- spa-n-n-ngles. Oh-h-h-h-h-h say can you se-e-e-e-e-e-e. That the tig-e-e-e-r-r-rs are stil-l-l-l-l there."

Then he went off on a tangent, taking his little sister with him.

"And the chickens are still there!"

"Tikkens!" echoes Peanut.

"The monkeys are still there!"

"Oooohhh ooohh oh. Ahhh Ahh ahhh." she cries in a perfect monkey imitation.

"The zebras are still there!"

"Zeeeee! Zeeeee!"

"And the elephants are still there!" he sings.

"YAY!"

And they both collapse into their seats, laughing and alternately singing/yelling "Monkey! Tigers! Chickens!"

Best magical anthem ever.

Peer Pressure

We all know it happens. I just didn't think it would happen so soon.

Peer pressure.

"But, Mommy, Ethan watches that show!"

"Well, Bjorn - you're not Ethan. And I don't want you watching Spongebob Squarepants/Barney/Ridiculousness."

Peer Pressure is already here with what TV shows his friends are watching (Spongebob), what toys they play with (ambulance/fire trucks), what T-Shirts they wear (Iron Man and Batman) and how many hot dogs they were able to stuff in their mouths at lunch.

It's a little exhausting constantly telling him that he is not his friend Ethan, or Jamie or Michael. That he doesn't have to do or be or have anything just because his friend does. I know it will only get worse from here, but I imagine that reasoning with a 13 year old about why he can't own a $200 pair of shoes has to be less futile than reasoning with a 3 year old why he can't have one.more.freakin'.Lightning.McQueen.car.

But not all peer pressure is bad.

When our little Bjorn was just starting regular milk, our pediatrician recommended we put Carnation Instant Breakfast in his milk to boost his calorie count. Almost three years later and we were still putting CIB in his milk - because if we wanted him to drink his milk, it had to be chocolate.

Until his best friend came over and told him how much she likes white milk.

"I only dwink white milk, Bjorn. I like it."

And then so did he.

Or when all he wanted to wear were socks and running shoes, even in the 118 degree Phoenix heat, and his room smelled like a sweaty locker room every time he took off his shoes because whoever said that babies and toddler don't sweat lied. They do. Especially in Phoenix summers. But Bjorn wouldn't even think about wearing a pair of flip flops or sandals.

Until he saw his friend Will wearing a pair of Crocs when he was camping.

Two years later and he still calls his Crocs his "Will shoes".

Sometimes it worries me. I mean, if he is this moldable at 3, how will he be at 13? Or 17? Will he still want a toy or those shoes because his friends have them? Because he saw it on a TV show or commercial? If his best friend jumped off a bridge, would he follow?

And then I think, "I'll worry about that later. Right now, I'm going to tell him Ashlee still takes afternoon naps and maybe I can get him to take one too."

Parenting at its finest.

True Story

Bjorn knows that he never touches the street without touching an adult's hand, so yesterday, when Peanut let go and began walking on her own, he began explaining to her why we hold hands in the street. Three year old style.

"Peanut! You MUST hold my hand." he said, grabbing her hand. "You can get hit by a car and then you will be flat."

"Uh huh." she says, still straining to escape.

"Then you will be flat and you will be flat FOREVER. And then we will have to get a new baby because you will be flat. And it's no fun to be flat."

In the midst of the explanation, Peanut cocked her head to the side and began nodding. By the end of it, she was holding to Bjorn's hand again.

I think I'm going to have him explain everything from now on.

Control and the Leopard Pants

Sometimes, out of the blue, I will remember my leopard print pants from high school. But, oh, these weren't just any leopard print pants - they were blue, skin tight leopard print pants. I think they might have even had a 70's bell bottom flare.

I really don't know why my parents let me out of the house in them.

And, I know what you're thinking. And you are right. They were most definitely not cool. Kinda like me in high school.

But I didn't care. They were fun and flirty and loud and different. Kinda like me in high school. I wore them all the time.

I think about those pants sometimes still, even though it has been probably 15 years since I last wore them.

Like when my son wants to wear "soft pants" (sweats) with the same Superhero shirt he wore yesterday and his rain boots. In Phoenix. When it's 95 degrees. . . . and hasn't rained in a month.

I think about those pants.

Or when my daughter takes off all her clothes, pulls on her rain boots (what is it with my kids and boots?!) and dances in circles around the kitchen, in her diaper and butterfly boots, singing "Ashes. Ashes. DOWN!!"

I think about those pants.

Even when I'm talking to a Mom friend at the park and my first words are "Don't judge me - they dressed themselves!"

I think about those pants.

Because now, after having kids - albeit small ones, but ones that very much have opinions about what they like and do not like - now, I understand part of what made my parents such good parents.

Control.

My parents could have easily told me not to wear the pants, that I looked ridiculous. They could have taken them away, or, since I didn't do my own laundry, it would have been simple to "lose them in the wash". I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time a parent pulled that trick.

But they didn't. They let me go on looking ridiculous in those ridiculous blue leopard print pants I loved so much. But there are so very few things a child has control over, starting from such a young age.

We tell them when they must eat - and what they must eat. How many bites they have to take. We tell them where they can sit and stand, no jumping on the couch, when to wake up, and when to nap and sleep. We tell them they have to turn off the TV and not to hit your sister and that it is time to do their homework/brush their teeth/feed the dog.

My children are so young, I am still choosing their activities. I choose whether we go to the park or the museum or run errands and who we do all those things with and at what times. Someday they are going to be able to choose them (to an extent), but until they are older, much much older, there are very few things that they can have control over.

Clothing has been one thing that as a child I had control over. One of those things my parents let me choose. (Within reason. I still remember those daisy dukes they took away from me in high school.) Recently, a friend told me her 8 year old daughter doesn't pick out her own clothes yet. That she's glad, because it's fun to play dress up for her daughter everyday.

I feel the opposite. As much as I cringe when Bjorn walks out of his room wearing his sweats (even though I hid them in the very back of his drawer), I am proud that he can choose for himself what he wants. That he knows his likes and dislikes. 

I know in order to stop the tantrums and the fights, to curb the constant helicopter parenting that seems to be what everyone is doing these days, I have to sit back and let go. To let my kid have a little bit of control. Stop the constant nagging on issues that aren't important. Save the control for the big things.  I will still tell him when he needs to take a potty break or a nap, but I will let him wear comfy pants every day..

And someday I will make him cringe with pictures of how he dressed himself when he was little. Just like I cringe now at pictures of those leopard print pants.