clean floors, dirty paws

Something is bothering me.  Assumptions have been made that my child is manipulating me.  I disagree.  Let me explain. It's no mystery that babies, toddlers, older children, and even adults cry and throw fits.  It is also no mystery that some of these toddlers, older children and adults are crying to manipulate their parents, boy/girlfriend, boss, police officer, etc.  But only the ones who have learned that crying changes the outcome of a situation will do this.  Others are just crying because, well, life sucks sometimes and humans cry. Many parents think their children are crying to manipulate them, and in reality, some are.  But to think that infants are manipulative is outrageous in my opinion.  I cringe every time I hear someone telling a mother that their tiny baby is trying to manipulate them!  Manipulate them to do what!?  Feed them?  Comfort them in a time of stress?  They know nothing of the world other than their...

Recently, Caches' language has exploded.  He is speaking new words and phrases every single day, and loves to mock us!  It is really fun to see it click for him, and to hear his precious thoughts and ideas. This evening on our family walk I shared with Ryan how earlier in the day Caches was copying everything I said like a little parrot.  We passed a car with two people sitting inside rolling a joint.  Yep, just sitting there, windows down for the world to see.  Ryan turned to me and said, "Just smoking some weed, huh?"  "Smokin weed." Repeated my parrot. Ryan and I started to laugh as Polly repeated the phrase a few more times.  "We really need to watch our mouths now, Ryan." I said.  Still a bit skeptical, he whined about all the things we can no longer say.  "I guess we are officially in grandma mode, huh?"  "Grama mode!!"  Squawked the little bird. Yeah, we are in that! So I'm sure you will be as surprised as I was, ...

We all have our little secrets.  The things we do when nobody is watching, things that don't otherwise fit with our personality.  You know, things that I probably shouldn't share on a public blog. But I'm going to. I am a tidy individual; a place for everything and everything in its, place.  But that doesn't apply to the junk drawer in the kitchen, my underwear drawer or Caches' kitchen supplies drawer.  Each one of these drawers is a complete and total disaster! Caches' drawer doesn't really need any explanation.  It is full of his utensils, dishes and cups, he has access to it, and he is two.  I tried.  It is fucked. The end My underwear drawer is pretty much exactly that, only I don't fold, or color coordinate, or use cute dividers, or even give a flying fig about that drawer.  I tried for years to fold my underwear, to separate the thongs from the grannies; to give that drawer some respect.  Now I crumple up all my underwear from ...

I recently wrote about the ugly red monster, anger, and how it was affecting me on my parenting journey.  Inspired by how powerful, yet secondary an emotion anger is, I decided to dig deeper.  I encountered some articles justifying my anger, not helpful, and a few articles about other mothers and their feelings of anger, insightful, but still not quite what I was looking for.  About to give up,  I stumbled upon an article that has literally changed my life.  It was an article about children's anger, mainly toddlers, and how they learn to cope with the powerful emotion.  It also touched on how we as parents can facilitate a healthy response to anger in our children.  It was interesting, but nothing that I hadn't heard before; and then I read it.  It was so simple, SO simple that I had to read it three times to make sure I was actually understanding.  Each time the little light bulb in my head got brighter and brighter until it burst with en...

Caches Michael, Today you are two years old.  I can't help but feel as though I blinked and an entire year has past.  How did this happen?  How are you already two?  Whomever coined the phrase, "The days are long, but the years are short." must have lived with a toddler, and you are one hell of a toddler, son. I suppose I have to accept that my baby isn't so much of a baby anymore, sniff, and so to celebrate we got you some new balls, your current obsession.  No, not those, though you do find stretching them to the point of making your father wince entertaining.  The bouncy kind that are super fun to throw at dogs, roll into the street and leave around for mama to trip over in the dark of night while she paces the hall with you cradled in her arms.  Yeah, still doing that, but we will talk about that later. As I sit to type this, I am saddened that I did not continue with monthly updates.  Far too much has changed in a ...

Our poor, sweet neighbors and the one sided conversations that they are subjected to at 6:00 am on a Sunday.  "No feet on the dogs, Caches." "Caches, please don't lay on top of Abner." "Gentle with doggies eyes." "Lilly doesn't like fingers in her nose." "We aren't going to play with your bouncy balls in the car right now." Cue meltdown "Can mama please just have a sip of coffee, then she will help you pick up poop." "Yes, poo poo!  Let's pick it up! We don't touch poo poo.  Cache, that's a no touch!  Hey, please don't touch poo poo.  Seriously!? I'm getting the scooper right now! NO! Not with your feet either!  CACHE! Come on!" Cat shows up.  "Please don't chase the kitty.  Just let her go where she wants.   She doesn't like her tail pulled." "Yes, a snail.  Gentle touch, just with your little finger." "Can you please pull your pant...

At breakfast... "Are you all done with your peach, Cache?" "Yesh" I walk over to the trash can and drop in the remaining pieces from his plate into the bin. "NOOOOOOO!!!" "What's wrong?" Now running to the bin with such enthusiasm that you'd think I'd thrown away his very soul. "Oh, you weren't all done with your peach?" "NO!" As he is opening up the trash trying to dig out the juicy pieces mixed with coffee grounds and god knows what else. "Cache,  I will get you a new peach.  Once something is in the trash, it stays in the trash."  A statement I make at least 8 times a day. "I need dat, I neeeed dat!"  And he cries as he continues to try to dig the peach out. "We don't eat from the trash can (also said multiple times a day).  Mama will get you a new peach." "NO!  I need dat, I need dat!"  With the saddest cry EVER! "Okay baby, you go s...