Act of Kindness

Yesterday John and I took the boys to McDonald's in Hillsboro. They were going crazy at home, wrestling and running around and I was sure someone was going to end up with a nasty head wound if they kept it up. Despite the fact that there are about a dozen or more McD's between here and Hillsboro, the one out there has a cool outdoor playland (The boys call it "treehouse McDonalds") and I felt like they were too wild to be indoors, even at a McD's playplace. Also, the outdoors one doesn't smell like wet diapers.

Max hadn't had a nap. We're kind of in napping purgatory right now with Max. In between needing a daily nap and giving up a daily nap for good. He can go go go until about 5pm, at which point he passes out for several hours, waking just in time to have missed dinner and fuckup bedtime, but it's nearly impossible for him to go to sleep for a nap any sooner. Yesterday he'd fallen asleep in the car a few times, but only for 10 min or so, and it was 7PM. He was tired. And for Max, tired=grumpy and a grumpy Max, well, let's just say that there is a reason I call Max The Hulk.

He perked up when he got his Happy Meal. Chicken nuggets, apple slices and chocolate milk seemed to renew his energy and when we were done with dinner we took the boys outside to play. They were playing so well that John left us to browse at FYE and I got out my Kindle to read, but soon Max said he needed to poop, so I called Alex down from the treehouse, but by the time Alex came to me Max had disappeared up into the treehouse again. Then Alex said he had to poop, so I called Max down again, gathered up all our crap and the three of us schlepped back into the resturaunt to potty. Taking two young boys to a public restroom for a tandem poop is never fun, and this time was no exception. I don't know why my kids insist of narrating their bowel movements. I don't mind so much at home, but when in a public restroom, I wish they didn't say things like "WOW! That one made a big splash!" and "arrrgh! This poop is taking a long long time to come out of my butt!" or "My butt made a poop bubble!".

Back outside the kids resumed their play, but soon got into trouble. My kids, never content to just play the way the equipment was intedned, had shimmied their way inside of a piece of the playground equipment meant for balls. it's hard to describe, but imagine Max and Alex inside a Plinko game. Seriously kids, WHY? I left them there for a while, figuring, they got in, they can get out, but then the other kids at the playground started banging on the plastic screen that the boys were trapped behind. The other kids were just being kids, but the hard plastic screen, when banged on, was smacking my boys in the face, and, being trapped in a Plinko game, they couldn't really move to get away from the smacking. Alex shimmied his way out, but Max was pissed. He wasn't scared, or physically hurt really, just MAD. So he started screaming and crying. So I went over and told the other kids to go away while Max got out. He didn't want to. He wanted to scream about the atrocities that had happened to him and how his feelings were hurt! I finally coaxed him out, gave him a snuggle and suggested that maybe, had he not gone into the Plinko game to begin with, his nose wouldn't have gotten bopped by the screen. He agreed that he wouldn't go in there again, so I left him to play and went back to my table. No sooner had I sat down than Max launched his happy meal toy (a hard plastic Papa Smurf) at one of the kids who had been banging on the screen. Thankfully he didn't hit her, but he'd earned himself a timeout for the attempt.

Tired and with a bruised ego, Max did not go to timeout willingly. He fought. And bit. And struggled. And went boneless. And went rigid. And flailed. And hit. And basically acted like a rabid wolverine.

Max is a kid who is perfectly capbable of tantruming for HOURS, escalating until I'm sure the Earth will crack apart from the intensity of his anger. Under different conditions, I'd have thrown him in the car and we'd have left. But we were trapped. We'd driven a long way just to come here. Alex was being a perfect angel playing happily with the other kids and didn't deserve to leave just because his brother was pitching an epic shit-fit. Not only that, but John had left, taking the keys to the Dilliermobile with him. I couldn't call him to come back because I needed all of my arms and legs to hold on to Max, preventing him from running amok Tazmanian Devil style and bring down the entire playland.

It was at this moment, I was completely frazzled, trapped, sweaty, and desperately trying to keep my hold on a wild, biting, thrashing feral animal of a child that a woman gently touched my arm, and said "I just wanted to tell you I think you're a great mom"

I looked at her for a moment, then looked down at my screaming child, and figured she was surely being facetious. The last thing I appeared to be was a "great mom" at that moment. I said to her, while putting Max in a headlock and grabbing his hand that was smacking my face "Are you serious? Because I'm a little too busy for a mom-fight right now"

She smiled at me, very kindly. "I'm absolutely serious. Most parents would give up, just let their kid go and run around crazy and wild and get away with acting like a brat, but you're not letting him get away with it. I admire that and I think you are a really good mom."

I almost cried.

When I was feeling the most defeated, helpless and like a completely crappy mom (in fact, Max was screaming as much to me), another woman, a mom who clearly has been in my very position before, made a point to tell me that I was doing just fine.

Max calmed down after a while and I did let him go back to play, and as we were getting ready to leave, that same woman came back over to us and said again "Really, I want you to know I think you did great."

"Thank you." I told her.

So often moms watch each other and judge. "She's not doing it right". "I wouldn't do it that way". "No wonder her kids are so bratty if that's what she calls discipline"...It was wonderful and refreshing for someone to see another mom struggling, and instead of judging, offer words of encouragement. Thank you McDonald's-Playplace-in-Hillsboro-Lady. Thank you so much.

Hippiefication

I've started cooking recently, which is big news from someone who's always considered making Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese from the box cooking. It started with bread. I have a friend who told me how she made all her own bread, so I made it my mission to make an edible loaf of honey wheat bread. Admittedly, my first few attempts at actual cooking were more along the lines of Harto than Martha, but after five loaves and LOTS of advice from friends, I succeeded! I couldn't believe it. I went into my kitchen, mixed a bunch of stuff together and ended up with food! YUMMY food!

Since then I started making all kinds of stuff I usually buy. Pizza, cinnamon rolls, brownies, pasta sauces, tortillas, pancakes... sometimes I was successful (brownies!), sometimes I wasn't (tortillas), but it felt oddly satisfying to take these raw ingredients and make them into something my family would try to eat. For the last 3 weeks I've been cooking all of our meals from scratch (with the exception of John's jambalaya that comes from a boxed mix that he loves and doesn't want me messing around with). I've been surprised to find that I'm spending LESS at the grocery store just buying ingredients and my family is eating BETTER than we ever have.

This cooking thing fits in nicely with this underlying shift I've been feeling for a while now. I don't know if it's living in Oregon or frustration with my own health or my desperation to make sure my kids are healthy...I don't know, but I've been slowly moving in a...hippieish...direction as of late. I've recently tossed out the medicated ointments I'd been using for YEARS on Alex's skin in favor of coconut oil with, for me anyway, completely unexpected results. For the last six months Alex's skin has been nearly consumed with eczema breakouts of unknown origin. We'd been treating his skin aggressively with various medicated ointments, steroids, antibiotics, etc... I'd see results, then stop the treatment (most treatments you can only use for 2 weeks at a time because they are so strong) and it would come right back. Frustrated and feeling helpless to help my poor little boy's relentless itching and skin infections, I decided to try coconut oil, having read about it on AndreAnna's blog. It took a while, but it cleared Alex up AND I can use as much of it as I want for as long as I want because it's natural (it's also good in homemade bread!). He still has some patches on his chin and around his nose and mouth that are stubborn, but since I've been using coconut oil, they aren't getting infected and aren't getting worse. They're just dry patches. It's a goddamn miracle!

This coconut oil thing really just blew me away. If the hippies were right about this, what else are they right about??? I watched Food Inc. and Ingrediets and vowed to go to the Farmer's Market every week for all of my produce needs. I've vowed to HAVE produce needs in the future (we aren't really known for our consumption of fruits and veggies). The boys and I grew some dill and basil in little pots on our patio and I am planning to convert their old red wagon into a little herb garden. I told John I wanted to try to make my own laundry detergent, to which he said "You sound like a Pioneer". I decided against making my own soaps (though I have a friend who makes soap and I'm excited to try a batch of his coconut/avocado oil blend soon!) and ordered some hygiene and cleaning products from Melaleuca.

I'm not really a hippie, not by Portland standards anyway. But I am beginning to open my eyes and see the benefit of whole foods, natural products and in general being aware of where things come from.

Different

- Alex hated breastfeeding, resorted to pumping after a few weeks and finally quit all together at 9 months.
- Max exclusively breastfed for 6 months, continued for over a year. Would still nurse now if I'd let him! (I don't)

- Alex slept through the night at 8 weeks old and continues to give me no trouble during bedtime and even sleeps in most days.
- We're still waiting for Max to sleep through the night.

- Max usually comes into my room in the wee hours of morning. Usually around 4 or 5 o'clock. He snuggles in bed with me for about an hour before he starts poking me "is it time to get up?" When I agree, he gives me a squeeze, tells me I'm "the best Mommy i ever had!" and leaps out of bed and begins zooming around the apartment.
- Alex staggers out of bed, usually about 2-3 hours after Max and I have gotten up. He'll give me a groggy hug and collapse on the couch with his blankie. It's about another hour before he's really up and going. I'm glad he'll be in afternoon Kindergarten this year, because I don't know how we'd make it to school on time in the morning!

- Alex is the pickiest eater ever. I am surprised he has survived this long on nothing but Gogurt and Apple juice.
- Max will eat anything.

- Alex would rather sit and make art projects all day long than do anything else.
- Max wants to RUN! and JUMP! Preferably both at the same time, off of things much taller than himself. He was BORN for parkour!

- Alex will throw tantrums, but is easily distracted by deals and bribery.
- Max can (an often does) throw a tantrum for upwards of THREE HOURS. His tantrums can not be stopped or quieted or bargained with. Once the tantrum train has started, you just have to wait it out.

- Alex insists that he is a BIG BOY.
- Max insists that he is a LITTLE BOY and sometimes even says he's the baby.

- Max is obsessed with trains, cars and blocks. Preferably trains and cars that ARE blocks (Lego anyone?). He plays with his toys.
- Alex is obsessed with collecting stuff. He doesn't care what the stuff is, he just wants it. Preferably MIB (Mint in box). He won't play with his toys, he just organizes them in boxes and baskets and bags. He'd display them all if he could without little brother grabbing them and playing with them. (This behavior reminds me of his Daddy, seeing as how we can't use our closets because they are full of BOXES OF STAR WARS TOYS!)

- Alex wants to make things and put things together.
- Max wants to break things and take things apart (there is a reason we refer to him as "THE DESTRUCTOR!")

- At the park Alex goes up to new kids and asks them to be his friend. He doesn't really play with them until he gets confirmation that "Yes, I will be your friend"
- Max doesn't need confirmation. He just goes up to kids and says "You're my new friend! CHASE ME!"

- Alex is afraid of bugs.
- Max thinks bugs are totally cool and loves to try to catch them.

I never knew that two brothers so close in age could be so different. I love this. I love that they have such unique personalities. They're both so weird and wonderful, and even though they often make me pull at my hair in frustration, I am enjoying being the mom of these two.

News From The Trenches

July has been consumed by the war I've waged on fleas. Yes, fleas. AGAIN! Grrr! We don't even have the dog anymore. Fancy has been living her new and wonderful flea-free life for nearly a year back in Utah with John's sister. No, this time, the fleas appeared on our cat. Our ancient, indoor-only cat. The same cat that did NOT get fleas when the dog had fleas, yet somehow has managed to not only get fleas while living an exclusively indoor lifestyle, she's also managed to drop flea eggs and larve ALL OVER OUR APARTMENT! BLEH! I'll tell you, the only thing worse than a flea infested dog is a flea infested cat. WAY worse.

With the dog, we gave her a flea treatment, cleaned the apartment real well and never saw a flea again until now. This time, it's been an all out battle for over a month. The cat's been getting baths twice a week, we've bought flea powder, flea spray, the cat got a medicated flea treatment, we rented a steam cleaner and cleaned the carpets and the sofa, I've washed every blanket, sheet and pillow we own...but still the fleas, THEY SURVIVE!

We think the fleas infiltrated our home by way of a friendly stray cat the boys and I met at the park. Normally stray cats are frightened and don't approach strangers, but clearly the fleas here in Portland have developed kitty mind control, making the cat not only approachable, but aggressive in it's desire to be played with by small children. Purring and playing and looking soft, fluffy and irresistable. I can only imagine that the fleas immediately began launching egg-grenades at us, which we then brought home like flea-egg loaded mules. They then hatched and began their invasion.

We didn't really notice it at first. The cat cleans herself all the time, so her extra licking and a bit of scratching went undetected long enough for those little fuckers to establish a strong presence in our apartment. Soon Max began getting weird little bumps here and there. But ONLY Max. Then we went to Seattle for the weekend, and when we got back there were tufts of cat fur EVERYWHERE! Clearly Kitty had suffered through a major battle with the fleas while we were out of town and fought them the only way she knew how, scratching big chunks of hair off of her body! Poor kitty. I began cleaning the fur up, and as I wiped down surfaces, along with big tufts of hair, I was noticing little flea bodies, little flea larve, some alive, some dead.

I then proceeded to freak the hell out. Which, I think is really the ONLY acceptable reaction to finding your home infested by little blood sucking insects. John's reaction was to tell me I was overreacting. That jumping up and down itching my skin and hair raw and screeching "FLEAS! OHMYGODWEHAVEFLEAS OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!" was uneccessary. That they're, "just little bugs, the world is full of little bugs we live with all the time."

This was the only time I've questioned our marraige. As I stood there, pulling my hair out and refusing to sit on our sofa (flea infested) and hopping from foot to foot (because the CARPET HAD FLEAS!!!), I was looking at a man relaxing on our couch in nothing but his boxers who had apparently decided to sign a peace treaty with these evil creatures and wanted to attempt to live in peace with them. "WHO ARE YOU? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" I screamed at him, "THEY ARE EATING US!!!" Then I ran out of the apartment and spent an hour at Target buying every single flea control product they had.

When I got back, John and I agreed to disagree about the approrpiate reaction to the problem (he's clearly wrong though) and our marraige was saved by joining forces and fighting back. John agreed to launch a massive attack on our carpets and sofa with a steam cleaner while I scrubbed a screaming, yowling, biting, scratching Kitty in our bathtub.

We thought we'd won, but really the war had only just begun. More flea troops hatched and over the last few weeks we've been fighting battle after battle. I think we're weakening them though. I see fewer and fewer larve and fleas when I clean, and they're always dead. But the war is not over until I wipe a surface and see none.