A Hairy Conversation
The following conversation took place as T was washing Tiny’s face and hands after breakfast…
Tiny: What’s that, Daddy? (she points to his arm)
T: That’s hair on my arm.
Tiny: Why you got a lota lota hair there?
T: Some men have a lot of hair on their arms.
Tiny: And on their face.
T: Yes, and on their faces.
Tiny: But not on the head. You gots just a little bit on you head.
T: (smiling) Yes, you’re right about that.
Terrified
Last night, Tiny woke up around 1:30am screaming for me and T. T ran in to try to sooth her, as I was laid-up on the couch trying to work through a yucky intestinal bug (and trying to keep any germs to myself). Through her screams and sobs she told him that there was a bug in her crib. T checked the crib, assured her that there was nothing there and put her and Buba back to bed (because, of course, he’d woken up too and was now also in need of some soothing). Not two minutes later, she was shrieking again- the kid of cry she makes when she’s really, really hurt. Not good. T raced in again, but this time Tiny was beyond worked up, and Buba was becoming more and more upset as her crying and screaming continued. As soon as I heard Tiny call for me, I knew I had to get in there.
This is not the first time that Tiny has awoken scared in the middle of the night. And, while I can’t know with absolute certainty, I’m pretty sure it was a bad dream that started all the night waking months ago. But this was the first time that she couldn’t be easily consoled. She clung to me like her life depended on it, and I could see the fear in her eyes. She was absolutely terrified. I held her and rocked her and told her she was safe. When she appeared calm enough to go back to sleep, I placed her back in her crib. But she shot right back up and refused to lie down. Her bottom lip went out and she began to whimper. I put on her crib soother, which glowed enough so we could both see her mattress, and smoothed down her sheet, showing her that there definitely wasn’t anything in her bed. T put Buba, who he had calmed, back to bed, and I gave Tiny one more hug before zipping up her crib tent.
Tiny held it together for maybe three minutes before she was shrieking and calling for me again. She was still standing up, now in one of the corners of her crib and was still just as scared as she’d been when she’d first called for us. I felt so bad for her. It was clear that this wasn’t game playing. And it was also clear that this wasn’t going to be a quick fix, and then back to bed for all of us. There weren’t any good options for taking Tiny out of her room. I was sick, T has a sinus infection, and Buba would probably protest a ton if he had to stay in the room without her (they’ve never slept separately). So, I held her and rocked her and told her I was there for her. I waited until she stopped hiccuping, and then put her back in her crib. She wouldn’t allow me to lay her down, so I put her in standing and then tried to get her to lay down. It took a few minutes, but she finally crouched down on all fours in one corner of the crib. I stroked her hair, and rubbed her back, and tried to get her to lie down. A few minutes later, she lied down at the far end of her crib, her body all scrunched up in the small space between the front and back of the crib. She refused to lie in the middle, as she normally does. I continued to sit with her until I was sure she’d be okay, maybe 15 minutes or so, and then I returned to the couch.
I could hear Tiny whimper every now and then as she tried to get comfortable but kept bumping into the sides of her crib. She remained awake until almost 3:00am, but then slept soundly until 6:30am, their normal waking time. I changed her crib bedding first thing this morning, and put on a sheet that was a little less busy. Both kids slept soundly at nap time and went right out at bedtime. I’m hoping we’ll all sleep well tonight.
Voting Day
It was after trying out a music class. I was getting Tiny all buckled into her car seat…
Tiny: So, where are we gonin (it’s always nin, instead of ing)?
reanbean: We’re going to go vote.
T: Is it gonna go on the wada (water)?
r: Is what, honey?
T: The boat. Is it gonna go on the wada?
r: No, not a boat, honey. Vote. With a /v/ sound. We’re going to go vote.
T: What’s that means?
r: Voting is what grown ups do to help make choices.
T: Like what you want fo yo breckin (breakfast) or dinna?
r: We vote to make choices about who we want to make big choices for us- it’s kind of complicated. But it’s very important.
T: Oh. When I get big, then I will do that. But right now I’m little. My body is still grownin, and when you get big, you stay big. And Mommy want me to be little for a while.
r: That’s right. I don’t want you to get big too fast. You can have fun and do lots of things while you’re still little. But one day, when you get big, like cousin A (now a freshman in college), then you will be able to go and vote.
T: Yep.
Minutes later, we pulled up at the middle school, our polling place.
T: What’s this place, Mommy?
r: This is where we vote.
T: Oh. Is it gonna go on the wada?
Conversation Over Pancakes
This morning T made blueberry pancakes for breakfast. While we enjoyed the delicious pancakes, T wondered about the making of chocolate chip pancakes. At what point does one put in the chocolate chips so that they’re not too melted, but not too hard? I commented that my mom used to make me chocolate chip pancakes when I was little and also made Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, which I loved. And then the following conversation took place…
Tiny: Who make you Mickey Mouse pancake?
r (me): My mommy did. Your mommy’s mommy.
Tiny: Where is she?
r: She’s far away.
Tiny: Can we see her?
r: No. You will never see her.
Tiny: Why?
r: (silent pause. glance at T.) We’ll talk about it another time.
I could feel myself about to fall apart. If the cat hadn’t raced through the kitchen, scared by the electrician who was fixing our front entryway light, making us all laugh, I might have had to spend the next few minutes in the bathroom with the water running.
My mother died eight years ago. One year before I met T. My mother suffered from depression for most of her adult life. I had never known until the summer of 2000 when she was let go from a job she loved, due to a merger and restructuring, and completely fell apart. Soon afterward, she attempted to take her own life, but was fortunately unsuccessful. The months that followed were full of ups and downs, but mostly downs. And two years later, she made another attempt. That time I lost her forever.
I know I will share the details of my mother’s life and death with Tiny and Buba eventually, but I was not at all prepared to do it today. Thinking back on the conversation, I am surprised that I answered “far away” when Tiny asked where she is. I know that Tiny and Buba do not know the concept of death yet, so maybe that was me trying to get around having to explain that today too.
The thing is, as bad as the last two years were, I have so many very happy memories of my mother and I together. I want to be able to share those memories with my kids, for them to hear how much we loved each other, but I was caught off guard by the sadness I felt sharing about the pancakes, even before my conversation with Tiny began. Because sometimes the realization that my kids will never know my mother hits way too hard at times when I don’t even see it coming.
But It’s Still Summer, Isn’t It?
We’ve done almost no swimming this summer. When T’s school let out on June 22nd, we started talking about taking the kids to “Grandpa’s pool” (the pool and tennis club where Grandpa is a lifetime member), but the conditions were never right. It was too cold, Tiny had an owie, it was too hot and way too humid, I was working, the kids were sick- it just never seemed to work out.
But during the two weeks that we suffered through Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease, the kids continued to ask about going to Grandpa’s pool. We told them that they couldn’t go until everyone was healthy again. That day finally came on Friday, and so on Saturday, we finally took the kids to Grandpa’s pool for the first time this summer. And this was when I discovered that Tiny’s swimsuit doesn’t really fit.
I bought it back in March- online from The Children’s Place. It was a little big, but not much and I figured she’d grow a bit in the next few months. I liked it because it had short sleeves (better protection from the sun) and ruffles on the butt (just so cute!)
The suit fits okay as long as it’s dry, but as soon as it gets soaked, the bottom part sags. I had to constantly pull the bottom half up so we wouldn’t get kicked out of Grandpa’s pool for indecent exposure. With the California cousins coming into town on Wednesday, I knew we’d be back at the pool several more times this week, so this afternoon we headed off to the mall in search of a new swimsuit for Tiny,
But of course, there are no swimsuits for sale in August. August is for back to school shopping, and the stores have already put out their fall displays- racks of jeans and cords and long sleeved shirts and sweatshirts. I get that some may want a jump on putting together a killer fall wardrobe for those first weeks back in the classroom, but hey, it’s still summer isn’t it?
T and I dragged Tiny and Buba from store to store (The Children’s Place, Sears, Gymboree, Hanna Andersson, Baby Gap, and Macy’s). Only Gymboree and Sears had swimsuits in Tiny’s size (size 12 months!) and that amounted to three options. We ended up buying a pale pink one-piece from Sears (which cost $5 more than the one I bought in March!) that I don’t love, but that work for the next month. After purchasing the suit, we also checked Kohl’s, Carter’s, and the Disney Store, but none of those stores had any suits left either. I was thinking of making a trip up to Target tomorrow morning, but then I had this conversation with Tiny:
r: What do you think of your new swimsuit?
T: It’s good.
r: Do you love it?
T: I love it (said very unenthusiastically). I piddy sure I don’t need anodur one (she said with a tired grin).
I got the message. She doesn’t want to shop anymore. She doesn’t want to try on any more swimsuits. This one will do. However, when we talked to Grammy about our shopping adventure on the phone after dinner tonight, she said she’d check two more places, and I didn’t tell her not too.
No Help Wanted
Tiny is fiercely independent these days. Sometimes this is a great thing. Other times it is not. I know that Tiny doing something “all by self” is going to take longer than if I were to do it, so I try to give her as much time as possible to complete her task. And it’s great when she’s able to do something herself. She is incredibly proud of her accomplishment, even if it is just throwing a tissue into the trash can inside the kitchen cabinet.
But when she’s working on something tricky- like getting dressed or putting on her shoes and socks- and time has run out, you’d think that my offer to help was really just a horrible threat in disguise. They way she screams, kicks, hits- it’s insane. And so far today, we’ve been through this twice. Once when she needed to get her shoes on to go out for a playdate (she had about 10 minutes to do so, and did manage to get one on during that time), and once when she wanted to peel a sticker off of it’s waxy paper just before nap time (she’d been working on it for about 5 minutes and refused to let me start it for her).
I’m all for raising independent kids, and I’m willing to allow extra time so that my kids can do something for themselves. But there are certainly times when we are up against time, and I need to teach Tiny that getting help is not a bad thing. Any suggestions?
My Little Fashionista
I’ve never been someone with the cool clothes or the cool shoes. My mother went shopping and bought almost all of my clothes by herself until I was in high school, because I just wasn’t into that sort of thing. I’m still not a big fan of shopping. It’s so time consuming- looking, trying on, exchanging for a different size. Right now, I have such a small amount of clothing that my entire fall/winter and spring/summer wardrobes fit quite easily in my dresser and half of the closet I share with T.
Tiny, I feel, will be very different from me in this area. She’s been wanting a say in what she wears each day since last summer (about 15 months old). Ever morning, I have to offer her choices or be prepared to listen to the consequences. She knows her wardrobe like the back of her hand, and she’ll request specific articles of clothing that are not presented to try to get me to offer her something different. And she LOVES shoes. At Christmas time, she threw a big fit when I had to remove her fancy shoes because I knew they were too small for her feet. She screamed, “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!” Even when I showed her the red marks and indentations the shoes had made on her feet.
So it didn’t surprise me at all that Tiny picked these shoes when we went shopping recently:
They were not at all what I had in mind when we headed to the shoe department at Target. I wanted a nice summer shoe- a sandal but with covered toes. Target had no such things for little girls, but it didn’t seem to matter. Because when Tiny saw those shoes with all the colors and sparkles, it was love at first sight. She put them on easily all by herself, and was just so happy to walk around in them that I knew we would be taking them home with us.
Sleep Interrupted
It was last Tuesday night (technically Wednesday morning) at about 3:15am. Up until that point, I was sleeping peacefully. But at that moment I was ripped from a deep sleep by the sound of Tiny’s cries. They were strong and loud and this was very unusual. But I didn’t jump up right away. Because sometimes, not often but sometimes, she does cry out in her sleep for a few minutes. And without any intervention, the crying stops, and the night goes on as usual.
But on that particular night, the crying didn’t stop, and by 3:25am, Tiny wasn’t just crying, she was screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!” This had never happened before. Never. She had never ever called for me in the middle of the night. Not even when she was sick with a stomach bug.
I rolled over towards T, and we both agreed that I should break our no intervention policy and go to her. When I got to the kids’ room, Tiny was standing up in her crib, and she immediately reached out for me. Unfortunately, Buba began to stir at that same moment, so now I had two crying kids on my hands. I quickly removed Tiny from the bedroom and took her into the kitchen, thinking that maybe Buba wasn’t fully awake and would go back to sleep, but no such luck. He continued to cry and scream for me as I worked to calm Tiny down.
The whole house was dark, and I could see that Tiny was somewhat surprised by that. As I checked to see if she felt feverish, I explained that it was still nighttime and that T and Pokey were sleeping. I told her that she and Buba needed to go back to sleep too and asked if she was ready to go back to her crib. She agreed, and then I went through the whole thing again with Buba.
With both kids calm again, I headed back to bed. I could hear them chatting for another 30 minutes or so, and was still awake more than an hour after I’d first heard Tiny’s cries. But in the morning, I still felt fairly rested and just hoped that the night waking was a one-time only deal.
Unfortunately, that was not the case. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights both kids slept right through as usual, but Saturday night (technically Sunday morning) just after midnight, Tiny woke up crying again. Her cries were not quite as loud, and I hoped she’d fall back to sleep quickly, but she didn’t. She was screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!” just as before, but this time I felt more conflicted about what to do. If I went to her, would the night waking become a habit? Would Tiny start to expect to see me in the middle of the night? But before I even rolled over to voice my thoughts, T said, “Don’t go in.” He was thinking that the night wakings would only continue if Tiny knew I would come each time and that she was old enough to self-soothe and get herself back to sleep.
So I didn’t go in, but I sent T to discreetly scope out the situation. He came back to report that she seemed fine, was not caught in the crib bars or anything and that she appeared to be winding down. Right about this time, Buba woke up and cried a bit, but he was able to get back to sleep pretty quickly and luckily slept through the rest of Tiny’s on and off crying, which lasted about 50 minutes in total.
By 1:15am, the house was quiet again (except for T’s snoring), so I quietly crept down to the kids’ room to see for myself that Tiny was okay. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep without checking in on the kids for myself. Once I saw that they were both sleeping peacefully, I crawled back into bed and hoped to sleep soundly until morning.
Unfortunately, it turned out to be a horrible night for me. While everyone else slept the night away, I tossed and turned and had horrible dreams when I did finally sleep. I think I may have gotten roughly 4 hours of sleep that night, and I woke feeling groggy and cranky.
Thankfully, last night we all slept soundly, but who knows what’s in store for the nights ahead. I mean, we’ve had 17 months of kids’ sleeping through the night, and I guess I just assumed that it would continue that way forever. Why is Tiny suddenly waking up when she’s been such a good sleeper for so long? I suppose I should go and dig out the Weissbluth book before I find myself awake in the middle of the night again wondering what to do.
Seconds
It’s starting to happen. Those mommy friends of mine, whose first borns are roughly the same age as Buba and Tiny, are starting to have seconds. And so it was, at breakfast this morning, that I had the following conversation with Tiny…
Me: Guess what! Ona’s mommy has a new baby!
(No reaction whatsoever from Buba.)
Tiny: Ona’s mommy have new baby. (thinking… processing…)
Me: That’s right. A little, tiny baby.
Tiny: It go rock-a-bye baby. (Tiny says, doing the sign for baby.)
Me: Yes. Now Ona has a little sister.
Tiny pauses for a minute and then looks at me with eyebrows low and a little crinkle in the middle of her forehead.
Tiny: Tiny, no have little sister. (She says shaking her head from side to side.)
Me: (I’m smiling, but my eyes are getting all teary.) That’s right. Tiny doesn’t have a little sister. But you have a brother, and that’s lots of fun. Right?
Tiny: (looking over at Buba) Dats lota fun.
I know that Tiny’s comment about not having a little sister was not so much a request or a longing on her part, but just her way of a making sense of things. (She processes like this all the time, but that’s for another post.) But I couldn’t help feeling a little sad, knowing that my baby days are over for good and Buba and Tiny will not have another sibling.
T started saying “one and done” the moment we found out we were having twins. But I held out hope for a long time that we would have just one more. Every time the topic was up for discussion, it wasn’t fun. We both held firm on our positions, and finally, just last spring, I gave in. Tiny and Buba were just over a year old and I was working on making our travel plans back to my hometown in Iowa. After almost having a heart attack over what the airfare was going to cost us (we bought the kids seats, at the recommendation of another MOT) I began to imagine how much more it would be if we had a third child (or, gasp!, another set of twins). Suddenly T’s argument regarding the costs of having a larger family began to make sense, and I told him that I could be perfectly happy with our family of four.
And I am perfectly happy. But I still think sometimes about what it would be like to have just one more.
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