Mommy, WOW! I'm a big kid now!

One day about 2 weeks ago I accidentally potty trained Shorty.

He knew what the potty was and knew if he used it he'd get stickers on his chart and M&Ms in his tummy. He knew that he'd get to wear his super-cool Thomas underpants if he started to use the potty as more than just a place to sit while he brushed his teeth.

However, the tiny man was not really interested in giving it a go...and I was not interested in a big fight. You can read about my fights with his brothers here and here and here and here.

One Thursday, we went to watch the Brothers swim and then collect them from school. This usually takes 45 minutes. Naturally, I didn't bring a clean diaper. Also naturally, Shorty pooped 2 minutes after we arrived. I took him into the restroom, cleaned him up, rummaged through the emergency clothes kept at the school, and found a pair of underpants. We put them on, and I instructed him to keep his pants dry, promising that he could wear his Thomas underpants when we got home if he did.

That was that, my friends. He's been clean and dry ever since. There was a day of minor rebellion this past week after we discovered that Daddy had eaten all the M&Ms, but we pushed through. Now I officially have a house full of big boys.

And I would say that somebody is a little excited about wearing Thomas the Tank Engine on his hiney.

Who Knew?

A few weeks back I was having a particularly rough day with the boys. They were being wild and disobedient. And it was cold and damp enough outside that we couldn't just open the doors and run like mad or head to the park. What I needed was chocolate a dose of sanity, so I headed out the door to pay too much money for coffee and cookies and muffins for the four of us. Well, coffee only for one of us, but you get the picture.

At this point in time, I was beyond frustrated. I had used up my "sweet and patient" voice & even run through all of the "angry mama" voice that I had.

I had moved on to "resigned to their misbehavior and too tired to really care anymore."

So, as the boys were whining and complaining and not listening to me in the coffee shop, I would sigh and say things like

• *sigh* I can't understand you when you are whining, so you had better try again.
• *sigh* It doesn't matter how much you complain about it, you aren't getting another cookie.
• *sigh* Will you please just sit your bottom down like a big boy?
• *sigh* No, you may not show me how to do a somersault right now.

All the while, thoughts of how irritating my children were being were running through my head, as well as calculations for how early I thought I could get them into bed that night.

As we were packing up to leave, not one, but TWO different tables full of people complimented me on how PATIENT and KIND I was being with my children, adding how rare it was to see such loving parenting when kids are misbehaving in public.

*gulp* uh, thanks. 

Good thing they couldn't hear my internal monologue. Particularly the parts where I thought about just leaving the kids there for a few hours.

Apparently, my "too tired to care" voice comes across as "caring." Who knew?

Things I Love about the New House or Less is More

Is it sick to say that I'm downright giddy about cutting our square footage in half?

the buffet in the dining room

Over the last few years, the houses we've lived in have gotten slowly bigger. An extra bedroom here, an office there. Before I knew it, we had nearly tripled the size of the townhouse we started out in. And had acquired enough stuff to fill all of that space.

Sure, we had plenty enough room at the last house for my parents, my mother-in-law, my brother, and my brother- and sister-in-law to all come and have a bed to sleep on, each in a different room of the house, without batting an eye or doing any shuffling of our normal sleeping arrangements. But can I tell you how often all of those people came to visit at the same time?

Not once.

i love the little details that go into things like heating ducts

So for the vast majority of the time, we had several rooms full of furniture that we never even touched. A sofa I never sat on. Beds that were never slept in. Empty dresser drawers. Stuff. Sitting there. Collecting dust.

claw-foot tub

Even rooms that seemed "practical" when we were moving in (the play room, for example) really became a place to throw stuff and shut the door every night on nights that I didn't feel like cleaning. The space didn't bring more family together, it allowed me to shut the door on family when I didn't want to deal with them.

Not that I would ever send my kids to the playroom and shut the door.

Never.

detail of the buffet glass

So here I am, sitting in a house that is significantly smaller than anyplace we've lived in recently. And I love it. I love the charm that is built into a home that was constructed roughly a century ago. I love that this house was built by the man who founded the little village (neighborhood, now) where we live in order to provide housing for his employees. I love that supposedly he brought much of the wood down from the Chicago World's Fair rather than allowing it to be thrown away (we may be walking on the very stage Nikola Tesla stood on, for all I know).

dining room: bay window, corner cupboard, chandelier

I love that my family is here with me as I type this, crawling all over me, rather than in some other corner of the house. I love the forced togetherness that the smaller space requires. I love that I can't be as selfish with how I spend my time. I don't have a choice about being engaged in my children's play, for they are playing right here with me.

You know what? We have two bedrooms and one bathroom for 5 people, and so far there hasn't been a moment when we have truly needed any more. In fact, we feel like we have a lot of space.

I guess we just like being together.

come and have some coffee with me on my porch

Whatever

When it comes to parenting, or kids in general, it seems like everybody's got some golden nugget they just can't wait to pass on to unsuspecting mothers.

It happens in grocery stores. At parks. In the doctor's office. Everywhere I turn I see someone staring me down, eyeing my 3 munchkins...some folks are practically drooling...ready to pounce with a tidbit.

Most often it's the same banal "You've got your hands full" that I've been hearing for 4 years. Yeah, thanks for that.

Occasionally it's to tell me that the kids could be triplets, or that they look nothing alike, or something along those lines. I've learned to smile & agree with whatever is said.

It also seems that everyone's uncle's sister's cousin had a set of twins. Great.

I heard a real gem while at a McDonald's in West Texas near the end of day 1 of our cross-country adventure. An older gentleman walked up to me while the twins were pushing & shoving each other enough to make up for the 18 hours they had been strapped into 5-point harnesses and unable to get their hands on each other and asked with no other intro: "You sure them kids is girls?" Um. No. No, I'm not sure of that at all. Since they have penises.

People are a hoot.

I have gone down a completely different path with this post than I had originally intended and I don't know why. Maybe just because I was looking for a way to squeeze in that story about the old guy at McDonald's.

What I was originally thinking about was the number of times I hear people talk about/read some parenting book discussing bedtime routines. Almost always, a bath is mentioned as a great part of said routine. This has never worked for my boys.

For some strange reason baths have always wound them up. Ever since they were tiny. Bedtime and baths do not go together with my kids.

Every once in a rare while, I think to myself that I've invented this whole idea that I must bathe my children in the morning. That they are wilder than the wildest of the Wild Things if I bathe them in the evening. It can't be true. This whole bedtime bath thing seems to work for everyone else. It worked for my mother, for my mother-in-law. I must just be doing it wrong.

Tonight was one of those nights.

As I listen to the shenanigans going on in the bedroom that I need to go put a stop to. Again. I remember.

I can bathe my children at night if I want to.

I can then also spend then next 2 and a half hours fighting with them to lie down, keep their hands to themselves, be quiet, stay in bed, close their eyes, and generally behave. Tonight I thought I was doing great. They were clean, changed, lying quietly in bed. We turned out the light and I began to read to them. I read over 60 pages of a novel to them. They were silent. Breathing steadily. Angels. Then I got up and left the room. The acrobatics started within minutes. Over an hour later they still aren't really sleeping. In fact, I'm pretty sure I just heard somebody either bounce off the wall or the floor. No tears yet -- it can wait until I finish this post.

Whatever.

Whatever works for your family is great. Mine? We are not bedtime bath takers.

It's Not Just Me

I am constantly calling my boys by the wrong names. Today I was happy to hear this conversation between the twins:

N: You're always being bossy with me, Levi...er...Wesley!
W: Don't say that! I'm not Nolan...er...Levi! I'm Wesley!

I had to smile.