Month 43

Dear Olivia,

I'm sure you're wondering what's been happening to me lately - I spend a good portion of the day making strange noises while I feverishly rub my eyes.  You see me disappear upstairs in a hurry only to reappear with a puffy face and bright red glossy eyeballs.  I can only imagine that from a child's viewpoint, it looks like an ungodly Hulk-like metamorphosis that at any instant will cause my head to crack open only to have some mythical creature emerge.  Sadly, I wish it was some awesome earth shattering event but I'm afraid it's just allergy season.  In any other household this may not be a big deal but when you have two parents who suffer miserably, you're going to take notice.  Unfortunately, I hear it is genetic so have fun with this one. 

I'm extremely agitated this time of year because of allergies so my patience level is nil.  I struggle with patience to begin with so add all the other allergy crap on top, you're going to have an angry Mom and I'm sure you're aware.  You do a great deal of what I call, "roundabout talking" that drives me absolutely crazy.  You typically like to do this while in the backseat as we're barreling down the freeway.  Olivia: "Where are my headphones?"  Me: "I don't know, sweetheart.  Are they on the seat next to you?"  Olivia: "I don't know.  Hurry up and find them - I need my headphones."  Me:  "I can't look for them, I'm driving."  Olivia: "But I need them.  Where are my headphones?  HEADPHONES!  Where are my HEADPHONES!!"  I turn around, while driving, just to see if I can catch a quick glimpse of them just to put an urgent halt to this conversation.  Me: "Olivia, for crying out loud - they are in your hand!"  Olivia: "Oh.  I don't want my headphones."  Me:  "You don't want your headphones?  The headphones you've been inquiring about for ten minutes - now you don't want them?"  Olivia: "No. No I don't."  And there is one piece of evidence as to why your Mother drove off a cliff twenty years from now.

I find the mind of a preschooler to be quite interesting.  You bring up topics of discussion that are quite curious for a three year old's thinking.  I often find myself rather confused when I'm engaging in conversation with you because the questions you ask are so random.  Case in point, I found myself in a lengthy conversation with you at the dinner table as to why it is inappropriate to buy a human being.  You seemed rather confused and a little upset at the notion that it was never ok to buy a person.  Now, in the fascinating mind of a three year old, I would like to know when and why the suggestion of buying a human being entered your brain.  I know they're not talking about trafficking on Dora and Diego, or are they??  Is there some weird subliminal shit going down at Nickelodeon that parents are not aware of??  Yes, I will repeat it again.  No, you cannot buy or own a human being.  End of story.

I have been warned on numerous occasions that three year olds are worse than two year olds.  I remember thinking how this could even be remotely possible.  Unless my child actually turned in to a demon, I don't see how it could get worse.  It's funny how children can challenge those thoughts.  Three year olds are a much bigger different beast than a two year old.  A two year old doesn't communicate very well so there are a lot of dramatic emotional melt downs.  Three year olds are dangerous on a whole new level.  They're language has become frighteningly good.  Their demands have gotten a little more detailed and sophisticated.  They are fearless.  You, my dear are fearless and give little care to repercussions.  You are suddenly very defiant.  You ask me if you can paint.  I tell you no - we're about to have dinner.  This means nothing to you.  You'll ask another five times or so when suddenly you realize you're not getting anywhere asking me so then you'll just say - I'm just going to go paint.  When you realize negotiations are not going quite in your favor, you just go for it anyways except I'm on you like white on rice so your attempts to undermine me fall short.  You will ask repeatedly with the hopes that you can chisel away at my patience until I finally wave my white flag.  Unfortunately for you, I'm just as stubborn.  Looks like no painting for you.

We had a situation at your Preschool recently that involved your teacher expressing her concern that she didn't think you were well - in her words, your energy level seemed to be off and she caught you attempting to nap in the playhouse outside.  I know the real reason was because I sent you to school with green snot.  Now, if I kept you home from school every time you had green snot, you would have missed 90% of the school year.  You and every other child at that school has green snot - it's like a medal of honor for attending preschool.  I was actually quite taken back when she said your energy was low because you're still bouncing off the walls at home.  The napping in the playhouse sounds to me like you were bored - I've seen you do this at home.  After talking with your Dad, we came to the conclusion that maybe you were still upset about your friend moving away because when we approached you about the things your teacher was bringing up, you replied that you were lonely.  So I broached the subject to your teacher and she kind of brushed it off saying she didn't think it was loneliness that you were in fact sick.  Unfortunately, later in the same day, you developed pink eye.  Whether everything was related, I'll never know but pink eye is the worst.  It's goopy and gross and unavoidable as Miles learned.  I quickly got you on eye drops and your doctor said you were free to go about your day-to-day activities.  You were proudly declaring that you had pink eyes - "I HAVE PINK EYES - I LOVE PINK!!"  Just what I want, you announcing to your teachers, who already think you're sick, that you have pink eye.  I asked you politely to not say anything and keep it just between us.  You said ok.  When I picked you up from school, I asked you if you told your teachers that you planted your sunflowers.  You said, "No.  I told them I had pink eye."  Great job.

I'm afraid I have caught far too many glimpses in to your future teenage/20 something years.  You demand a taste of liquor when ever a bottle is popped open, you lift your shirt up while dancing while rubbing your belly and you straight up pissed on the bocce court we were playing on.  I'm quite certain this is a synopsis of a "Girls Gone Wild" episode.  I'm not quite sure what to make of my children when you're doing this and Miles is playing three different women in the near vicinity of our table when we're dining out.  You two are little disgusting party animals with an appetite for love and destruction.  Thankfully you're not dry humping stranger's legs or we might have far more serious issues.  People say children imitate their parents and I can attest that I have not exhibited this behavior in your presence.  Yes, I'm 99% sure I have not exhibited this behavior in your company.  Vulgar language doesn't count.

Love,

Momma

Month 18, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

You ate a complete pork chop the other night for dinner.  I mention this because it is both amazing and incredibly frightening.  How does an eighteen month old put down an entire cut of meat?  I am informed by your Pediatrician how incredibly wonderful this is - you're eating well and you're eating because you need the protein as opposed to me who eats out of sheer boredom.  Apparently at your age, there is no such thing as empty eating.  I'm suddenly seeing dollar signs every time I change your poopy diaper which might I add, you crapped twice while putting down that pork chop.  You know you have to keep the food in your belly in order to feel full?  I really am stunned by this incredible feat of yours that it has become the second thing I tell everyone.  Conversation usually starts with a, "Hey, how are you?"  "I'm well.  The other night Miles ate an entire pork chop all to himself."  Good news is, Olivia is on a food strike if macaroni and cheese or ketchup are not served as a meal option so it kind of balances itself out. 

You have followed in the footsteps of your sister when a new article of clothing is placed on your body.  Liv does a weird strut/dance thing when she tries on new clothes and you are now doing your own version of an awkward attempt at modeling.  You run in to whatever room someone is in and you take a wide stance and then continue to pelvic thrust the air.  This is followed by Olivia belting out, "Miles, you look good!"  It's very odd that the two of you play this game. 

There is a newfound enthusiasm for most everything that enters your life and you feel the need to share ths enthusiasm with your Dad.  Whether it be stacking the Play-Doh cups, Dora making an appearance on television, or the sound of a plane in the sky, you frantically shout, "DA! DA!"  Each time getting louder until someone takes notice and acknowledges the amazing discovery you have unearthed.  We spent a day at the Monterey Bay Aquarium and I actually think you were more in to it than Olivia.  Liv is at the age where she has a solid three seconds for each attraction until she's ready to move on.  Her reaction to everything is, "WOW - look at the fish!  Let's go see something else now."  You would find a spot and sit there mesmerized by what was taking place in front of your eyes.  It really would have been a magical moment if it wasn't for Olivia demanding we get a move on it before I even realize what it is I'm looking at.

The ladies love you and you love the attention.  At Olivia's preschool egg hunt, all of the girls in Liv's class followed you around as if you were draped in candy.  When you sat down to fix your shoe, all seven girls sat around you in a circle, each taking turns petting you.  Olivia stood back, arms crossed, with a look of complete confusion.  The pinnacle moment of the day is when you won the heart of the beloved popular seven year old daughter of the office manager.  This girl is loved by all the kids because she's older and cute.  The kids were vying for her attention when she caught sight of you and suddenly the tides turned.  She was vying for your attention and being the equal opportunity gent you are, you graced her with your company and she followed you around the playground the entire afternoon.  I think she may have even shed a tear when you said your farewells - you're a lady killer, Miles.  A true heartbreaker. 

Eating out has become almost downright impossible with you.  You refuse to sit still for any given amount of time, you grab anything in your reach and toss it in the opposite direction, and your volume level is embarrassingly high.  Since you eat entire small animals, your strength is impressive for your short stature.  You can actually get a high chair rocking if you're determined enough.  Preparing a game plan before we enter a restaurant is mission critical if we're going to endure our meal with minimal glares.  As much as I hate to feed you before we're about to eat, a cup of crackers appears to be as effective as duct tape.  It's such an ordeal for a mediocre meal but I'm determined to press on because I do enjoy eating out and I'm determined to get you accustomed to the idea. 

I'm intrigued to see how yours and Olivia's relationship will develop overtime.  She loves you tremendously even if her actions don't always show it.  She proudly introduces you to everyone which is followed by a wicked chokehold.  She also likes to proudly state that you are in fact a boy which means you have a penis.  Don't dare ask her the follow up question because she will proudly declare that she is a girl and girls have baginas.  Yes, baginas.  I love that you two share a room because you are developing a sort of comradery but you two can't seem to work out a synchronized sleep schedule so the two of you are always tired at strange times.  You are an early riser and demand Olivia wake up immediately to provide you with your morning entertainment.  Liv is a night owl and stays up way past the time she is put down and she expects you to stay up with her.  Between you practicing WWF moves in your crib and Olivia screaming at you to "BE QUIET" when you're not even making a sound, I don't see how anyone has a good night's sleep in there.  I would be more proactive in remedying the situation but I'm still at my desk crying over my depleting bank account due to my increased grocery store visits.  Perhaps you can start eating over at one of your girlfriend's houses to ease up on my pantry.  Just an idea.

Love,

Momma

Month 42

Dear Olivia,

I am incredibly amazed how hysterical you get when you start to have articles of clothing removed.  Not hysterical from an angry standpoint but it's as if when you're naked, it some how evokes this animal within you who is trying to claw their way out.  There is an enthusiasm beyond comprehension that you exhibit when you're naked and it's a joy for nudity that I'm a little jealous of.  Unfortunately, responsibility and age seem to erase the joy of removing one's shirt and running around the house demanding everyone to "LOOK AT MY BELLY!!!"  It's not to say that no adults enjoy the sheer intensity of nudity that most children experience although they typically go in to "entertainment' or hang out at certain resorts with people I can only imagine are named Duke and Butch.  No no, the thrill of getting naked is certainly gone but I will continue to watch you vibrate across the house when I remove your clothes before bath time.

You have always been an excellent child when it came time to put you to bed.  I have heard stories of children flat out refusing, demanding just one more of something or constantly getting out of bed and having to be escorted back.  I finally understand the true meaning of every tired parent's favorite book, "Go the F**k to Sleep."  You have an impressive list of nightly routines you have to act out and ask before I can finally close the door before you belt out, "hold on a second - you forgot something."  There are times I return and you're unable to follow up that statement with anything which drives me mad but you've gotten smart.  Now when I return, you say in your sweetest voice, "I love you with all my heart."  You're smart because you know this statement won't make me mad and you know that this is the perfect time to ask for one more kiss.  As I'm leaving, you remind me that it wasn't a big kiss - you wanted a big kiss.  But wait, where is my hug to go with that kiss?  Didn't you mention I could have a sip of water too?  Miles now joins in on the action and demands a hug as well because I have been in there for a full 36 hours at this point.  Once I hear the farts making their way in to the room, I'm out because I'm not changing another diaper and I refuse to wait another fifteen minutes while you sit on the toilet reading books and singing songs.  Yes, that's great, love you to.  Yes, love you with all my heart.  Momma has got to go now - save me that hug for tomorrow.  And just like that I run downstairs and turn the baby monitor way down low and pretend you're fast asleep. My mantra is if I can't hear you, you must be ok.  So far so good.  This mentality works most nights but sometimes guilt gets the best of me and I'll have to go in to your bedroom one more time to properly say good night.  This occasionally means waking you up out of a dead sleep and scaring the bejesus out of you but it's enough to bring me comfort.

There are many times I question whether you and Miles should be in your own room and this is based on the fact that I have heard you on several occasions through the monitor tell Miles to "lay down and go to sleep - you're being too loud."  This in itself is astonishing because your voice could break glass.  There have been mornings when Miles wakes up painfully early and I know you're fast asleep.  He of course is used to you providing entertainment until I arrive to bring you downstairs for breakfast so he tries to wake you up by screaming at you from his crib.  I feel bad because I know you're tired but most of all I know if you don't get enough sleep, I'm the one who has to deal with the wrath of crabby you.  The problem is, when you two are awake, you do entertain each other until I'm ready to get you.  Without that comradery, I fear my shower may be cut short to nothing at all.  Looks like you just may need to endure Miles a little longer. 

You're driving me mad with your constant need to know what the "schedule" is for the day.  You ask me, "what happens after breakfast? What happens after lunch? What happens after nap?  What happens after dinner?"  I guarantee the answer to all of these questions will not be the answer you are looking for.  No, we are not going to Disneyland today and no, we are not going to a birthday party because let's be honest, you live for princesses and cake. 

This past month brought the passing of our Maddy.  You were tremendously close with her and I have wonderful memories of the two of you interacting.  Unfortunately, you're at the age where you don't understand everything but you understand just enough to make conversations awkward.  Having said that, I had to figure out a way of broaching the subject as to why Madeline won't be coming home.  I found myself at a crossroads - should I lie and say she went off to fun on the farm or do I play the religious card and say she's in Heaven, which your Atheist Uncle will tell you is just as bad as saying she's having fun on the farm.  Regardless, I decided to introduce the term 'Heaven' to you.  Now, I am not a religious person but I do find myself to be spiritual.  My parents didn't have me baptized when I was younger despite attending a Catholic church so that I could make this decision for myself and I greatly respect them for that decision.  I feel it's only fair that I present you and Miles with the same religious freedom.  You do attend a Christian preschool and Jesus is discussed quite a bit but how much you understand is beyond my comprehension.  You may think he's a character on Nickelodeon for all I know but he has been introduced. So when the time came and you asked me where Maddy was, I in turn told you that she's now in Heaven.  Your response was, "which Heaven?"  I explain to you that there is only one Heaven and Maddy is having fun eating massive amounts of peanut butter and kibble and lying in the grass.  You tell me that you miss her and I begin to think that maybe you understand a little bit.  That is until the next day when you ask me if we can go to Heaven and pick her up. 

At the end of the day, whether you decide to believe in Heaven is up to you.  If you want to believe there is a giant unicorn in the sky who poops rainbows, I'm all for it as long as you're happy and as long as you don't have a problem with my beliefs and try to convince me otherwise.  I'm not joining any damn cults, I don't care how awesome you think it is.

Love,

Momma

 

My life according to the camera

What have we been up to??

Besides spoiling our Corgi, Fabrizio, rotten with lots of walks, we celebrated St. Patrick's Day with cotton candy bigger than our heads, numerous trips to the library and a discovery of an awesome place called Studio Grow.  We went here for a birthday party and the kids had such a good time playing with everything from toy lizards to blocks to the little roller coaster.  Which, might I add, took everything I had to keep myself from jumping on it and going for a ride.

Olivia earned another ribbon in swim class advancing her to the level where she will now learn arm strokes.  Again, I was the loudest parent in the waiting room when she passed her test.  Not to be outdone, Olivia spent the remaining fifteen minutes of her class jumping up and down proclaiming "I DID IT! I DID IT!"

I discovered Ryan is quite handy with a saw - building a monster planter box for me.  Although, the final product eerily resembles a coffin - not sure if this was Ryan's subconscious taking revenge upon me for asking him to tackle this large feat. 

The weather remains cold and gloomy which means this California girl needs to pack up in search of some sunshine.  Any suggestions for a road trip??

Month 17, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

I am exhausted and I have a very strong suspicion it is your constant crying that makes me feel like I never get a good nights rest.  My exhaustion from listening to you cry for the past seventeen months has made me a little crabby as well - I snapped at a poor woman at Starbucks for trying to take my coffee only to learn that it was in fact her coffee.  There are times I wish I could just hang a sign around my neck that states 'mother of a difficult toddler - forgive me for my clueless nature - have not slept for quite some time.'  Seriously though, what is your deal?  I get it that Olivia is always in your face and sometimes she's a little rough when she goes in for a hug but we've gotten to the point where all she has to do is look at you and you run away crying.  I am starting to catch on to the fact that perhaps I'm being played.  Maybe I have over reacted a bit in the past but it's kind of a necessity for your well being when Olivia tries to pelt you with golf balls.  Fortunately for you, she has crappy aim.  I know you have the fight in you to strike back - you proved this quite well when you decided to take down Olivia at the park last week:

You're trying to find your voice which is nearly impossible when you're with Olivia.  I too struggle to find my voice when I'm with her but you have to reach down deep and grab hold of something.  Language isn't your strong suit but maybe you can growl or something like Merrik does.  It's true, Merrik has resorted to growling at other children when he's angry.  I guess it's better than hitting. 

I'm fairly certain our neighbors think I'm a horrible parent because every time I open the front door, he's within an earshot of you screaming and flailing your body across the front porch while Olivia is having a crisis in the driveway asking for 'just one more, PLEASE!' over and over again.  This is happening while I'm also screaming Fabrizio's name as I try to corral him back in the door.  Yes, this does happen every day.  I'm actually quite surprised he hasn't staged an intervention or called social services on us.

The other week, we decided to take away the almighty pacifier.  It wasn't something we planned nor did we have any inclination as to how you would handle the absence of your dear friend.  I had put you down for your nap and I found myself without your pacifier.  It was gone and you have a knack for hiding things really really well.  I spent two hours looking high and low without success.  You didn't cry or fuss but it did take you a little longer to fall asleep.  Finally I found it in my kitchen utensil drawer which has proven to be a guaranteed location for lost items, big and small.  By the time we found it, you were fast asleep so we didn't bother you with it.  Given how well you did without it, we decided to put it away for bedtime and again, you didn't fuss or whine.  Sounds great with the exception of two things: 1. it takes you a really long time to fall asleep now.  I'm talking a good hour to hour and a half which is fine except you keep Olivia awake which makes for brutal mornings.  And 2. you're extremely loud without it.  You're a loud kid in general but you are bullhorn loud without something to smother the sound.  Your sleep schedule is totally out of whack because of the pacifier take-away.  I'm now startled out of sleep at 5:45am to the sound of you screaming every thirty seconds from your crib because you can't settle yourself back down.  I will happily give you back the damn pacifier if you will let me sleep until 7:30.  I will downright let you swim in a sea of pacifiers if you will stop crying for an afternoon.

I have discussed your rapid transition from good mood to bad mood in the past and it has become blatantly obvious as you get older.  You will be whining and crying and Olivia will belt out in song and it's as if rhythm has a hand and grabs you because you starting bouncing, gyrating, shimmying all around the room.  Gloria Estefan was talking specifically about you when she claimed the rhythm is going to get you.  You have become Olivia's backup dancer which provides endless entertainment at all hours of the day.  Your preference is house music but you're unbiased - clearly when you attempt to find a rhythm in Olivia's songs.

I am worried for you that given your lack of vocabulary and your constant fussing that perhaps something greater is wrong and I'm just too clueless to pick up on it.  You know, I don't get an informational pamphlet when you're born explaining what to do in certain situations.  I'll be honest that your Dad and I have been a little out of sorts lately with our dear Maddy-girl passing which by the way breaks my heart that you won't have any memories of her but thankfully for you, I live life through the camera lens so you'll have photos to look at.  It's clear that when it comes to parenting you, I'm winging everything with the hope that I get lucky and you make it out alive.  There isn't a second that goes by that I fear I'm really messing up with you and you may be a complete basket case as an adult.  I seriously have no idea what to do with you except hold my breath and make lots of penny wishes in fountains because we're banking on pure luck, kid.  I am sorry if you grow up to resent me which I'm sure you will.  I want you to know that I will continue to wait patiently with each and every scowl, kick, scream, whine and pout because occasionally you do smile and laugh and those moments are perfectly lovely.  I am still terrified of raising a boy because you're proving my theory right that boys are loud and dirty but in the end you're still my loveable baby boy.  Well, to be precise, my loveable sensitive Kajagoogoo baby boy.

Love,

Momma