Chicago Moms Blog

3 is the New 2

Whoever it was that coined the phrase "terrible twos" committed a huge injustice to parents, in my opinion.  You brace yourself starting with the "I can move independently and thus get into trouble" stage knowing that the naughtiness and whining and exercises of free-will will continue but hopefully peak through that second birthday.  Once you can see that third birthday on the horizon, relief from the tantrums and stubbornness is in sight.  Right?  Not in my house. 

What is the phrase for three?  Is there one?  Can I suggest "Talk-back Threes" or maybe "Throwdown Threes?"  After only three months experience with age three, I would gladly go back to two.  My 3 yr.old son is stubborn, constantly testing the limits, playing Hubby and I against each other.  He is smart enough to know my emotional buttons and is not afraid to push them.  He has the vocabulary of a middle-schooler and never stops talking.  He has very well defined ideas of how he thinks the day should go and what everyone around him should be doing and God-forbid if we should stray.  The whining, the "No, I will NOT do that!", the shaking his finger at me as if I was in need of a lesson or two.  I didn't have to deal with any of this at two.  He has always been a smart kid and fairly whiny at times.  But age three has taken the defiant whining to a whole new level. 

My Adventures in Bird Rescue

Today started just like any other Monday- a sleepy wake up at around 5:30am after being up most of the night with one boy or the other.  Normally, I would turn to my good friend Playhouse Disney to catch a few extra z's but we are trying to really limit our 3yr old's TV intake to see if that helps with the daily stubbornness.  So instead we all get up and have breakfast and start our day.  After a little weeding and harvesting some lettuce from our garden, we decided to take a morning walk before the heat of the day banished us to the air conditioning.  We walked to our favorite spot, a little pond about a half mile or so from our townhouse.  There is a mama goose who had babies a few weeks ago and some newborn ducklings that my boys can't get enough of. 

But today, we saw something wrong with one the goslings.  It had some sort of plastic straw lodged in his back and was having a lot of trouble walking and swimming.  It was obvious that this little guy was having a really rough time.  It broke my heart to see him struggling.  He was falling over, swimming sideways, unable to get out of the water.  We fed him some bread and watched him for a few minutes and then turned to head home.  But something in me just didn't feel right.  I have to help this little goose.  He is really hurting.  Oh, someone else will help him.  I have a lot to do.  I have my two boys and my dog with me.  But what if everyone thinks like this and no one helps this poor baby?  I can't live with that....

The Buck Stops Here... Always

Motherhood is rewarding...it really is. Those adorable hugs, the big eyes that drip with sweetness as they say something cute, the first time they say "Thank You" without prodding,... Having two boys that are three years and 9months, I know there are many more rewarding moments to come. But, for every one perfect moment where all your hard mothering work seems worth the struggle, there are dozens of hard moments that cause us to question our purpose and skill and ask if our children will one day need therapy because of us (maybe I'm the only one who asks that question).

Through the process of figuring out the balance of parenting over the last three years, one thing has become painfully clear: the buck always stops here.

I am not saying I don't have help.  I certainly do at times.  After he recovered from initial "new-daddy-shock" and started to feel more comfortable in his role, hubby is very helpful and willing to step in whenever needed. And I always get some breaks when I am visiting my parents. But even during those times, it comes back to choice. Others have it, mothers do not. I am making some gross generalizations here that obviously do not apply in all cases. But, this has been my experience so far and it seems to be the experience of many other mothers too.

My Tender Bully

Today has been one of those days where I feel like I have no idea what I am doing in regards to motherhood. The toddler woke up at 5 and was up for good. Which meant all of us were up. I have been fighting a sinus infection and ear infection and one of the most horrible headaches of my life. The baby took a decent morning nap which gave Toddler and I some good time to play together. But, by 10:30 I was out of steam and the day was just getting going.

I'm sure it goes with the territory of having 2 boys, or maybe just 2 kids, but the Toddler is just so rough with the Baby. I seriously hear myself a hundred times a day telling him "Be Gentle!" or "Don't throw things!" or "Do NOT kick your brother" or "Why did you just knock him over?" Sometimes it is overzealous affection. He loves to lay on top of him or hug him a little too vigorously. Other times, it is because the Baby was simply looking at his cars or "in the way."

On days like today, I just can't deal. I get SO TIRED of correcting him. I do try to let them "be boys" and be a little rough and tumble. I can't police every moment and I know that is part of being brothers and being boys. I want them to be close and have fun together and I know that sometimes Toddler is really just trying to engage with Baby and he just doesn't know his own strength. But, that is not really the problem.

The real problem is me.

The Seven Year Itch

Growing up as a military kid, I never lived more than 2-3years in the same place. It was constant change, constant adjustment. Just when I would start to feel settled, it would be time to move on. But lately, I find myself with the opposite predicament. I have the itch....

Not THE itch, the one you need a cream for or the one that comes from being married for seven years (I have been married for almost 10!!-Wow!). No, my seven year itch is all about location.

As Hubby and I sat in the parking lot of our old college dorm recently with our third son sleeping quietly in the backseat, we reminisced about those good ol' college days and how life has changed so much since then. Life was so simple then. Although if you'd have asked me during those years, I would have told you it was complicated. At the very least, it was a stepping stone, a temporary arrangement. It was for everyone. No one is a professional college student. You have to move on eventually, either to a career or further more specialized education or raising a family. College, for me, was the longest I had ever lived in one place. And despite a short break living in Baltimore for nursing school, we are still here. Not only that, we live close enough that we can leave the parking lot of our old dorm and be home 5minutes later.

I want to move. I have the itch....a seven year itch.

Deciding on Preschool

As moms we are constantly faced with decisions in regards to raising our kids.  Should I let them cry? What should I feed them for lunch?  How will I discipline today's naughtiness?  Big decisions, and small ones too... but LOTS of decisions.  Having to choose what to feed my 3yr. old for lunch or if we should go to the zoo, those are the easy decisions.  They don't really have any lasting impact.  But then there are the decisions that have further reaching effects.  I am not talking about discipline or if I should go back to work or where we should live or if we should have more children (although those are all questions with long reaching consequences).  No, I am talking about a topic that has proved much harder for me to decipher the right path.... PRESCHOOL IN CHICAGO!!

This extremely frustrating journey began in January with our first open house visit.  Going into the situation, I assumed that this would be the preschool we would choose.  I never even thought we would look anywhere else.  The visit went well, I liked the teacher and the space and the...  whatever.  But something told me I needed to look around to be sure this was the right place.  And that is what started it all.  Since then, I have visited about 10 different preschools and am miles farther from making this decision than when I stepped foot in that first preschool three months ago.  

Do ALL moms fret over this decision or is there something pathological about my inability to choose?

All Bottled Up

I have written before about my love-hate relationship with pumping.  It feels so unnatural, so mechanical.  Everything nursing is not.  But as mothers, we do it because we know that giving our babies breast milk while we are away is what is best for them.  I hate to pump, but I want my baby to be sustained and nourished while I am at work.  So I do it.  For him.  But what happens if he won't take it, won't take the bottle at all?  What is a pumping mom to do then?

When I went back to work after my older son was born, it was a battle to teach him to use the bottle.  I think I bought ten or more different kinds of bottles, praying that I would be able to find the one that was just right and he would take it and suck that milk down.  It took weeks and lots of crying from us both, but he learned how to do it and drank from a bottle like a champ from then on.  So when my 6month old was born, I was determined to start earlier to hopefully avoid the bottle-training battle.  The first time he was introduced to the bottle, he didn't even hesitate.  It was like, "wait, this isn't mama but it is yummy milk so why not?" And with that he gulped down a few ounces and looked up as if to say "that's all you got?"  I was thrilled, ecstatic!  Hooray!!  No battle!  Boy, was I wrong.

He did great for the first two months or so, taking bottles from daddy or grandma or just about anyone.  And then one day, something changed.  Someone flipped off a switch in his little brain, or maybe switched it on.

Be Careful Little Ears

My two and a half year old son is obsessed with the Disney Pixar movie Cars.  He loves the character and can quote large portions of the movie.  We borrowed it just before Christmas, he only watches in 20-30minute increments, and is only allowed to watch one segment per day.  Yet still, he is obsessed.  For those of you who have ever had a two year old, you know that obsessions at this age are just as pervasive as at any other age.  He wants Cars stickers and books and underwear and ...  you name it.  But I don't really mind all that.  I actually like that he is expressing his personality by diving into something he truly enjoys.  Still, my hubby and I are trying to put some natural parental limits on the obsession and keep in from becoming a full-blown addiction.  But there is one aspect that I am having trouble controlling- the language.

This is a kids movie.  It is meant for kids, loved by kids, watched by kids.  Yet some of the language in it is not words I want my two year old to repeat.  There are no swear words, no f-bomb or anything even remotely vulgar like that.  But the characters do call each other names and use slang words that I would prefer not to hear out of my toddler's mouth.  Words like moron, idiot, heck, dang,...  Those may sound pretty tame to you.  But picture one toddler calling another an idiot or a moron and it suddenly doesn't seem so tame.  I don't want him hearing language like that and thinking that is part of normal conversation.  My son is very verbal with a fairly large vocabulary.  He hears a word once and then starts to use it in his everyday speech.  All kids at this age are little sponges that soak in the world around them and use that knowledge to help them figure out how to become part it.

How Moms are Like Football Kickers

I am a football fan, mostly college. For me there is no more entertaining and engaging sport to watch. Especially when the game is close or my Florida Gators are winning. This holiday weekend is filled with fun bowl-game match-ups and a week from now my Gators play for the national championship for the 2nd time in 3 years!! Very exciting. In any given fall weekend, whether it be college or pro, there is at least one game that is decided by a field goal or less. The whole team works so hard all game and it comes down to the skill (or sometimes luck) of one player - the place kicker. He makes it, he's the hero. He misses, he's the goat. That's a lot of pressure for one person.
My oldest son is a very typical two year, or at least as far as I can tell.  I have never had a two year old before.  He has his moments of tantrums and disobedience.  But for the most part, he is a very sweet and very polite child.  He says "excuse me mommy" when he needs my attention, he often (not always) says please and thank you when appropriate, and he comes and gives me a hug and tells me he loves me when he sees me sad (like today when my parents left for the airport).  When he started displaying these polite behaviors about a year ago, I asked my hubby if I got any of the credit for that.  "I think that is just part of his personality," he said.  Really?   I get nothing?

As mommies, we are usually the ones on whom the day-to-day task of raising our children falls. It goes well, we are the heroes. Our children will be thanking us in their valedictorian and Nobel Prize acceptance speeches. Not so well, the goats. They will be sitting on Dr. Phil's set explaining how we ruined their lives.

How Moms are like Football Kickers

I am a football fan, mostly college. For me there is no more entertaining and engaging sport to watch. Especially when the game is close or my Florida Gators are winning. This holiday weekend is filled with fun bowl-game match-ups and a week from now my Gators play for the national championship for the 2nd time in 3 years!! Very exciting. In any given fall weekend, whether it be college or pro, there is at least one game that is decided by a field goal or less. The whole team works so hard all game and it comes down to the skill (or sometimes luck) of one player - the place kicker. He makes it, he's the hero. He misses, he's the goat. That's a lot of pressure for one person.

My oldest son is a very typical two year, or at least as far as I can tell.  I have never had a two year old before.  He has his moments of tantrums and disobedience.  But for the most part, he is a very sweet and very polite child.  He says "excuse me mommy" when he needs my attention, he often (not always) says please and thank you when appropriate, and he comes and gives me a hug and tells me he loves me when he sees me sad (like today when my parents left for the airport).  When he started displaying these polite behaviors about a year ago, I asked my hubby if I got any of the credit for that.  "I think that is just part of his personality," he said.  Really?   I get nothing?