The Last Day Of "Two"
I had this great idea to record the last day of your second year, thinking how special it would be to write a day in your life down to remember. And, then we got to around lunch time and I wondered if I would look back and "smile" 20 years from now....here's hoping!!
You woke up too early, but then again, it seems it happens that way every morning. I hear you little footsteps start in your room and I sigh at the thought of another exhausting day...and then I see your little head peek above my side of the bed and your cheery eyes melt my heart instantly, and I can't wait to hold my arms out to pick you up and slide you in to bed with me. These are my favorite moments of the day...just you and me cuddling in the bed, remembering for a few moments how small you are and how snuggly and loveable you can be when you want to. And, I suck in the smell of your small head as I kiss you...and the moment is over...and you are ready to start your 100 yard dash of a day.
Once you have gotten your sippy cup of milk and your
breakfast bar, that which you demand every morning for the last year and a half, you are ready for Mickey. Just a week ago you would repeat "Maisy! Maisy! Maisy!" over and over again until I bleary-eyed got the DVR on just the right place. How your tastes have changed in just a week, and in a few short months. Months ago you watched Sprout from morning until night, then you obsessed over Maisy, and this week when you wielded control over the remote you found Mickey, and fell in to a new love.
You get the stool from my closet and climb into bed with me and watch your new (second) favorite show until Little Einsteins comes on and you can jump for joy. You make the loudest noise as you drink your milk, being sure to replace the bink when you need a break from the chugging.
You can't sit still and you are all over the place, but eyes glued to the TV at all times.
By mid morning I have filled your cup 3-4 times and you have snacked on crackers--the only food you will eat...practically. And, so, you have also gone to potty 3-4 times before our day has barely started.
It is story time day at the library, and I want to go. You don't. You fuss and cry while I put on your sock and shoes and your jacket. You fuss as we walk out the door in the rain to the car. You cry in the car as I buckle you and pull out of the driveway.
You finally give up about half way there.
We are early to story time so you run off to play with the toys. You are visibly mad when I tell you it is time for the story, and you put your head down and cut your eyes at me as you slowly limp to the kids room.
You sit on the rug with me until Ms, Carolyn announces time for "Exercises." Despite the fact that we always do this, you bury your head deep and hard in to my chest and moan like you are on fire.
Songs are next, and you get mad at mommy for daring to sing and do the motions to Itsy Bitsy Spider, so you throw yourself and then your milk. My angry mommy look gets you to sit still, but you are still unhappy until she begins "The Wheels On The Bus," then you become the most active participant.
That song is over and so is your participation. But, you sit still and listen to the other songs and eventually the stories.
Craft time. You always look forward to craft time. But today, you are mad. You are mad at the world and for your lack of control in it. So, you stand in the middle of the room like a statue, refusing to budge as the rest of the kids find a chair and I walk over to a good place for you.
Now, you won't come to me, and when I raise my voice you walk slowly over, head down, mad eyes glaring. You won't do the craft, and you make sure I know it by howling when I get the materials ready.
You win. We leave, me embarrassed, and you looking like you might have realized making mommy upset enough to leave wasn't what you thought you wanted.
Today is also half-off thrift store day, and I have decided you aren't going to take that from me. So, I take you in and you are like a different child. Helpful. Obedient. Good. Maybe you think you will get something? Mommy gets a rare abundance of good deals today, and just as we are about to leave we check the book section. There is a Thomas book--yea. There is a Clifford book--yeah. Wait, is that? "Thomas look that I found!" "Maisy!!!!!!!!" You are so thrilled to see your friend (who is VERY hard to find) that you take the book and sit on the floor and carefully turn the pages talking to each of the characters inside.
Just like you do so many times a day when I am sure I can't take anymore---you make me smile. Not just a little grin, but a deep-down warm smile that makes me glad once again to be a mommy...to be your mommy.
We check out and you demand fries from the Hardee's next door. We spent $13 at the thrift store, and daddy is already going to be unhappy with me--we aren't getting fries--and we don't need them.
I promise you chips with your sandwich. You are okay with that deal until we turn into our neighborhood and you realize there is no drive thru in your future.
You fuss again.
I fix your sandwich and chips and your 20th drink of the
day while you settle into Cailliou. I briefly think about how much TV you watch and I wipe the concern away thankful for a few moments of peace. Especially since I know you don't sit still long before you are off to do/tear up/destroy/sneak/place somewhere else.
Lunch is over and you actually ate. This is a rare feat and I am feeling good about myself once again. But it is a fleeting thought since I know I have to battle you for a nap.
Once you are physically upstairs and in a diaper, you are cool with the "nap" idea. I figure it is because you know you aren't actually going to sleep. And you won't. But, I tuck you in and read you a story anyway...and kiss you on the head.
You don't take a nap, and the ridiculously long hair you have is driving me crazy. I want you to look decent for birthday pictures--the few I am sure I will manage to get tomorrow. So, I decide to take you and Gracie to the over-priced hair place and try again. Yep, again, we had to leave Monday when I tried because you threw a fit. Well, actually, because I couldn't physically restrain you enough to get you in the chair. I often forget how strong you are. And, I did again today.
I was sure after the "chat" we had this week and the stern warning you were given before we went in that you couldn't possibly behave as badly. I was wrong, I often am. You threw a massive fit and I couldn't get you in the chair. I was sure we would have to do the walk of shame again, but I just couldn't. I was too mad, too determined...so stubborn. The lady suggests we let you sit in the big chair, and I take the opportunity to hold you--very tightly--as she snips your hair from my arms. I am covered, you are covered in blond hair becuase you smack away the cape she tries to put on you.
My muscles are aching from holding you so tightly, but after a while your resolve seems to waver as she snips more and more hair from your head. I rub your back as your screams turn to whimpers. I try to soothe you, knowing that underneath the stubbornness, you are simply scared and anxious about a stranger wielding scissors. I think you might even know that under my frustration is a more primal devotion to you and my pain at watching you uncomfortable and scared. No mommy can ever sit by and ignore her crying child, or her hurt child, or her torn child. Knowing that we are doing what it is best for you is little consolation to watching your tears stream down your face.
The lady finishes up and attempts to make it the best we she can. I am happy that it is done at all...and that it is over. I am covered in snot and hair and your arms are draped tightly around my neck, and today's trauma is nearly over.
Mommy tips the lady--a lot. We walk back to the car in the rain with yours arms still clutching my neck. You are softly sobbing and my frustration and anger have fallen into acceptance and relief that we are through.
I buckle you in covered in hair and snot and clutching the lollipop she bribed you with.
I have a headache now. We drive mostly silently back home.
You need a bath, I need a shower, but it is almost 5 and I have to cook some dinner.
I leave you and your sister to your devices while I figure out what to fix. the two of you fight and yell and bicker the entire time. You beg for snacks and sneak a bag of chips. Gracie tattles on you for everything.
My headache is worse.
Daddy is home and dinner is on the table. You won't eat anything but the rice. You go off to play nosily making sure we notice you won the dinner fight for the umpteenth time in a row. I try and get a few bites of my dinner in between your returns to my place at the table wanting my attention.
You need a bath and run happily up the stairs at the mere mention of one. You find your cups and toys and wait impatiently for me at the side of the tub. You are happy and smiling and playful. Yet another moment in the day when you find away to erase the tension and frustration with a mere boyish grin.
We play and laugh and giggle as we get you "all clean." The laughs stop short when it is time for hair and the shouts and panic resume.
Daddy gives me a break and diapers you and dresses you for bed. I pour your milk and stagger back up the stairs unsure of how I made it through the day.
I find you happy and with sleepy smiles on your face. You are weary and ready...even eager...for bed.
We brush your teeth and I tuck you in and read your favorite story of the week. I check to be sure Chewey is there, milk is there, blankie and binki too. You settle down and playfully move your face so I can't give you a kiss. You know I won't leave without one, and you wouldn't let me not kiss you goodnight.
I look at you snug and warm and cozy giving me your best "I love you" grin and it all melts. I find once again my heart wrapped around your chubby little finger. I close the door and try not to tear up at the thought of tomorrow being your third birthday.
Where has the time gone? Did I make the most of it? Did I hold on to enough of the good?
I decide to let those questions go, for I am far too exhausted to think tonight. But I go to bed loving you and I will wake in the morning loving you as well. And, we will make it through another day of you and I....and 5...10...15...20... years from now I will swear on how much I miss it.
You woke up too early, but then again, it seems it happens that way every morning. I hear you little footsteps start in your room and I sigh at the thought of another exhausting day...and then I see your little head peek above my side of the bed and your cheery eyes melt my heart instantly, and I can't wait to hold my arms out to pick you up and slide you in to bed with me. These are my favorite moments of the day...just you and me cuddling in the bed, remembering for a few moments how small you are and how snuggly and loveable you can be when you want to. And, I suck in the smell of your small head as I kiss you...and the moment is over...and you are ready to start your 100 yard dash of a day.
Once you have gotten your sippy cup of milk and your
breakfast bar, that which you demand every morning for the last year and a half, you are ready for Mickey. Just a week ago you would repeat "Maisy! Maisy! Maisy!" over and over again until I bleary-eyed got the DVR on just the right place. How your tastes have changed in just a week, and in a few short months. Months ago you watched Sprout from morning until night, then you obsessed over Maisy, and this week when you wielded control over the remote you found Mickey, and fell in to a new love.You get the stool from my closet and climb into bed with me and watch your new (second) favorite show until Little Einsteins comes on and you can jump for joy. You make the loudest noise as you drink your milk, being sure to replace the bink when you need a break from the chugging.
You can't sit still and you are all over the place, but eyes glued to the TV at all times.
By mid morning I have filled your cup 3-4 times and you have snacked on crackers--the only food you will eat...practically. And, so, you have also gone to potty 3-4 times before our day has barely started.
It is story time day at the library, and I want to go. You don't. You fuss and cry while I put on your sock and shoes and your jacket. You fuss as we walk out the door in the rain to the car. You cry in the car as I buckle you and pull out of the driveway.You finally give up about half way there.
We are early to story time so you run off to play with the toys. You are visibly mad when I tell you it is time for the story, and you put your head down and cut your eyes at me as you slowly limp to the kids room.
You sit on the rug with me until Ms, Carolyn announces time for "Exercises." Despite the fact that we always do this, you bury your head deep and hard in to my chest and moan like you are on fire.
Songs are next, and you get mad at mommy for daring to sing and do the motions to Itsy Bitsy Spider, so you throw yourself and then your milk. My angry mommy look gets you to sit still, but you are still unhappy until she begins "The Wheels On The Bus," then you become the most active participant.
That song is over and so is your participation. But, you sit still and listen to the other songs and eventually the stories.
Craft time. You always look forward to craft time. But today, you are mad. You are mad at the world and for your lack of control in it. So, you stand in the middle of the room like a statue, refusing to budge as the rest of the kids find a chair and I walk over to a good place for you.
Now, you won't come to me, and when I raise my voice you walk slowly over, head down, mad eyes glaring. You won't do the craft, and you make sure I know it by howling when I get the materials ready.
You win. We leave, me embarrassed, and you looking like you might have realized making mommy upset enough to leave wasn't what you thought you wanted.
Today is also half-off thrift store day, and I have decided you aren't going to take that from me. So, I take you in and you are like a different child. Helpful. Obedient. Good. Maybe you think you will get something? Mommy gets a rare abundance of good deals today, and just as we are about to leave we check the book section. There is a Thomas book--yea. There is a Clifford book--yeah. Wait, is that? "Thomas look that I found!" "Maisy!!!!!!!!" You are so thrilled to see your friend (who is VERY hard to find) that you take the book and sit on the floor and carefully turn the pages talking to each of the characters inside.
Just like you do so many times a day when I am sure I can't take anymore---you make me smile. Not just a little grin, but a deep-down warm smile that makes me glad once again to be a mommy...to be your mommy.
We check out and you demand fries from the Hardee's next door. We spent $13 at the thrift store, and daddy is already going to be unhappy with me--we aren't getting fries--and we don't need them.
I promise you chips with your sandwich. You are okay with that deal until we turn into our neighborhood and you realize there is no drive thru in your future.
You fuss again.
I fix your sandwich and chips and your 20th drink of the
day while you settle into Cailliou. I briefly think about how much TV you watch and I wipe the concern away thankful for a few moments of peace. Especially since I know you don't sit still long before you are off to do/tear up/destroy/sneak/place somewhere else.Lunch is over and you actually ate. This is a rare feat and I am feeling good about myself once again. But it is a fleeting thought since I know I have to battle you for a nap.
Once you are physically upstairs and in a diaper, you are cool with the "nap" idea. I figure it is because you know you aren't actually going to sleep. And you won't. But, I tuck you in and read you a story anyway...and kiss you on the head.
You don't take a nap, and the ridiculously long hair you have is driving me crazy. I want you to look decent for birthday pictures--the few I am sure I will manage to get tomorrow. So, I decide to take you and Gracie to the over-priced hair place and try again. Yep, again, we had to leave Monday when I tried because you threw a fit. Well, actually, because I couldn't physically restrain you enough to get you in the chair. I often forget how strong you are. And, I did again today.
I was sure after the "chat" we had this week and the stern warning you were given before we went in that you couldn't possibly behave as badly. I was wrong, I often am. You threw a massive fit and I couldn't get you in the chair. I was sure we would have to do the walk of shame again, but I just couldn't. I was too mad, too determined...so stubborn. The lady suggests we let you sit in the big chair, and I take the opportunity to hold you--very tightly--as she snips your hair from my arms. I am covered, you are covered in blond hair becuase you smack away the cape she tries to put on you.
My muscles are aching from holding you so tightly, but after a while your resolve seems to waver as she snips more and more hair from your head. I rub your back as your screams turn to whimpers. I try to soothe you, knowing that underneath the stubbornness, you are simply scared and anxious about a stranger wielding scissors. I think you might even know that under my frustration is a more primal devotion to you and my pain at watching you uncomfortable and scared. No mommy can ever sit by and ignore her crying child, or her hurt child, or her torn child. Knowing that we are doing what it is best for you is little consolation to watching your tears stream down your face.
The lady finishes up and attempts to make it the best we she can. I am happy that it is done at all...and that it is over. I am covered in snot and hair and your arms are draped tightly around my neck, and today's trauma is nearly over.
Mommy tips the lady--a lot. We walk back to the car in the rain with yours arms still clutching my neck. You are softly sobbing and my frustration and anger have fallen into acceptance and relief that we are through.I buckle you in covered in hair and snot and clutching the lollipop she bribed you with.
I have a headache now. We drive mostly silently back home.
You need a bath, I need a shower, but it is almost 5 and I have to cook some dinner.
I leave you and your sister to your devices while I figure out what to fix. the two of you fight and yell and bicker the entire time. You beg for snacks and sneak a bag of chips. Gracie tattles on you for everything.
My headache is worse.
Daddy is home and dinner is on the table. You won't eat anything but the rice. You go off to play nosily making sure we notice you won the dinner fight for the umpteenth time in a row. I try and get a few bites of my dinner in between your returns to my place at the table wanting my attention.
You need a bath and run happily up the stairs at the mere mention of one. You find your cups and toys and wait impatiently for me at the side of the tub. You are happy and smiling and playful. Yet another moment in the day when you find away to erase the tension and frustration with a mere boyish grin.
We play and laugh and giggle as we get you "all clean." The laughs stop short when it is time for hair and the shouts and panic resume.
Daddy gives me a break and diapers you and dresses you for bed. I pour your milk and stagger back up the stairs unsure of how I made it through the day.
I find you happy and with sleepy smiles on your face. You are weary and ready...even eager...for bed.
We brush your teeth and I tuck you in and read your favorite story of the week. I check to be sure Chewey is there, milk is there, blankie and binki too. You settle down and playfully move your face so I can't give you a kiss. You know I won't leave without one, and you wouldn't let me not kiss you goodnight.
I look at you snug and warm and cozy giving me your best "I love you" grin and it all melts. I find once again my heart wrapped around your chubby little finger. I close the door and try not to tear up at the thought of tomorrow being your third birthday.
Where has the time gone? Did I make the most of it? Did I hold on to enough of the good?
I decide to let those questions go, for I am far too exhausted to think tonight. But I go to bed loving you and I will wake in the morning loving you as well. And, we will make it through another day of you and I....and 5...10...15...20... years from now I will swear on how much I miss it.
You must know that our children are soooo much alike! It's scary. I'm serious. I'm thankful to know that I'm not the only one dealing with such a strong-willed and independent child. Thankfully, I have a girl, and I don't plan on having her hair cut until she's at least five!
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