Quotable.
Charlie: Mommy, want to see my poop?
Me: No, not really.
Charlie: Mommy, I went poop. Come see it.
Me: No, that's OK. I don't need to see it.
Charlie: Mommy, do you want to see the long poop with the stripes, or the square poop?

Now this I gotta see.

My kid is perfect.
Is anyone else ever surprised by how utterly perfect your own kids seem? As babies, they really are perfect. They don't have 'tudes yet, they have no wrinkes or other imperfections, they are appropriately needy and soft and cuddly so that our love for them can intensify and ensure their survival.

For me, this idealism has continued throughout Charlie's young childhood. If someone so much as suggested their child reached a verbal milestone before mine did, I would chime in that mine was walking early -- therefore, he was focused on the equally-important physical skills. When someone else's kid seems more athletic, mine is sweeter. My kid is perfect.

As he gets older, I am surprised to find that this superiority complex still exists. I mean, I watch other peoples' kids for a living, and I am very fond of all of them. But, although I try to surpress it, I secretly feel protective (and shocked by) any clue that my child might not be perfect.

Take his red hair. Yes, I know, it is pretty and vibrant. But boys don't want to be pretty or vibrant. Heck, I was the girliest of all girly girls, and I despised my red hair and fair skin. I was called Strawberry Shortcake, eraser head, Annie, an unmentionable, and for my fair skin, milk legs. That last one hurt.

Adults always tell him that he has beautiful hair, and I say thank you but cringe inside. Adults love red hair; kids point and laugh at it.

And then there's his height. At first I thought his growth spurt just hadn't come yet. But after three or four visits with his height lingering in the lower percentiles, I have accepted it. He will be short. And my protective, perfectionist side kicks in: he will be short; but husky. He will be redheaded; but cute. He might be the creative (as opposed to athletic) type; but also outgoing and friendly and interesting. He is still my perfect child.

The internal argument intensified today after Charlie returned with his dad from his first dentist appointment. Let me preface this by saying that this kid (bias rapidly approaching) has the pearliest, whitest, straightest kid teeth I've ever seen. He has 22 of these pearly whites, and, according to Mr. Dentist, 13 of them have cavities. Thirteen. I am in my early thirties and have had maybe 5 cavities my entire life. I am a bit shocked considering we are not big on juice or candy or sweets, and he never went to bed with baby bottles. All right, I know we have not been terribly consistent with teeth brushing, but the dentist insists his "soft teeth" are genetic. But anyway, not my point.

This just serves as another reminder that my perfect child - the one whose Birthday was the happiest day of my life and who has made me smile every day since - will someday be teased and become aware of his imperfections. He will deal with it fine, I'm sure (cuz, um, he's perfect). But I, for one, will have to accept that my child is also human.

Quotables.
The talk.
Charlie (to me): Mommy, do you want to see my penis?
Me: Uh, ok. But we need to talk. You know you never show that to anyone else, right?
Charlie: See, mommy? See it?
Me: Yes. Only mommy and daddy should see it. And don't let anyone touch it.
Charlie: No one touches my penis?
Me: That's right. Except for mommy and daddy when we are washing you.
Charlie: Ok. I won't let Lucy touch it. And I won't touch Lucy's, either.
Me: Um, ok.

So I guess I need a brow wax.
Charlie [staring intently at my face, upper region.]
Me: What are you looking at?
Charlie: Your eyebrows.
Me: ok.
Charlie: What is that under your eyebrows? [Lifts brow hairs.] Oh, just more brown stuff.

And a cleaning.
While cuddling in bed with him this weekend...
Charlie: Mommy, I love you so much.
Me: I love you too, sweetie!
Charlie (with furrowed brow): Mommy, you have something in your teeth.
Me: Ok. I will brush them right after I'm done cuddling with you.
Charlie: Before they turn brown and fall out of your mouth?
Me: Yes, before then.

Toddler eavesdropping.
Here are some of the things I heard today from the four boys, as they ran back and forth with their trucks:

I'm gonna get you. no no no! here i coming. You better watch out. [pow pow pow]. I gonna shoot you [pow pow crash]. I am gonna eat that poo poo off your face [slosh slosh slosh.]

That last one was from Charlie.

Quotables.
Last night I came home to find Charlie and his new sitter (whom he loves), using Mega Bloks to build airplanes.
Charlie: And this is the hairplane and its fighter jets, and these shoot like this (shooting noises), and these are the boobs.
Me: Did you just say the boobs?
Charlie: Yes, so that other jet planes don't run into him.

Aw, that's lovely.
Charlie was wiping his butt, and decided to leave the toilet paper in between his cheeks, so it stuck out just like so, visible for the world to see.
Me: Charlie, what are you doing?
Charlie: Look at me! I'm a chicken!

Charlie Dice Clay
Last night I was rummaging through the cubbards, trying to figure out what sounded good. Not thinking this innocent question could possibly be a set-up, I asked:
Do I smell cookie dough, or do I just smell what I am craving?
Husband: I don't know. It smells like vagina.
Charlie: It smells like va-gina!!!
Husband: [withholding laughter, not able to talk].
Charlie: It smells like.... vagina!
Me: Um.....
Charlie: It smells like vagina!!!!
Husband: No, we don't say... [laugher.]
Charlie: It smells like va-gin-a!
Me [to hubby]: You are so going into time-out.
Charlie: It smells like vagina!!! Vagina! Vagina! Vagina!
Husband [goes and stands in the corner]. Sorry.
Charlie: Vagina!

This should probably be a good time to add that our kitchen strictly smells like spices and sugar and honey and things.

Fortune Cookies
Last night after eating sweet and sour chicken and edamame, Charlie, Jerry and I opened our fortune cookies. Mine said:

The Happiest Circumstances
Are Close to Home

Charlie broke his open and anxiously handed it to me for reading.

You Are Entering A Time
Of Great Promise
And Overdue Rewards.

He frowned. No, no. The home one. Read the home one. I read it again.

The Happiest Circumstances
Are Close to Home

Yes, that one. Close to, to Home.

It made me think about how much Charlie loves being at home. There have been days this winter that we have been stuck inside for four days straight. Then the roads will clear a little, Jerry will come home from work, and I will announce that I am going to Safeway or the mall or some other horribly boring place, and that I won’t be back for a long long time, because I need to see walls that I haven’t already been staring at for what seems like months. And I’ll invite Charlie to come, and he will decline, stating that he wants to stay home.

Home... The place with piles of laundry in the hallway at all times, that smells like dirty diapers more often than it should, that always has piles of papers on the stairs waiting to be carried upstairs.

But for Charlie, home is the place associated with familiarity. The thing which is often boring to an adult is most comforting to a toddler. And I'm glad that in spite of my failure to become domestic in any way, he loves his home.

Quotables
I was calling our babysitter on the phone, Jessica. Not the old Jessica, who is 100% sweet but a bit on the shy side and who Charlie can't stand, but the new Jessica, who is outgoing and he seems to like...
Charlie: No, I don't want Jessica!
Me: It's the new Jessica, not the old Jessica.
Charlie: Oh. I don't want the other Jessica.
Me: Was she mean?
Charlie: Yes.
Me: What did she say?
Charlie: Mean words.
Me: What words?
Charlie (looking at the dishwasher): Um, dryer.
Me: Dryer?
Charlie: Yes. Dryer. Buttons.
Me: She talked about the dryer buttons? Did she kick the dryer?
Charlie: Yes.
Me: Are you fibbing?
Charlie: No, Jessica is fibbing.

Quotables

Charlie: Boys have a penis, and girls have a bagilla.

Later...
Charlie: Mommy, where are my boobies?
Me: You don't have boobies because you are a boy.
Charlie: But what are these thingies?
Me: Those are your nipples.
Charlie: Noooooo... they are buttons.

Christmas

My memories of Chrismas are from age 8 and up. I really don't remember being a toddler or preschooler on the holidays, even though I have a lot of memories from this age. So I never really know what to expect on the holidays with little kids of my own.

Skip the next few sections if traditional, domestic bliss bothers you.

I remember waking up early on Christmas morning and kneeling - no, lying - down at the top of the stairs so that I could peek and see what Santa had brought. No matter what it looked like downstairs, it was always glorious and festive and the best thing in the world. I loved Christmas.

We would tear open presents before eating breakfast. Then we would leave the paper mess in the middle of the floor and eat pancakes or waffles, famished. Everyone in the family loved Christmas; I think that is what made it so great.

My mom would play the piano and we'd sing Christmas carols, even though she was the only one who could really sing. My dad would read the Christmas story from the Bible. My sister and brother would come home from college and stay for the day, bringing me huge Bert and Ernie cookies or an oversized stuffed animal or something along those lines. My mom would cook a huge, delicious feast while the rest of us sacked out on the couch, watched TV, and played board games all day. I loved everyone being there together.

* * *

Our Christmas this year was different in so many ways. We had to wake Charlie up at 8:30 so that we could open presents together before Will's first nap. He came down the steps sleepy and out of it. He was happy to see his new bike, but also a little clingy and uncertain.

Charlie quickly got into the spirit of tearing open presents, and often said, "is that one mine? is this one mine? is it mine? is it? is it?" And I cringed just a tiny bit because I hate the idea of Christmas being all commercial and raising a kid who just expects stuff. So we gently reminded him that other people have turns, and that we can stop and slow down to enjoy the present most recently received.

There was no Christmas story - the boys are too young and I don't know where to begin.

My family is all out-of-state, so that made me a little sad. No Scrabble or Monopoly or Balderdash. (Just wait until the boys are old enough. I am totally raising them to be game guys. Take that, hubby.)

But still, it was a happy day. The four of us were all together, there was snow on the ground outside and it was peaceful and warm inside, we all had days off and time to cuddle and do nothing. And, Jerry was so thoughtful - he got me my first pair of sexy pajamas, that both revealed the lovelies while concealing the mom belly. I felt spoiled, but in a good way.

And then Charlie started acting extremely sassy, apparently thinking that Christmas means the children are kings for a day. And with all the excitement and overstimulation, Will would not go down for his second nap, so he fussed and arched his back, and it took forever to get him down.

Then we made a huge dinner (my part: homemade croutons. Hubby's: everything else. Hey, I was in charge of naps.)

All in all, a wonderful day.

Done whining now.
All right. Two posts of whining, and I am officially snapping myself out of it. Sorry for that.

I am looking straight into ten uninterrupted days off with my kids, hubby, and kitty. Days to rejuvinate and celebrate Christmas. So on a positive note:

Quotables
Jerry: Charlie, why don't you go play in the other room?
Charlie: No, mommy is in there. I don't like her.
Jerry: That was mean.
Charlie (walking over to me): Oh mommy, I sorry. I love you. I love you all my heart.

Later:
Will crawls over to me, uses my arms as handles and pulls himself to a standing position, and gives me a big, wet, open-mouth kiss on my cheek. Aw, sweet stuff.

Quotables
Charlie: Mommy, I don't want to get small and go into your tummy again. Cuz, I scared of your food.

Later...
Charlie (playing at the table): [bang, bang, bang]
Jerry: Um, Charlie, how old are you again?
Charlie: Three.
Jerry: You are too old to be playing at the table. When you're three, you can act nice at the table.
Charlie: Oh. I be two again?

During the daycare...
Charlie: Lucy, will you sleep with me? And cuddle with me? In my bed?
Lucy: Yes!!
Oh my.

Charlie's alternate use of toys

"Look, mommy! A crane!"


The best engine pulls... Jergens?


Um, that's a straw.


"Look, mommy! Train tracks!"


Man stuck in ball.

Quotables
Charlie: I want my daddy.
Me: He is driving home from work.
Charlie: No, I want to see him now.
Me: Well, he can't really drive any faster.
Charlie: Cuz he needs more power? In his car?

Lucy [giving very mean look to other daycare kid]: Go away. I crabby!
Me: You can be crabby in that hallway, or nice in the playroom.
Lucy: I nice. I happy happy happy!!!

911 lady my new best friend
We got a bunch of snow dumped on us the night before last. And while I am all for letting kids play in the snow, it just isn't feasuble when it is 20 degrees with strong, unforgiving winds. So we stayed inside all day yesterday.

Charlie and Lucy kept running in the house. I made them sit against the couch a couple times, a mild form of "redirection" I use to remind them to slow down. Moments after being allowed to get up, they are off and running again.

I am standing at the sink washing a dish when I see Charlie run right in front of me, trip over a large couch cusion on the floor, fly through the air, and land forehead first on the corner of the fireplace.

I drop the dish and run to him. He is already screaming. I pull him up and look at the hole in his head which has blood pouring from it.

I frantically run in a circle around our house looking for the fucking cordless phone, which is never on the cradle where it should be. And in my mind I think, "this is my fault because I am watching too many kids today... no wait, I only have 2 daycare kids today, 2 fewer than I normally have." And then, "I shouldn't have let them run in the house... no wait, I did tell them not to do that." And then, "I should have set up my indoor obstacle course so that they could burn energy safely."

After I complete my circle, I find the phone and dial 911. As the lady is asking me the routine questions, I can't hear a word she is saying because Charlie is screaming in my ear. But I just talked to her yesterday, so I know to give my address, the actual emergency, my phone number with area code first.

And I have a moment where I go blank and have no idea what my first aid class told me to do about bleeding or head injuries. And then I remember. So I grab a white kitchen towel and hold it firmly to his forehead. He is pushing it away and saying, "don't do that," and my gosh, his face is covered in blood and so are our hands.

I force the towel to his forehead even though it hurts him. Charlie holds his hand in front of his face and looks confused by all the blood. I shout some answers at 911 lady and vaguely hear her tell me that I am not answering the actual questions she is asking. I'm still not really sure what she said or I said. But then she said something about sending over the ambulance.

What next, I ask? I want Jerry here. I want the parents here. I want my neighbor here to comfort me. Who do I call first? Where are their numbers? Why haven't I programmed my speed dial yet? Should I just be tending to Charlie? Should he lie down? Should I distract him or talk to him?

I call my neighbor, the sweetest lady ever. I ask her to call our other neighbor, Lucy's dad. I call Jerry, say your son has a hole in his head, come home now. I hang up. Five minutes later, the bleeding has slowed down, and I call the other daycare parent.

After everyone has picked up their kids and the paramedics tell me he does not have a concussion - probably just needs a stitch or two, Jerry comes home. Neighbor takes Will to his house, and we are off to the hospital.

We wait an hour in the E.R. waiting room. Charlie plays happily with a band-aid on his head, and is talking up a storm.

Then we go into the doctor's office. They ask him if he would like to wear a Spiderman cape. He says yes. They put his arms back into what looks like a pillowcase, and I realize it is essentially a straightjacket. Then they cover him with a million blankets and say he gets to "be a burrito." We can only see his head.

They give me the rolling chair so that I can sit near his head and talk him through this procedure. I get to hold the washcloth over his eyes as they squirt water into his wound. He screams bloody murder. After all, water in the eyes is very painful.

Once the gel has numbed his head and he is all cleaned out, they start stitching. He just stares straight up at the ceiling, his face expressionless and me wanting to hug him. After the first stitch, he has had enough and starts to wimper. I try to sing him through it, but his wimpers turn to cries and then screams. Every now and then he calms down for a few seconds. I can tell he was trying to be strong. But the surgical tools and the thread which he can see out of the corner of his eye and the nurse's hands on his face holding him still and the straightjacket and everyone trying to distract him just get the best of him.

Three internal stitches and some external "stitch glue" later, he is fine. As if nothing happened. Before we walk out the hospital doors back into the snow, Jerry asks him if he wants his jacket on. "No," Charlie says, "I'm just pulling my pants out of my butt."

I try to talk to him today about how scared I was for him, in an effort to see if he wants to talk about his feelings, and he changes the subject. He is totally fine, and I am frazzled as all hell, waiting for the daycare kids to show up today.

My lover boy.
Charlie is so loving. Lately, these have been our discussions:
Charlie (watching me walk by): I love you too, mommy.

Charlie (at dinnertime): I want to sit by daddy.
Hubby: No, your seat is by mommy. Can you sit in this empty seat?
Charlie: No, I don't want to sit by mommy.
Me: (pretend crying). Sniff.
Charlie (seeing me cry): Oooooh, mommy... I sorry. I love you too.

Charlie (riding by me on his ride-on car outside, looking at me): Hi mommy. I love you too.

I've been basking in his complete and pure love for me lately. Then...
Charlie (after going poop on the potty): Bye bye pooh pooh! I love you too!

Quotables

Charlie (to daycare kids, in the morning): That's my breakfast. My steak from yesterday.
We don't actually eat steak, so I am not sure where he got that. If we did eat steak, we would not serve it for breakfast.

Me: Charlie, what's in your mouth?
Charlie: oh, anything.

Charlie (to his best friend, and holding his fingers about an inch apart): Poop looks like this. Teeny, tiny.
Mikey (disagreeing passionately): Nooooo, poop is like this (arms very wide apart). Like this, Charlie.
Charlie: Nooooo, poop looks like this.

Lucy: I'm here now!
Lucy (later): I pretty.
Lucy (later): I cute.
Lucy (later): I crabby.
Lucy (later): I sweet.
That last one just about killed me.

Why am I so tired?

I sleep a good 6 hours a night. Will only wakes up once, maybe twice per night now. Husband lets me sleep in at least once a week. I often take 5 minute cat naps during the day. Why am I so f*ing tired?

I've done my research and ruled out sleep apnea, insomnia, endocrine abnormalities, anemia, and hypogonadism. So why do I feel like putting my head on the table and either banging it right there, or going to sleep?

I have finally found the cause. It is Charlie. He will not stop talking.

I love the little guy. Don't get me wrong. And when he turned 2 and was hardly talking at all, we were worried sick. Other parents said smug things like, "once he starts, you won't be able to get him to stop." "Yeah, right," we said. We just wanted him to talk. That was just over a year ago.

Now it is hard to admit that they were right.

Here is our dinnertime conversation of last night:

Charlie: Mommy, I set your place for you. See dat? See dat mommy?
Me: Oh, yes, you set the table for me. Thanks, sweetie.
Charlie: Did you see the knife, and the fork, right there?
Me: Yes, I see, good job. Husband, did you...
Charlie: And I put the milk cup there for you.
Me: Yes, sweetie, that's great. Let me talk to...
Charlie: Mommy, see Will? He is eating in his high chair, right there. Right there, mommy. See that? See that mommy?
Me: Yes, that is great. Thanks for pointing that out.
Charlie: We are going to eat chicken? Chicken mommy? And that donut?
Me: Yes. That's a bagel, actually.
Charlie: A bagel, mommy? Right there? With a hole right there?
Husband: Charlie, let's pretend like we are waiting for a bus.
Charlie: What you say daddy?
Husband: When you are waiting for a bus, you are quiet. Can we be quiet while we eat? For a moment.
Charlie: Yes, yes daddy. I being quiet. See that mommy? See? I being quiet. I quiet mommy.
(silence.)
Charlie: See mommy? I being quiet? See?
Me: Yes. That is great. Just great. Husband, I wanted to talk about...
Charlie (whispering): mary had a little lamb.
Charlie (whispering louder): little lamb.
Charlie(whispering yet, louder): la la la la la la la.....

Smart kid, or just a smarty pants?

Charlie (to daddy): Daddy, that's dirty laundry?
Daddy: Yes.
Charlie: That makes mommy sad.
Daddy: Really, sad?
Charlie: Yes. And frustrated.

Later...
The kids are sitting around the table doing an art project that involves cutting (with kid-safe scissors, of course)
Me: Charlie, stop using those scissors to cut that crayon.
Charlie: No.
Me: Do you want me to take them away?
Charlie: Mommy, you go in that next room, and then I use this scissors to cut this crayon???
It is a genuine question.

Later...
Charlie gets a time-out. He doesn't stay in it. So I give him the once-dreaded but now-useless Upstairs Time-Out, which is supposed to involve boring time away from his best friends. I put him in Will's baby room, because it is extra boring in there. Two minutes later I go to release him. He is sitting in Will's crib, holding one of his wall pictures in his hands.
Me: Uh, Charlie...
Charlie: Mommy, mommy! This picture fell off this wall, so I jump up here on crib, and I catch it.
Wow. My hero.

Later...
We step over a kid's nap mat, lying in the middle of the floor.
Charlie: This is a bed for cuddling on. Mommy, will you cuddle with me, on this bed, right now?
Awww.