The Terrible... One-and-a-halfs?

I've often heard that the second half of the year is the most challenging, and boy are my boys proving that point lately.  They are one and a half now (more accurately, they are 21 months, or 20 months if you go by their "corrected" age) and they are Trouble with a capital "T."  I don't remember the princess being this mischievous at this age, but maybe I've just conveniently blocked it out.  Or maybe it's just that, being twins, they have a permanent partner in crime.  The rule of thumb seems to be if it's there to be gotten into, they get into it.  If it's available to be climbed on, it's scaled in a nanosecond.  If there are buttons to be pushed...

You get the idea.

We have set up what we call "baby jails."  There is indoor baby jail in the living room which provide the boys a safe place to play inside, and my parents surprised me by popping by one day and putting up some garden fencing around our outdoor play area (they were probably horrified by my tales of chasing one toddler to the back door only to look up to find the other at the driveway).  Either way, now the kids have safe places to play in.

And with that apparently comes their next mission... how do I escape?

We joke that I must have watched one too many episodes of "Prison Break" in the wee hours of breast feeding the boys, because Thing One, the older twin, is like Houdini.  Any kind of barricade is good for about a day or so, then suddenly, wham!  He's broken out, on the other side, hands in the air, looking at me like, "Hey!  Did you see what I just did?  Wasn't it so cool?"  And the princess is screaming that he's in her room, picking up her hamsters or touching her stuff again, while Thing Two is totally absorbed in his Matchbox cars and could care less.

And SNEAKY.  My boy Houdini doesn't just hop the fence at any old time.  He waits for a prime opening, like when I'm smack in the middle of changing Matchbox car boy's diaper.  Now, after three little ones I'm an old diapering pro, but I'm not magic.  Somehow he's got it down to a science to the exact moment I'm too far in the middle of changing to stop him, plus he's QUIET.  He's got the upper body strength of a six year old and before I know it, I hear the tell-tale scraping sound of his favorite off-limits item- the broom.

Yup, the broom. 

The child just lives to pretend to clean.  All he wants to do is sweep the floor (when he's not terrorizing his sister).  How can I deprive him of that small joy?  So the gates of baby jail open.  Until he starts scaling the kitchen counters.  Then we're back to where we started.

One of the things I've found lately that keeps everyone happily playing (inside the gates of baby jail) is a game I picked up from the good people at the zoo.  Yes, the zoo.  They have a little exhibit called "Our Big Backyard" and in it is something called the "Creativity Corner."  It was there my little tykes spent TWO HOURS playing with- I am not making this up- a whisk and a wooden spoon.  The princess explored more aspects of the exhibit and played with more of the musical instruments and things but the boys were happy to be entertained with the "kitchen" box of playthings... things that I keep not six feet from where they play in baby jail everyday.  Now, thanks to my parents, we have a zoo membership, so it's not like we paid big money for them to play with kitchen utensils, but still... it drove me a little batty.  So, needless to say, when we got home, I rounded up my own box of kitchen playthings that I put out every once in awhile (which Monk does not understand- "They have toys" he says.  "Why are you giving them your potato masher?"  I wish I understood the allure myself, I think) and they are happy to mix, mash, and bang away to their heart's content.

Until Houdini slips past me again...

The Sick Bell

So we have something in our house I call the sick bell.  I give it to Katy when she is feeling so icky that she really can't be getting in and out of bed to ask me for things.  As you can imagine, this happens fairly infrequently.  But the idea of having Mommy cater to her every whim sounds like a fabulous idea, so this was our conversation last night.  (I should also mention that Katy has had a chest cold for the past few days, and has been coughing and taking Tylenol).

Katy: Mom, can I ask you a question?

Me: Sure, sweetie.

Katy:  Can I have something?

Me:  What is the "something?"

Katy:  A bell.  You know, a bell is really helpful, is does "ding ding" and tells you when I need something.

Me:  I know, but you aren't sick enough for the bell.  You can get out of bed and move your body and tell me yourself when you need something.

Katy.  Oh.

Me:  Yup.

Katy:  Mom?  Can I ask you something?

Me: Sure sweetie.

Katy:  (coughing)  I think I need some more medicine.

Me:  You already had your medicine.

Katy:  I know, but I think I need MORE medicine.  Like when I'm REALLY sick.

Me:  Really?  What's wrong?

Katy:  Um, my shingdalalala (unintelligible) hurts.

Me:  Really.

Katy:  Yes, really. And then I need the bell.

Me:  I might have more medicine, but that means you are too sick to go to Grandma's house.

Katy:  Oh.

Me:  Yeah.

Katy:  Hmm.

Me:  Does it still hurt?  Should I find the medicine?

Katy:  You know what, Mom?  I feel better now.  I think I want to play Legos instead.

Me:  Wow.  Are you sure you don't need to rest?

Katy:  No.  Legos, please.


And I thought this kind of deception started much later in childhood.  Apparently not.

Twin Potty Training

Potty training with twin boys is proving to be quite the experience.  I'm not even sure they're ready to be trained.  But since they wake up every morning and promptly take off their diapers and take simultaneous dumps on the carpet, I figure they must be at least partly ready.  So last week I hauled out a little potty from Katy's potty training days.  After gathering lots of advice from my pals on Facebook, I started sitting them on the little pot during diaper changes.

Immediately I made a huge mistake.  I offered M&Ms for sitting on the pot.

Ooops.

By the end of the very first day the boys had figured out that if they "asked" to sit on the potty, they would get chocolate.  You can imagine how that went.

By day two the chocolate was gone (sad face), but I was still putting the kids on the pot at every diaper change.  Without the novelty of the chocolate, though, there was nothing to make them stay sitting, and they wouldn't stay sitting on the little pot for more than a second.  I took what I could get, and then put the diaper on and figured that they would get it eventually. 

So far, I've been wrong.

And I've been missing one diaper change- the very first one of the day.  The way our day goes, In the mornings, I bring the boys in the living room and get them settled with toys and such before leaving them to get their breakfast, etc.  As SOON as I leave the room, they take off their pants, their diapers, and poop on the floor.  One day I returned to find Eli swaying at the entrance of baby jail and peeing through the baby jail gates, totally oblivious to the world around him.  Nice.

So today I decided to wait on breakfast (and coffee... this sacrifice is a testament to how much I love my children) and I pulled the potty into baby jail, pulled off diapers and waited for signs that they were ready to "go."

Nothing.  For over an hour.  Nothing.

Finally, my own need to pee over came the need to train, so I slapped diapers on and removed the potty and headed for the head myself.

I returned to two dirty diapers.

At least they didn't take them off this time.

I give up.

Next step: Maybe carpeting the inside of the potty since they like to poop on the floor so much?

Back to Work

After a six week hiatus, it's time for both Ruben and I to get back to our respective jobs.  Today he goes back to work and so do I- as full-time mommy here at the Anzora household.  My seizures held us back from doing what we both do normally, but now that my medications are straightened out, it's time to get everything and everyone back to their own places.  It was kind of nice, in between periods of unconsciousness, to be together more.  On the other hand, I think we're both ready to be back doing what we've been doing- Ruben out working and me taking care of things here at home.

The kids, on the other hand, were a little shocked this morning when mommy woke up with them this morning and not Papa.  I think this whole day will be a little bit of an adjustment period, and I hope Ruben doesn't expect much housework to get done and/or dinner to be ready when he gets home as I am spending most of my time on the floor with the kiddos.  Having time to type during a rare quiet moment during Elmo is the exception (and I guess I could be spending this time doing said housework, but, well, shhhhh....).

Stay tuned...

Baby Smackdown

The twins have reached that delightful age where they have turned our living room into the newest version of the Ultimate Fighting Championship fight ring. If one has a toy, a cup, or just looks at the other the wrong way, a slew of hitting, kicking, punching, yelling, screaming, biting, eye-gouging, and various below-the-(diaper)-belt tactics ensue. I can try to separate them, but they will just find each other and go back at it until the issue has been resolved. As a parent who never wants to see her offspring in pain, I have to judge how far to let this go (Yelling in the face? Fine. A knuckle up the other's nostril? Cause for a time-out). Part of me wants to stop them from causing the other any pain at all, part of me wants them to learn to work things out on their own. Since I was not around when Mr. Cool was this little, I have to assume this is normal boy or twin behavior. Still, it's a little unnerving to watch my little angels undergoing their struggles for independence, both from me and from one another. Our days are suddenly full of battles- whether for toys or attention, over transgressions real or imagined- it makes for crazy days. Luckily, at the end of the day all of the boo-boos have been kissed, all of the fights have been forgotten, and my two little boys fall asleep contentedly within arm's reach of one another, dreaming sweet dreams.

Monk and I fall exhaustedly into bed at the end of each day too, a little more battle worn, a little smarter (remote controls placed up high one night, knowledge that the "orange cup" is the favorite and causes all-out brawls no matter the contents the next).

And so it goes. Until the next morning...

Happy Birthday to Me

Things are going relatively well around here. I had another birthday, I'm another year older. As my husband commented, "You've had a rough year!" And I had to agree. But now I feel like I'm on steadier ground, surrounded by a better support system, and I learned a lot about myself- namely that I'm not expendable. My family really does need ME, not just anyone, to be the wife and the mom here. And as good as that feels, it's also scary at the same time. I'm reminded of what a huge responsibility this is, to be a wife and a mom.




But when I look at their faces, I know everything has been worth it. I might not have made the best choices along the way, but hopefully I can make up for that somehow, and it won't affect them in the long run. Every parent must make some mistakes, right? Some just bigger than others. All I can do now is try to make better choices now and be the best wife and mom I can be, and give myself a break.


Sounds like a good resolution for 2012.

Brotherly Love

The twins awoke at 4am this morning, which while you're all gasping out there in cyberspace, is a normal time for us, considering their bedtime of 6pm (hey, it works for us).

Their first fight was at 4:09.

Ah, so it has started.

I had often wondered why parents of twins or children very close in age would get them the same toys or clothes- to me if two children means twice the amount of stuff, then might as well get as much bang for your buck as you can, right? Double the wardrobe with different pieces, extend the toy closet with different toys, etc. Why treat each child the same by getting them each the same toy to play with or the same outfit to wear.

Now I realize. It's not so much for the kids' enjoyment as it is to preserve the parents' sanity. The number and severity of fights we have over toys on an hourly basis would frustrate the Dalai Lama. And for two boys who began life as one, they sure do know exactly how to beat the crap out of one another. Some fights would put Ultimate Fighting Champions to shame with all the hitting, kicking, eye gouging, biting, and jumping upon.

This post would be longer but one twin has the other in a headlock...