Easy Peasy

I'm going to confess that I may have more or less, outright but unintentionally, lied to a few close friends. 

Over the last year or so couples with one child have asked "How different is it with two?"  and I had responded in what I thought was truth that it is not that different than one.  If you're making one sandwich, one more is no biggie.  Tying one pair of shoes?  Two is just  a few seconds more work.  1+1=2 , right?  Easy peasy. 

I failed to factor in a few things when answering this question. 

First, kids grow.  it's not that I didn't know this, but more a fact that when I was asked, one child was strong-willed and independent, and the other was still in her "fool you" stage of being calm and laid back.  This morning I had two independent, free-thinking, spirited children that needed to be dressed for a birthday party.    Where last year I could have dressed the youngest and tackled the oldest, this year it was a full contact sport for forty minutes to get two children into pull-over dresses and tights.  (And for those of you who saw me this morning, yeah, I lost the battle of tights in two stages; one before we arrived and one at the party.)

Second, kids sense fear and weakness.  Somewhat like wolves and other pack animals, they have a built-in sense of when you are about to go down for the count.  My children know that if I am barely dressed, with dripping hair and no mascara, I will give them anything to get five minutes of grooming time.  "Can I have cheerios with whipped cream?"  (Whatever.  Just let me dry this nest on my head.)  It is no mystery that my hair has gone from shoulder length, to chin length, to cropped, to about one inch of messy, tousled, spikes.  (It's a style…somewhere.) 

When the lead wolf has you backed into a corner of desperation, the second will circle around and make an announcement like the following "Maaaammmaaa….The dog is eating the cheese out of the fridge and the cat is licking your coffee cup."  "ARGH!"  The voice in my head screams.  "Why is it so (expletive) difficulty to get my (expletive) self out the door in the morning?!  What the (expletive) is wrong with me/ my life/ my kids that this is so hard?"  On the outside, I try to sound calm and in control when I say "Okay.  Let's go shut the door, put the dog outside, and stomach-pump the cat."  Some days go better than others.

Third, when both children are mobile and opinionated, it is much harder to get them both out the door in gear appropriate to function, occasion, season and some level of decorum.  This year I have taken one child to the car wearing only a diaper in the dead of winter.  Okay, we had a exceptionally mild winter and it was probably forty degrees out, but this is not the kind of parenting I had planned. 

I was going to be the mom who dropped her spotless and exceptionally bright children at daycare with shiny, glossy ponytail bouncing before running  ten miles and whipping up a fabulous nutritious breakfast to eat on the go and heading off to work in my relatively spotless car.  I did not plan to be the mom who dropped her kids off partially dressed, with rats-nest hair  and mismatched socks, personally sporting a still-wet, unstyled coif, (and whatever clothes were clean and didn't need ironing),  before returning to my goldfish-encrusted, sippy-cup splattered car and driving like a sweaty, panicky madwoman to work, hoping that my stomach won't growl too loudly before lunchtime because it was a decision between leaving for work fed or dressed and modesty won out.

Fourth, I failed to factor in how many times I would be orchestrating any departure without additional adult help.  Because of the work schedules in our house, weekend events are almost always  a single parent event.  This is neither good or bad, just tremendously more difficult than I expected.    When your youngest is two, and for some reason this was the turning point in our house, they know when you are outnumbered (try reading that last phrase in Vincent Price's voice).  It helped didn't it?    It's times like this when the "good parent" guilt voice kicks into high gear in my brain.  "A good mommy would be able to get two SMALL children out of the house without losing her  mind/temper/shpedoinkles."  I don't know how some parents do it without ever, ever screaming.    I am going to be totally candid that my kids have seen it more than once and I hope that I have made up for it with the remaining 99% of our time together, but holy bovine Batman, I am a reasonably smart, well-educated person and these two little people have had me over a barrel for the last two hours! 

Fifth, sometimes stages and developmental trends overlap.  Some days for all of their differences, they are just the same level of need at different heights.  I don't know if it's easier or harder to have two children close enough in age that one still has accidents and the other is wet frequently.  My children are like camels, taking up massive quantities of fluids during the day and then hitting the sheets like a tidal wave during the night.  The " no drinks after X-o'clock" theory has been massively disproved in this house.    Some mornings I feel like there is no end in sight.  And this if before I've completely woken up or had my coffee.

Finally, because children almost never come in perfectly matched sets, they arrive with their own temperaments.  So in my house I have one very sensitive and anxious, perfectionist, independent soul; and one curious, independent and limit-testing soul.  What this translates into in practice is that both children seem to need me almost constantly lately.  (How did this get written you might ask?  Um, have you noticed my last entry was in DECEMBER?  It's been a work in progress.)  When we go out, one has to be watched for the turning point when over-stimulation turns into crying, and one has to be watched for when inhibition turns into nudity.  Good times people, good times.

So to my friends who asked if two was all that different than one…I don't think I can answer you with a straight face anymore.  The two in my life have evolved into exponentially more than parenting just one.  I'm hoping for a little lull any day now though and so, all I can say is I'll keep you posted as time goes on, and if you see me in public looking disheveled and exhausted, you'll know that for that moment in time 1+1= 10.  (I never was all that good at math…)

All in a day's work...

It has been nearly fifteen seconds since the last crazy, child-related incident in my home.  It has been the quietest and most bizarre fifteen seconds of the day.  Thus far today

·         Little One has figured out how to remove her diaper like a Chippendale removes his tear-away pants.   She has mastered the art of grabbing and flinging the offending article nearly across the room.  I have resorted to using postal tape on this last diaper just to buy me enough time to kick a path through the toys littering the downstairs and possibly make dinner.

·         Miss 4 has decided that she wants to have pink hair like the server at the local diner.  She has been following me and asking "How does the hair grow in pink?  Do you have to eat pink food?  Is it like the flamingo in Sylvie?" alternately changing it up with "How old do I have to be?  Why do I have to be 18?"

·         Somewhere in early toddlerhood Miss 4 began referring to her diaper region as her "bits".  I didn't put a stop to it as it was initially entertaining, but now I think we're stuck with it.  Miss 4 has a slight lateral lisp as well, therefore when she says "bits" her little sister has heard "beets".  Little One has stood in front of me chanting "wet beets" every time her diaper is wet today. 

·         I was writing down information from a book I was reading when Miss 4 approached.  "What are you doing?  Are you erasing the words you don't like in your book and writing in new ones?"

·         "Mama?  I need a wooden spoon and a piece of string……(why?)….So I can play ManPuppy….(how do you play that?)…"I'll tell you when you're little again.  But its gonna save the whole world."  That’s one fine wooden spoon right there.

La-La-La...I still hear you!

When I was a child, my sister and I could not chew gum or eat potato chips in the car because the sound would drive one of my parents right out of their tree.  It was one of the childhood moments that both mystified me and later became part of my list of things I would NEVER say as a parent.  How can anyone care THAT MUCH about a small noise I wondered?

Today I am humbled by the restraint it must have taken for said parent not to open the car door and leave us perched on the guardrails for the next available circus recruiter. 

For today, my oldest has followed me from room to room clicking her tongue, hissing, and singing in the vibrato soprano known especially to four year old girls for no fewer than two hours.  When this concert ended, the ghostly wailings and moanings began.  At the end of this round, we were presented with an operatic rendition of "I'm starving and I need a peanut butter sandwich".  (It closed to mixed reviews.)

It is taking everything I have not to scream and pull hair, (mine or anyone else's).   This is the kind of moment when I think I might be slightly too crazy to be a parent.    When I finally broke and snapped between clenched teeth, "Please go and sing somewhere else.  Away from me.  Away!"  She left the room singing in vibrato "Somewhere else, somewhere else, somewhere else."    I counted 32 repetitions before she moved on to random beatbox noises.

Are you freakin' kidding me?!?  I may not survive this.

Now that I have used my self-imposed time-out to fly the parenting distress flag, I need to go and be a Mama again. 

One with earplugs.