Signs We Need Thomas and Priscilla Back from Their Aunt & Uncle's House

Thomas and Priscilla have gone to help out with their little cousin Rhiannon, who has a brand-new baby sister, Rosalee! But Craig and Jenn are going to have to give them back this weekend. Things are getting desperate over here. A few signs:


1. Little Genevieve is having to take Thomas's place in sword battles. This just doesn't work quite as well. (Sometimes I fill in, too.)




2. Priscilla's talent at cake making is simply not matched by her mother's, as illustrated by Genevieve's great amusement in the picture to the right. I made a cake for her so Grandma Nauman could celebrate Vivi's birthday with us while she was here. (The littles had such fun with their grandma! And her presents to Genevieve are still being used daily.)





3. James is more and more resembling Commander Shepard from Mass Effect, slinging as big a toy gun as he can find onto his back and looking constantly but in vain for "bad guys." The boy is stretching out the necks of all his shirts, but his papa is secretly kinda proud of him, so we're letting it slide . . .
But really, the bottom line is that Glenn and I can't wait to see our big kids again.

Face Painting Part 2

James was sick recently. Stomach flu sick. We had a strange feeling of deja vu at the restaurant we'd been treated to as we watched him raise his shirt and point to his tummy. "Hurts," he said, almost casually. Glenn and I looked at each other quizzically: why did that seem strangely familiar? Oh, yeah, he did the exact same thing last fall when he-- Too late. Up came his lunch. Always fun, doubly so in public forums. (My friend Lizzie is right: There is a desperate need for a sarcasm font.)

He recovered rather quickly, only to get sick again 3 days later. (Weird gap.) Then I confined him to his room for the day. He was clingy and sweet, and got better again. But he remained weak-willed for a few days, and I grew complacent about things like gating his door during nap.

That was a mistake. Two days after that, I came up from the basement, where I'd been having a good homeschool math session with Priscilla on the white board, to find that James had invaded the girls' room a good bit earlier and was still there. He'd gotten out tons of Priscilla's jewelry, awoken his little sister and supplied her with markers (which she was using in, on, and around her crib with great enthusiasm), and found a treasure for himself: face paint. Probably recalling the dog faces Priscilla had created (see earlier post), he decorated Genevieve and himself.

Oh, boy.

James is good at picking up phrases from us that he hears quite frequently. ("No t'anks, I good" when he's full, "Don' know what missing!" when we refuse food he offers us, etc.) I'm just waiting for the inevitable repeat of "You gonna drive me to drink."

Um, not really progress...

To say that we are going very slowly down the road of toilet training would be a vast understatement. There seems to be an important cognitive link missing as to which end should be addressed to the task...

Learning Humility + Grace = Parenting

Our "bigs" are visiting their aunt and uncle and are therefore supremely happy. Our "littles" thus have had all my focus during their waking hours this week, and it's been something.

First came Monday. We had an appointment at the WIC office, and for some reason these folks insist on having hours that correspond exactly with nap for most toddlers. We had also planned badly and been gone all morning, so Genevieve had slept for maybe 30 minutes and James for even less. So they were wound up. More than you think. A lot. I'd changed them in the parking lot and was dumb and didn't bring in my diaper stuff, thus they both had stinky diapers within the first 10 minutes. That didn't start them out as children you'd want to be around! Plus, there was a play area where they were expected to frolic unsupervised while I went into a separate office to register. By the time I came back out 5 or 10 minutes later, they had managed to spread out about a hundred pages' worth of pamphlets all over the room, and the other staff were "looking for me." Yet they were the ones who insisted the kids would be fine playing on their own! Maybe other kids are... There were other horrid parts of that visit that I will not elaborate on, but I was thoroughly feeling like a rotten mom by the end of it.

I don't know the answers. You'd think that by my second round of this parenting thing I'd have a clue what to do here, but I don't. There's been lots of prayer this week, though, and that's a good thing! I do remember telling the Lord I had no idea what to do next with the first ones (as I often do with later stages with them now, too), and that's my only parenting "secret": Know and admit your own inability and weakness. Ask Him for help. A lot. Then pick yourself up and go back to work with the little guys.

And then there are other things that have gone so much better. James had been appalled at the switch from a crib to a "big-James bed" this week (and begged pitifully for his crib the first night, and then slept on the hardwood floor in protest! - it was killing me!), but it has dwindled remarkably, and he has really been enjoying the relative freedom of naptime play in his room. Genevieve has been listening better and obeying the first time with not touching things and/or putting things back. We've been working on cleaning up areas, too.

Then, this morning, I went to the grocery store with the two littles, and James walked obediently by the cart, not touching anything or being anything but a model young citizen. And Genevieve rode contentedly in the cart. It was beautiful! I can look for differences like nap not being an issue and not having been out with them much the rest of the week and such, but those only explain so much, because there have certainly been other times when the circumstances were similar but behavior was awful.

I used to prepare for airline trips with little ones by telling myself, "I'm either going to be learning about grace or humility." Really, I need to continue learning both in all cases.

I can't explain my older two, who get hugely complimented on their behavior nowadays, except that God gave me training wheels, parenting-wise, and gave us circumstances and conditions that shaped them and us (like homeschooling, and wise friends with good kids to watch, and living in cramped quarters with people in their 90s). I can't explain my younger two, except that I know the Lord is showing me new things about children and myself and Him, and how I am as His child.

I am verbally compliant but in my heart I want to see what I can get away with and not really change. I think I can sneak things, when it's all laughably obvious what I'm trying to pull. Yet in all this, He delights in me, never gives up on me, teaches me, is patient with me, loves me more than can be expressed. And I would not know all this as clearly without the object lesson of trying to be like the parent He is to me.

Face Painting

Priscilla loves face paint, and had received some for Christmas. Yesterday, in honor of one of the few "dog days of summer" we've had this year, she painted her face like a dog (using brown clothes to dress the part), and James was absolutely fascinated. He ran into the other room and returned with a pink crayon. "Mommy! Write dog James too!"

So Priscilla got her kit and asked him to stay still (a Herculean task for this 2-year-old!), and soon they were both sporting a canine countenance.

Wow. I never realized how long a tongue that boy has.

A New Franchise

My littles have been most mischievous and cute.

On the first front, they were both engrossed in books yesterday afternoon, so I took a few moments to check e-mail. I looked back often to make sure they were still there and busy, and after a bit they appeared so peaceful, sharing and reading one book together, that I just had to take a look at which one it was. When I crossed the room, however, I discovered that they had been joyfully and cooperatively adhering about $5 worth of postage to the rug and the cover of (yes) just the one book.

What's more, I figured out that this must have been a two-step escapade, because the postage was from a roll of stamps inside a little plastic mail truck that ordinarily sits right next to the computer I'd just been using. The most likely explanation is that James discovered the truck sometime earlier, believed it to be a desirable toy, swiped it, and stored it near the books for later use . . . only to find out with Genevieve that it also housed all kinds of nice stickers!

On the second front . . . well, for those of you who have never (or rarely) met James, I need to explain his obsession with "coffee" (which was definitely among his first 5 words). From the first time he could wrangle a cup, he has been an inveterate hot beverage thief. This has not been helped by a certain soft-hearted nursery worker at church who has given in many times to his cute appeals to her for sips . . . or by our own weakness in this area! (And have you seen the tiny cute Starbucks kids' cups? Awww! I admit that I even get him his own drinks sometimes.) Plus, James figured out long ago that, after I drop Glenn off at church for worship team practice, I usually go order beverages (coffee for me, hot chocolate for Glenn; iced equivalents in summer) from a drive-through Dunkin' Donuts. As soon as I start rounding the corner of the church, he announces in a sing-song voice: "Coffee soon!" He has learned brand recognition for both Dunkin' and Starbucks, and sometimes gets upset when we pass one of either coffee source without stopping and purchasing one. (Hey, I guess I have to admit I'm kind of sad about such pass-bys myself!)

So it was only logical that, when Genevieve was inside the playhouse yesterday, and James saw her through the open window of it, that he began his order as he passed by on his trike: "Coffee . . . choc-it . . . cup!" Of course I had no camera at the right time, but I got them an appropriate cup to use for this roleplay and hoped they would continue so I could repose them. No such luck. Here's the best I can do. At least you can see why he'd see the connection!

Animal Tales

Well, we had a cat for nearly a week. Lucy (previously known as "Bunky"; we renamed her) was a sweet Maine coon cat who loved laps, licking people who pet her, and finding soft places to hang out. She was so agreeable that she even sat on James's lap while he watched Sesame Street, and he was surprisingly gentle with his petting! Genevieve quickly learned the word "cat" and every time she saw a cat in a book, she would look around expectantly so she could point to the real thing. She still points vaguely around her when she sees a cat picture, like "There's one of these around here someplace!"

The only negative the shelter had told us about Lucy was that, in her previous home, she disliked using litter boxes frequented by other cats. "She would go outside the box if she had to use one with another cat's scent. She's fussy that way. But you should be fine if you have no other cats." We had no others. So we thought we were set.

Unfortunately, we started to observe a mismatch between how much liquid was being taken in by Lucy and how much we were removing from the box. Turns out she had been using those soft surfaces she liked so much (particularly two couches) as latrines. Eww.

Perhaps if I didn't have two toddlers running to cause chaos in opposite directions, I might have persisted a bit in trying to keep Lucy. But back she went . . . at which point the folks at the shelter revealed that couches were the "outside the box" locales where she would relieve herself at her previous home! I really would have preferred to know that earlier (we pictured *right* outside the box, as a previous cat of ours had done once or twice). I'm still trying to salvage one of our couches.

During this whole incident, my two oldest children have been having the time of their lives visiting their aunt and uncle in New Jersey (they're never going to want to come home!). So we have appeared to be your stereotypical 4-member family again, and our littles have definitely been the focus. The county fair is going on this week, and both toddlers love animals, so we got together with my husband's parents and went there. (Unfortunately we forgot our camera, so no images to follow!)

I thought, considering her reaction to the cat, that Genevieve would be the most excited about the experience. But it was James who was beside himself at the fair. He just couldn't believe that all these animals were *right there*! In front of him! And he could go find the next one himself! (We let him walk in each building, and he was actually willing to climb back into the stroller in order to go to the next place.) "Sheep! More sheep? Two sheep!" he would exclaim. ("Two" currently means multiples of any number.)

But the small poultry barn was, surprisingly, his favorite. The interior's perimeter was lined with cages. James ran around pointing at each cage in turn as quickly as he possibly could, telling everyone "Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!" as he pointed.

There was a large incubator in the center that contained what looked like over a hundred baby chicks, and inexplicably the fellow who had brought these little ones decided that my hyper boy was a good candidate to hold one. "Uh, I really don't think you want to entrust a chick to this guy," I tried to warn him. "I think he might squeeze it."

"Oh, no, I'm sure he'll be just fine! Most little fellows just need to get used to the tickly feeling of the chick's feet, and then they hold them real gentle." He brought the poor unsuspecting victim chick closer. "Hold out your hand."

I shook my head, but put my palm out and put James's hand, palm up, on top. "See this chick?" said the man. "You can touch it!" James gently touched the chick's back with his other hand. "Now this chick, he has fingers, like you, and they're going to tickle your hand." The man put the chick on James's outstretched hand, which immediately curled up with wiggly fingers.

"Tickle, tickle!" said James. I think he thought he was supposed to tickle the chick back.

"Oh, dear," said the man, but my hand was underneath and caught the chick. ("My first time holding a baby chick!" was my bizarre thought, considering the circumstances.) And off James ran to see his grandpa, leaving me to return the (probably confused) chick to its owner.