It’s OK

March 09 2010 · 10 Comments
Posted in: The Kids · Tags: Ethan, motherhood

Putting the kids to bed is always an ordeal. We started out doing it wrong, and now don’t have the energy to change it. Instead of letting Ethan fall asleep on his own, I lie there with him until his eyes are closed. Some nights, this time spent in bed next to my son is relaxing. Other nights, it’s thoroughly aggravating. The yin and the yang. Kind of like the rest of parenting.

The other night, all I wanted to do was watch the conclusion of a television show, but as so often happens, it fell right at Ethan’s bedtime. I could tell that he was going to be excessively difficult that night, and I would miss every last second of what I wanted to watch.

I was right. He tossed and turned every which way for an hour, while I sat quietly next to him in the dark. I was frustrated and impatient. Apparently, so was Ethan. He began to whimper and pout, a pitiful enraged cry mere seconds away. Maybe he couldn’t get comfortable. Maybe he wasn’t ready for bed. Maybe he was fighting it with all he had. Maybe he could sense my mood shifting negative.

Even though I was frustrated. Even though I was upset. I leaned over and kissed the small curve of his shoulder. “It’s OK.”, I whispered in his ear. “It’s OK.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled away every bit of paltry frustration. “It’s OK.”

“It’s OK. It’s OK. It’s OK…”, Ethan repeated to himself in a sequentially softer tone. A short time later, he finally closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Maybe sometimes, we all just need a little reminder.

Pretty in Pink

March 02 2010 · 9 Comments
Posted in: The Kids · Tags: Ethan, life

I may have mentioned once or twice or twenty times how Ethan likes to scale the kitchen counters. It’s not an exaggeration. This doesn’t just happen every now and then. No, he hones this skill on multiple occasions daily. If counter climbing was an Olympic sport, he’d be going for the gold. Usually in an attempt to obtain hidden Christmas figures in an overhead cabinet or a cereal box or to spill olive oil out of it’s bottle. That last one is fun to clean up, I might add.

He’s a daredevil, we’ve been known to explain. No matter how often or harsh I reprimand, he does it anyway. Any attention is good attention when you’re a 3 year old testing your boundaries, it seems. Still, the ebb and flow is aggravating and impossible.

Jayden never did this when he was Ethan’s age. I don’t recall Jayden trying to climb much of anything aside from a chair. To sit down. My kind of kid.

As such, it’s no surprise when I caught him on the kitchen counter yesterday morning. It’s also not much of a shock when I began to storm up to him upset and exasperated, my arms extended and ready to pry him down yet again. It was too early in the day and I wasn’t even fully awake yet.

Walking closer, however, I saw in his hand a tube of lip gloss that I had been hiding in plain sight on top of the microwave. Glancing back at me, he popped off the cap and began to draw a heavy circle along his mouth. Right as I reached him, he sat the tube carefully back in it’s not-so-discreet place. A soft pink sheen glistening in the morning light like a halo around his lips. And chin. And cheeks.

How can I be mad at that?

Little and Littler

February 24 2010 · 8 Comments
Posted in: The Kids · Tags: Ethan, Maddie, photos

Good Times

February 17 2010 · 20 Comments
Posted in: The Kids · Tags: Ethan, good, Maddie, motherhood

When the kids are good, they are really good. But when they’re bad, they’re awful. They have their moments. Of course, the excessively loud, tedious episodes seem to outnumber. Or at least those are easier to dwell on. The good, though, they can be great.

Maybe it’s because the bad times tend to happen in grand calamities. They consume me: my voice raised and eyes wide and body tense. They make me question and worry that I’m doing everything wrong because it shouldn’t be this hard. Why is it always so damn hard?

The good are smaller, quieter, blink and you’ll miss it. Like a brief reset to make it all bearable. Tiny flashes tucked inside my pocket. There usually isn’t much of a story to share when things are well.

Sometimes, though, like yesterday morning. Ethan and Maddie are cuddled together in a hug. His arms are tight around her and she has her head on his chest. They’re both smiling up at me, not wanting to let the other go. He’d then give her a kiss on the forehead and she’d lift up to give him one back. Brother and sister. Little and littler. Simple and delicate and rare. For a few minutes it was almost the picture of perfect.

Almost.

The only way it could have been better is if my son had been wearing pants.

Good times. I’ll take ‘em however I can get ‘em.

About Last Night

February 03 2010 · 6 Comments
Posted in: Daily · Tags: Ethan, life

Shortly after everyone went to bed last night, Ethan began to toss and turn constantly. He wouldn’t settle. At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t get comfortable. Then he started to whine, though, and that quickly turned to full-blown tears. For awhile, he was crying so hard I was afraid he would make himself sick.

During this, I also had to comfort Maddie since she had been woken up, too. I figured one kid asleep, at least, is better than both awake and screaming. This meant that I had to leave Ethan crying by himself, however, which I hated doing. Luckily, J came in about this time and took over while I resettled Maddie.

After what seemed like hours, but I think in reality was about 30 minutes, everyone calmed down. I told J to go back to bed. Maddie was sound asleep, so my attention could focus again on Ethan. He was still wide awake, tears clinging to his cherubic cheeks. Nestling in beside him, I pulled the bedspread up to his chin and held him close. His shaggy hair tickled my nose as I wrapped my arm around him as tight as I could, his foot sticking in my side. That’s how we fell asleep.

It was a horrible night. I have no idea what was wrong, aside from a bit of congested cough this morning. But sleeping like that next to my little boy, the one who is always on the go and so destructive and non-compliant during the day, the one who steals away every ounce of patience I’ve stored. I feel as if I’m screaming at him constantly. This, quiet and tender and sweet, was a nice change of pace.

Today, he’s back to himself again. I’m watching and waiting and hoping the cough doesn’t progress any further. While I don’t wish for a repeat of last night, I’m going to try to hold onto it’s finer moments. I hope it might help both of us slow down a little.