Turning It Back On!

You know those restaurants with “Make Your Own Salad Bars”? For less than $10 you can mosey on up to a buffet-style counter, grab a plate, and scoot down the line creating your own custom-made salad. It sounds simple enough, right? You begin by laying the groundwork with a little lettuce (or spinach if you’re feeling spicy) then accessorize with any of the abundant choices in front of you. You pile on tomatoes, and cucumbers – your favorites. But wait, there's more!  This salad bar has avocado and red bell peppers, so you add a few to make your salad feel fancy. On down the line you scoot, adding cheese and carrots and mushrooms. Hoping that this custom-made meal will hold you over until dinner, you add a little grilled chicken for protein. Your 4-yr-old loves broccoli so you throw a few on your plate to make him happy. You spot a mix of melon balls and think to yourself, “This is my lucky day!” as scoop them onto the side of your plate. At the end of the line, you add a little shot of salad dressing and reach for the pumpernickel croutons. But, without even realizing it, you’ve put so much crap on your plate that the croutons – the crunch element of your salad, the carbohydrate of your meal, the ingredient invented with the sole intent to add flavor and enjoyment to an otherwise boring lunch – tumble off your plate. Some fall onto the floor, others into the container of ranch. The sophisticated looking old lady in line behind you gives you the stink eye as you awkwardly try to fish the crouton out.

My point?  Even with the best intentions of keeping my salad plate under control, there are always a few freaking croutons that fall onto the floor. I’m one of those people that, even with the best intentions, pile too much crap on my plate and there’s always something falling into a container of ranch – like this blog. But I fished it out, so let’s dive into the craziness that I’ve piled onto my plate since the last time I wrote something.

1. We moved. Just before James’ 2nd birthday we uprooted from our home in the country to a cute little house in town. It’s a work in progress and progress is slow. But it has “character” and memories and eventually a swing set.

2. James flipped on his internal defiance switch – and IT IS STUCK! I’ve seriously considered renting him out to the US government to train various officials how to successfully negotiate world peace. Going to bed at night, getting out of bed in the morning, playtime, mealtime, car rides, what to wear, what to wash, how to wash it, what to read, how to read, almost everything is negotiated these days. It’s exhausting and hilarious but never at the same time.

 

3. I got knocked up…and, as nature would have it, subsequently had a newborn,

 who turned into a toddler in the blink of an eye.

  A red-headed pistol of a girl we call Emory, or Em, or…well, let’s just leave it that. I whole-heartedly believe that this diva was placed on this Earth to rule me. There’s no doubt that she changed me. For the first 3 months of her life there was no setting her down pretty much EVER. You can imagine how much more productive and energetic this has made me. More on this bundle of chaotic awesomeness to come!

4. I got a new job. I’ve never met a pharmacist that doesn’t have a touch of OCD. Most crave some kind of routine. So, it’s funny that when I graduated, I chose a job (as awesome as it was) that had a pretty erratic schedule. We made it work, but Emory (see bullet point three) tilted the scale in favor of a pharmacist position not quite as exciting but closer to home and with a predictable schedule.

5. I am no longer 100% sure I could pick Eddie out in a line up. Not that I expect my husband to have any run ins with the law any time soon, but the man is working out of town more than ever these days! Thanks for the paycheck honey! See you at Thanksgiving…

So it’s kind of been Thanksgiving around here as far as plate piling goes. Lately, life has been so packed full of the good stuff that I’ve let some things (like writing) slip off my plate. But the great philosopher Ferris Bueller was right when he said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around for a while, you could miss it.” So while I’m thankful that I have so many things to fill my plate, I regret not documenting them here – the good, the bad, the ugly. As crazy as life still is for the Foy Family right now, it’s starting to feel normal. Routines are beginning to stick, Em is defining her role as a Foy, James is settling into his big brother responsibilities, and Eddie and I are learning to roll with the punches.

It’s time to stop and look around a bit.

To Sleep Purchance to Dream -- Not a Chance

The toddler bed is slowing killing me: Part I

We moved into a new house back in August and with that switched James to a “big boy bed” – WOOHOO!   This wasn’t necessarily a transition I was excited about.  Eddie and I were among the lucky select few parents that had a child who slept through the night early on and James had grown to love his little crib with all its coziness and security.  On occasion he would ask to get in his crib and just chill for a bit.  He would play in his crib for a good 30 minutes after he woke up, giving me an “adjustment period” to pry my eyelids open (or on a good day shower and dress).  

But over the summer James started using his crib railing as a hand-grip and the crib mattress as a trampoline (as all wild animals will eventually do). So, we decided that when we moved into our new house we would transform James’ room into a big boy room, bed and all (except for the changing table—potty training is still a work in progress but I will save that misadventure for another day).  

 

The first week or so went rather smoothly.  James fell asleep just like he did before and didn’t seem to realize the infinite freedom to roam the new bed granted him. 

A few nights later my parents came over to visit and asked how James was adjusting to his new surroundings.  Little did they know they had just lit the fuse to the biggest what-the-hell-just-happened bomb I’ve experienced since the first time James pooped in the tub during bath-time.  (To save what little pride I now have left and to save James quite a bit of humiliation, I will refrain from ever expanding upon that story).  I can’t fully blame my parents though, because it was actually when I answered, “He’s doing great!  BLAH BLAH, My child is awesome, BLAH. He goes right to sleep just like before,” that the what-the-hell-just-happened bomb exploded.  It exploded right in my face, right before my eyes.  I realized what I had done as soon as the words escaped and while I tried like hell to backtrack and shovel those words back into my mouth the damage had been done and the jinx gremlins pounced. 

 

That next night, our bedtime wars ensued.  When I say bedtime wars think native uprising.  Each night James changes his attack strategy so we never know what to expect.  He started small:  Getting out of bed, pulling books of the shelf and putting them in bed with him to “read”.  Whatever, right?

 Well, a few nights later he upped the ante by opening his bedroom door and trying to sneak out.  He learned this strategy doesn’t work very well in an older home with hardwood floors that creak every few steps.  I stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched from afar as the door slowly opened and a single eye peeked out, then a round face followed by a head that first looked to the right, then to the left.  He disappeared back into his room for a brief second then the door swung open and he crept out holding is stuffed frog, Mr. Pickles.  He was smart enough to close the door behind him with the hope that no one would notice he and Mr. Pickles had escaped.  About 4 steps down the hall he saw me and ran back into his room and crawled in his bed.  I may have won the battle that night but the war raged on and the rebelling only worsened. 

Some nights while I’m brushing my teeth or folding laundry James will mysteriously appear at my side –

“I not tired Mommy.” Dammit…how did he pass the creak obstacle?

 “James, it’s late buddy.  Did you try to close your eyes?” 

 “Ummm…I want juice.”

“I can get you some water.”

“I WANT JUUUUUICE!!!” (Translation:  You’re going down lady.)

I go downstairs burned but not defeated.  I pour some water in a cup add a drop of Mio water flavoring and tell him it’s juice. He accepts the water as juice but then makes other numerous requests:  Read a book, sing, brush teeth, turn the light on, read another book, sing more, count all the stars in the sky, take him to Vegas, review the stock market crash of 1921, teach him Mandarin Chinese…

Brushing his teeth is the only thing this child enjoys about going to bed.

Good with going to bed....

Still good about going to bed....

 

One of his favorite moves is to ask to sleep in “mommy’s bed” or “daddy’s bed”.  We always reject the request thus ending all peace negotiations for the night.  A long series of shrill screams, tear-soaked cheeks and cries for the “other” parent (the one that had not denied the request that particular night) then ensues. 

  

Not so happy about going to bed anymore....

He has demanded, “Daddy, get on airplane” on a couple of occasions.  Most likely because he knows I’m the most tired of the 3 of us and with Eddie gone it he can work me down and seize victory at last.

There was somewhat of a lull in the dreaded bedtime drama when Eddie allowed him to carry one toy to bed with him.  This worked well until one night when he decided to abuse this privilege.

He thought I wouldn't realize that he used his beanbag and blanket to cover up the 50
 other toys he tried to smuggle in bed.

 

So I asked him where James was going to sleep...

And this was his response.

So we compromised.

It’s been a few months now since the war began and I am sad to say that we’ve been defeated.  We allow James to carry multiple toys to bed, we attached a night light to his bed and showed him how to cut it on and off so that he can read the stack of books that he also piles into bed, I have sung Jesus loves me 50 times in a row, Eddie has read him more books in one week than the average person reads in their entire life – ANYTHING to keep in him in that freaking toddler bed.

Mickey Mouse...

So OVER Mickey Mouse.

I know, I know – don’t give in.  It’s parenting 101.  But the kid's got my stubbornness and Eddie’s bargaining skills.  Throw those two traits on a toddler that should have gone to bed an hour ago and see what you get--trust me, parenting 101 get's tossed right out the window.  These bedtime battles wear us down, the ups and downs, the guessing what he will say or do tonight.  It’s absolutely exhausting.  I’m absolutely exhausted.  Some nights giving in is our only chance for survival.  

 

 We were hardcore with the crib.  James never slept in the room with us.  When he would voice his disapproval of being put to bed, we stood our ground and didn’t go back (except on a rare occasion).  It was easy for us.  James was basically trapped so the only choice he had was admit to defeat, lie down and go the sleep.  I’m starting to think James was actually using all that time in his crib to plan his rebellion.   

To Be Continued…

Are they really THAT terrible?

 The defiant dos.   The never-ending Ni . 

The terrible twos. 

 

Every parent deals with the tiresome tantrums of a two-year-old terror at some point or another and while I knew there would come a time when my easygoing life-loving giggle monster would reveal –let’s say- his darker  side, I can honestly confess to you that I didn’t see it coming.  I blinked and my little one goes from taking his first steps to running across the playground.  I turned around twice and the baby that could barely utter mama and daddy is singing his ABC’s. 

As I was eating lunch with some of my favorite co-working-moms a few days ago, the conversation quickly fell to our sweet babes—that acted like wild gorillas on last night’s grocery trip or  compelled you to sing through your meal at Chili’s in order to have a cold, yet scream-free dinner or those angels you bribed to sit through a musical show with Can-Can girls at a theme-park by telling them if they look hard enough they might see the girls’ underwear.   

We gave testimony on potty training woes and disciplinary measures then vented about tantrums and the challenges of sticking to you “Mommy is a Hard Ass” guns after a “Mack-Truck” workday. (if you don’t know what a Mack-Truck workday is, let me assure you-- you haven’t had one…yet.) 

But on the way home today, I started thinking about everything that James is doing and saying and singing and showing us right now. And my itch to revisit this poor neglected blog returned.  Not because I want to share all the trying things James is exploring right now, but because I wanted to write down some of my favorite things about who James is right now…

His natural instinct to explore – incessantly.  The kid is a sponge.  He absorbs so much – things that I don’t even notice –  he takes it in, processes it and makes it his own.  In the sky—always looking for the moon, outside hunting for frogs and bugs, in the car, in the rain, in my closet.  Anywhere and everywhere  he’s observing the world around him.  I love watching him try to figure out how things work and what they can do.

His energy – okay, I admit, there are days when I don’t love this one so much, but I’m still amazed by how much of it the kid has.  Even on days where I would love nothing more than to have him cuddle up with me on the couch to read a book or just sit still for 5 freaking minutes, my heart can’t help but smile as he wheels by me at lightning speed on his tri-cycle. 

His songs – He sings the most beautiful (and unique) version of Baa Baa Black Sheep.

His Dancing –  The boy’s got moves.  Every once in a while I glance back at him in the rear-view mirror and see his head bobbing and hand waving.  His itch for music with a good beat existed months before he was born and his love for it seems to grow more and more every day.

The way he sticks his tongue out when he’s really concentrating on something – He doesn’t notice it yet, but his tongue will poke out on the left side of his mouth just enough to notice if you’re looking for it.  This only happens when he’s thinking really hard – like figuring out the intricate details of a toy, stacking a tower of blocks as tall as he is, or simply climbing a chair.  This time he was concentrating on the ever-so-important birthday wish!

His Stare – James has the ability to say it all with just one look.  He can stick his bottom lip out better than any child I know and will let you know he didn’t approve of what you just did or said by cutting his eyes just so.  Then in the next moment he shoots you a look that’ll make your heart melt.

His love for Love --  About 6 months ago James would randomly yell out some undecipherable words from the back seat of the car on the way home from town.  I knew they were significant because he would repeat them for a minute or so.  (At least until we crossed the railroad tracks and he was distracted by the possibility that a Choo-Choo might be coming.)  He did this for weeks and weeks – both of us getting frustrated with our inability to understand each other.  

Me: “Sorry?? There is nothing that you have done wrong.” 

James: “No Mommy…stwoooee.  O-Vu stwooee.” 

He said it so thoughtfully, too, like he had reflected on his decision to make this statement for quite a while.  This scenario played out week after week and always at the same point on the way home.  It wasn’t until about mid-June that I figured out what he was saying .

Me: “LOVE YOU STORE!”  

James’ eyes opened wide and he started bouncing in his seat.  Turning his neck almost a full 180 degrees James pointed to the grocery store where we shop almost daily. 

James (squealing at this point) “Love mommy!  Love you store!” 

So, that started a chain of love.  Once I figured out what in God’s name James was trying to tell me, James began to “love” everything.  “Love you Max”  “Love you Daddy’s new car”  “Love you tractor”  “Love you moon”  “Love you tree”  “Love you park”  “Love you Mommy-Daddy” 

The boy loves to love…even the things I “forget” to love most days.

Dammit—now I’m tearing up.  I hope James doesn’t sense the weakness…