When, from across the house, I heard my husband celebrating in the bathroom with a high-pitched voice, "Woo hoo! Yeah!", I knew it could mean only one thing. The twins must be in there with him, and one of them used the potty for the first time.
Way to go, Oliver!!!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Down with Euphimisms
If I told you that my boys are climbing the walls since being released from their crib-prisons into bed freedom, then you'd say, "I know what you mean. My kid wrote the book on climbing the walls!" I don't have anything against euphimisms, in general, but today I'm putting two of them to rest. My boys really do climb the walls, and they really are writing the book on it.
A publisher contacted them and made an offer for them to write "Climbing the Walls for Dummies." I think it's great for them to work on their writing, but I'm disappointed in the publisher for working directly with the boys without my consent. As a result, the boys will receive their advance and royalties in animal crackers. It's in the contract, and can't be changed at this point.
This is just a draft, so please don't spread the information far and wide, or steal the idea and write it yourself. The table of contents reads as follows:
Climbing the Walls for Dummies
by Wesley James Paris and Oliver Williams Paris
2007
Preface: Crib-climbing (It's not wall-climbing, but it persuades parents to get rid of the crib and free up some wall-climbing space)
Chapter One. Reaching on tippy toes or standing on a sibling in attempts to reach the light switch.
Chapter Two. Climbing up open shelves on changing table.
Chapter Three. Opening closed dresser drawers and climbing them, after changing table has been removed from the room.
Chapter Four. Climbing the curtains, now that no furniture remains in the room.
Chapter Five. Climbing the blinds, after curtains have been removed from the room.
Chapter Six. Now that only bare windows remain, climbing bare window frame and becoming trapped, little toes and little fingers gripping sill and frame.
Chapter Seven. Climbing bed frame and/or mattress.
Chapter Eight. Climbing sibling.
Chapter Nine. Hanging on door knob.
Afterword. How to never ever fall asleep.
If sales are good, the publisher has promised two more in the Paris series. Wesley's is "Torturing the Family Cat for Dummies" and Oliver's is "Pooping Six Times a Day for Dummies" (we're seeing the pediatrician tomorrow about that).
A publisher contacted them and made an offer for them to write "Climbing the Walls for Dummies." I think it's great for them to work on their writing, but I'm disappointed in the publisher for working directly with the boys without my consent. As a result, the boys will receive their advance and royalties in animal crackers. It's in the contract, and can't be changed at this point.
This is just a draft, so please don't spread the information far and wide, or steal the idea and write it yourself. The table of contents reads as follows:
Climbing the Walls for Dummies
by Wesley James Paris and Oliver Williams Paris
2007
Preface: Crib-climbing (It's not wall-climbing, but it persuades parents to get rid of the crib and free up some wall-climbing space)
Chapter One. Reaching on tippy toes or standing on a sibling in attempts to reach the light switch.
Chapter Two. Climbing up open shelves on changing table.
Chapter Three. Opening closed dresser drawers and climbing them, after changing table has been removed from the room.
Chapter Four. Climbing the curtains, now that no furniture remains in the room.
Chapter Five. Climbing the blinds, after curtains have been removed from the room.
Chapter Six. Now that only bare windows remain, climbing bare window frame and becoming trapped, little toes and little fingers gripping sill and frame.
Chapter Seven. Climbing bed frame and/or mattress.
Chapter Eight. Climbing sibling.
Chapter Nine. Hanging on door knob.
Afterword. How to never ever fall asleep.
If sales are good, the publisher has promised two more in the Paris series. Wesley's is "Torturing the Family Cat for Dummies" and Oliver's is "Pooping Six Times a Day for Dummies" (we're seeing the pediatrician tomorrow about that).
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Dear Abby,
The bottom line is that Wesley has the physical ability to leave his crib and he likes to use it. My question is more a plea than a question. Help!
Tonight I put the boys in their cribs. Within five minutes, Wesley was out of the crib and on top of the dresser, throwing a hundred wipes around the room. I put him back in the crib, and then stayed in the room putting laundry away. I said, "Lay down", and Wesley laughed and said "No." I pushed him down into a laying position, and he laughed at me. Me being in the room kept them both awake talking to me. I left the room, and within five minutes Wesley was hysterical, face down on the hardwood floor, smashed forehead from falling out of the crib. I comforted Wesley, but then Oliver wailed to get out of his crib and get comforted, too. He threw his blanket and nuk on the floor to make himself cry. Now both boys are on my lap, crying. Back in their cribs. Lights out, I left the room. Five minutes later, Wesley is out again. I spank him. He laughs as long as he can, then cries. Oliver is terrified of me and cries because of Wesley's spanking. Back in cribs. I stay in the room, reading a magazine by the hallway light. They can't settle down while I"m in the room. I leave. Wesley is too tired to get up - now he's laying on his back imitating my words and then giggling. "Down! (tee hee)" "No! (tee hee)" Mockery.
We're putting them in beds tomorrow, but that only makes getting out of bed even easier.
What should we do? Would it be a bad idea to remove all furniture from the room other than beds, lock the closet, lock the door, and just let them play freely until they fall asleep?
Sincerely,
Mocked Mama
Tonight I put the boys in their cribs. Within five minutes, Wesley was out of the crib and on top of the dresser, throwing a hundred wipes around the room. I put him back in the crib, and then stayed in the room putting laundry away. I said, "Lay down", and Wesley laughed and said "No." I pushed him down into a laying position, and he laughed at me. Me being in the room kept them both awake talking to me. I left the room, and within five minutes Wesley was hysterical, face down on the hardwood floor, smashed forehead from falling out of the crib. I comforted Wesley, but then Oliver wailed to get out of his crib and get comforted, too. He threw his blanket and nuk on the floor to make himself cry. Now both boys are on my lap, crying. Back in their cribs. Lights out, I left the room. Five minutes later, Wesley is out again. I spank him. He laughs as long as he can, then cries. Oliver is terrified of me and cries because of Wesley's spanking. Back in cribs. I stay in the room, reading a magazine by the hallway light. They can't settle down while I"m in the room. I leave. Wesley is too tired to get up - now he's laying on his back imitating my words and then giggling. "Down! (tee hee)" "No! (tee hee)" Mockery.
We're putting them in beds tomorrow, but that only makes getting out of bed even easier.
What should we do? Would it be a bad idea to remove all furniture from the room other than beds, lock the closet, lock the door, and just let them play freely until they fall asleep?
Sincerely,
Mocked Mama
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Why I Ate My Dinner On The Toilet
It was a perfect sunny afternoon, 80 degrees and little humidity. I glided on the tree swing, watching Oliver throwing his red ball and Wesley stacking clay planters. Max slept sweetly indoors. Dinner, as I fantasized it, would be outdoors on the rustic picnic table in the center of our yard. We'd have my famous More Mac-n-Cheese Please, named thus because that's what people say when they eat it. That's not really true, but I wish it were. It's homemade mac and cheese with peas and ham, topped with toasty bread crumbs. We'd enjoy a side platter of raw veggies and a dessert of mixed fruits from the local farm stand. The sun would begin to set on our happy family.
The fantasy crashed like a half-full coffee pot and filter full of grounds flung against a kitchen floor, a metaphor derived from Wesley's actions that took dinner in a new direction. Wesley and Oliver ate More Mac-n-Cheese Please indoors at the table, with a side of a single celery stick and a handful of unwashed blueberries. I served dinner with my left hand while nursing Max, trying to comfort him because his head was welted from Oliver hitting him with a stick during the unsupervised minutes when I was cleaning coffee grounds off the floor. Despite the less than ideal ambience, the boys ate 75% of a 9x9 pan's worth of food. (It's a tangent, but I'd like to mention that Oliver's breakfast was two 12-inch blueberry pancakes, three eggs, half a peach, ten more blueberries, and milk. And he's a trim 27 pounds!)
Wesley released himself from the table so he could rifle through a cabinet and smear the couch with his cheesy hands. Oliver stayed at the table, holding one cheek open with a finger and cramming food into his mouth with the other hand. I poured the bath, leaving last night's dirt and a single beetle floating. Two naked boys hopped into the tub, and one welted crying baby sat in the doorway in his bouncy seat. Running justifications for my poor mothering through my mind, I left Max crying while I sat on the toilet and ate my own plate of cold More Mac-n-Cheese Please, with no celery or blueberries. At least I was supervising the bath, the voice in my head said to herself.
Why was I left alone with a flock of toddlers and babies during afternoon exhaustion, dinner, bath, and bedtime? Because I found The Bunk Bed that is going to last the boys until college. It was designed by zookeepers for full-grown orangutans to use at summer camp. The Bunk Bed costs $533 full price, but I found it for $100 at a thrift store. The catch was that the thrift store was in Baltimore, requiring James to drive two hours each way, well, make that three hours due to traffic and unfamiliarity with the warehouse/ghetto labyrinth that houses the thrift store. But a deal's a deal, and while it might not have been worth me driving to Baltimore, it was worth talking him into doing it.
And why the bunk beds? Because the boys climb out of their cribs, pull down curtains, climb on dressers, and climb into one crib together to wrestle. Bedtime can take two hours now, easy. My plan for the transition to beds is to lock the closet, lock the bedroom door, and remove all furniture other than the beds. They can't seriously injure themselves that way. And besides, I'll be right there listening for problems, at my toilet post, enjoying dessert or maybe even a cup of tea.
The fantasy crashed like a half-full coffee pot and filter full of grounds flung against a kitchen floor, a metaphor derived from Wesley's actions that took dinner in a new direction. Wesley and Oliver ate More Mac-n-Cheese Please indoors at the table, with a side of a single celery stick and a handful of unwashed blueberries. I served dinner with my left hand while nursing Max, trying to comfort him because his head was welted from Oliver hitting him with a stick during the unsupervised minutes when I was cleaning coffee grounds off the floor. Despite the less than ideal ambience, the boys ate 75% of a 9x9 pan's worth of food. (It's a tangent, but I'd like to mention that Oliver's breakfast was two 12-inch blueberry pancakes, three eggs, half a peach, ten more blueberries, and milk. And he's a trim 27 pounds!)
Wesley released himself from the table so he could rifle through a cabinet and smear the couch with his cheesy hands. Oliver stayed at the table, holding one cheek open with a finger and cramming food into his mouth with the other hand. I poured the bath, leaving last night's dirt and a single beetle floating. Two naked boys hopped into the tub, and one welted crying baby sat in the doorway in his bouncy seat. Running justifications for my poor mothering through my mind, I left Max crying while I sat on the toilet and ate my own plate of cold More Mac-n-Cheese Please, with no celery or blueberries. At least I was supervising the bath, the voice in my head said to herself.
Why was I left alone with a flock of toddlers and babies during afternoon exhaustion, dinner, bath, and bedtime? Because I found The Bunk Bed that is going to last the boys until college. It was designed by zookeepers for full-grown orangutans to use at summer camp. The Bunk Bed costs $533 full price, but I found it for $100 at a thrift store. The catch was that the thrift store was in Baltimore, requiring James to drive two hours each way, well, make that three hours due to traffic and unfamiliarity with the warehouse/ghetto labyrinth that houses the thrift store. But a deal's a deal, and while it might not have been worth me driving to Baltimore, it was worth talking him into doing it.
And why the bunk beds? Because the boys climb out of their cribs, pull down curtains, climb on dressers, and climb into one crib together to wrestle. Bedtime can take two hours now, easy. My plan for the transition to beds is to lock the closet, lock the bedroom door, and remove all furniture other than the beds. They can't seriously injure themselves that way. And besides, I'll be right there listening for problems, at my toilet post, enjoying dessert or maybe even a cup of tea.
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