Colors

3 years olds are all about figuring out how the world works, where they fit into it and then letting you know every little thing they learn while on this journey. Whether it's numbers, letters, changing your alarm clock settings, or learning to pick their nose, they're like little sponges with mouthes that spit back a continuous stream of discovery notes.

-Did you know I used to be a baby and I came from your belly?
-Rocks are big, but we don't throw them at people, just dogs and water.
-Safety is very important, that's why we wear goggles when we drill.
-I have a penis and you have a ginuv (vagina), my ginuv is in my butt.
-Candy is good for my body, it has protein.

For the most part I just nod, or say 'Oh, really?', and go along with whatever Charlie says. There are occasions where the information is just plain wrong and I try to correct him . I try to avoid this at all costs as it usually leads to a battle of "Yes it is vs No it's not". Most parents of preschoolers know for a fact that they will never win this battle. But sometimes, the shit gets personal and I can't help but declare all out war on Charlie's ass.

Charlie is really into his colors right now. He's always listing off the colors of objects around him. Not to brag, but he's way more advanced than the typical ROYGBIV spectrum. He's onto mint green, light blue, gray, silver and gold. He's quite accurate, but for some reason his Achilles heel is yellow and white. He always interchanges the 2, but once you point it out, he knows the difference.

On the way to school last week he and I were talking colors. We like to count the number of certain color cars on the highway. Or we'll pick a color and list all of the things we can think of that are that color. We were doing green; trees, grass, street lights, stems on pumpkins, etc. To which I did the obligatory nod or 'that's right'. Then Charlie said, "Let's do yellow." Okay. "School bus, dandelion, bumble bee, your teeth..." What did you say? "Your teeth. They're yellow." No honey, you mean white. "No, yellow." You mean white, like a snowman. "No, yellow like corn." I think you're confusing yellow and white. "NO, I'M NOT." Well, I think you are. "I AM NOT!" My silence signals my defeat.

I immediately made an appointment with my dentist for a cleaning and lengthy discussion on teeth whitening options. I told him the story. His first response, "Well, your teeth aren't white, most people's are not. But kids at that age aren't familiar with colors like creme or off white." For gosh sakes man, why don't you just kick me when I'm down?

I have always hated going to the dentist, now I have another reason to validate my anger; that and the $400 he wants to charge me to 'lighten' my teeth. He couldn't promise whiter, just lighter. Is the next shade lighter than corn, butter? And would that fall into the white or yellow family? I'll have to ask Charlie.

You Know Nothin'

Do you remember having to give oral book reports in school? You think you have your act reasonably together. Read the book - check; if available, memorize the Cliff's Notes - check; rehearse in front of the mirror and make it sound like you didn't memorize the Cliff's Notes - check. All systems are a go as you stand in front of your teacher and classmates.
Then, 1 of 2 things happens. Your entire summation of the book takes exactly one minute, when the assignment is a 10 minute presentation. Or you yammer on for all 10 of those minutes about nothing. No sentences are formed, each word leaving your mouth has nothing to do with the one before. Everyone is left with the impression that you are an idiot and clearly did not read the book.
The latter, well that happens everyday in life with a preschooler. Their curiosity, wonder and literal interpretation of the world are truly something to behold. They ask questions that you think in your head are pretty basic. But try to verbalize an explanation and you are left in awe of your own incompetence as well as your memory loss (didn't I learn this in school).

Here is an example of my morning. Keep in mind this is at 5:30 am, before sunrise and a cup of coffee. Also note I have only included Charlie's half of the conversation because mine is just too embarrassing.

- How do lady bugs eat and drink? Is that lady bug a boy or a girl?
- Why is the sun rising? (I did mention something about the earth rotating on it's access - definite points for that) Where is the sun coming from? Why are there people living on the opposite end of the earth?
- Why do my feet smell? Where does smell come from?
- Why did you say this situation is sticky? Did it get sticky by eating candy? Can I have some candy?
- If the dark clouds are for making rain, what are the white clouds for?

And in the world of preschoolers, "I don't know" or "It's just an expression" are not acceptable answers. If you're lucky, you're near a computer. If not, the questions just continue, on and on and on. How many times can one child ask 'Why' in the course of a day? The answer, 968. My husband wonders why I always forget shit, like his dry cleaning, or showering. My friends with older kids say it will only get worse as they learn more, ask more complicated questions, and develop a pretty accurate bullshit radar.
I thought this feeling of incompetence just stemmed from not knowing what to do when my kid tries to stick Cheerios up his brother's nose, yells at a woman on a bike for not wearing a helmet, or refuses to poop on the potty. But it goes much deeper than that. Charlie's preschool gave me a handout stating that by age 4, children will learn up to 40% of what they will learn in their whole lifespan.
Here's a question; if I'm the person responsible for the majority of Charlie's education until he reaches kindergarten, what kind of a chance does this kid have? My guess is by age 4 he's going to know that his Mom clearly did not read the parenting 101 book. I just hope he doesn't think I'm an idiot. I guess we all have different definitions of success and they evolve as we do.

Like looking in the mirror

My in laws are visiting us from Florida for a couple of weeks. Before you roll your eyes and cringe imagining yourself in this situation, or dub me certifiable, know that I do find it tough having guests (whomever they may be) for this long a period. But the pluses far outweigh the minuses in this case. My mother in law does my laundry and she cleaned up diarrhea off of Charlie's floor yesterday, so get your eyeballs back into the forward facing position.

On extended stays like this, Nani and Papa become completely entrenched in the boys' daily routine as well as the rules by which they live - the rules of a dictator as we like to say. My father in law experienced the harsh reign of El Diablo (Charlie) the other night just after dinner.

Charlie wanted to play with his Magna Tiles and of course the first amendment in any good dictator's constitution states he is not allowed to play Magna Tiles alone. That's right before the one that bans adults from sitting at the dinner table for more than 5 minutes. And of course because we were also finishing up dinner, Charlie clearly felt his 1st and 2nd amendment rights were being violated. He decided to make his case to my father in law in his best whiny preschooler voice, 'Come play Magna Tiles, Papa. Coooommmmme playyyyyy.'

Papa being a man of a certain age, needs to digest his dinner or things tend to repeat on him which is bad for all involved. You get to know a lot about house guests after 2 + weeks. So he told Charlie he'd be there in a few minutes. A few minutes for a 3 year old is like a morning with no coffee to you and me, slow and thankless. The whining and begging for Papa to come play continued endlessly.

He finally wore him down and my father in law went to play Magna Tiles. Well, apparently he wasn't playing the right way, or with enough enthusiasm, probably violating yet another amendment. Next we hear a raised voice that said, "Papa, you have 2 choices, you can either play with me or you can go to your bed." We then hear some adult chuckling which prompted another threat, "Did you hear me Papa, your options are play with me or go to your bed."

Brian and I were doubled over. It was like listening to a recording of ourselves. We're big into giving choices and find it diffuses potential situations where arguments could ensue, like bedtime. "Charlie, do you want to go to bed with stories or without stories?" Easy. Sometimes though, I do get a little extreme when I'm super frustrated, "You have 2 options, do you want to go to the grocery store or do you want to stay home locked in your closet? It's your choice." Hey, I got the desired end result, regardless of the path I had to take to get there. Remember Dr. Sears, this is a judgment free zone.

Clearly Charlie was taking his cue from my more extreme examples. Bedtime to him is like being locked in a closet. I can't wait to see El Diablo's interpretation of "This is not a restaurant so you'll eat the (insert any food item) I just made for you."

Karma's Ass Biting

Back from 4 1/2 glorious days of a girl's weekend in VT and the ole IGC (intrauterine guilt chip - see Men vs. Women post) was in high gear.
I've never taken so much pleasure in doing nothing. What is that cliche you never really miss something until it's gone? Well, no truer words have been spoken/written as I haven't seen free time like this since Rebecca Romijn still had hyphen Stamos attached to her name. Sitting around till 11 am in my jammies, drinking gallons of coffee, reading my book or the closest trashy magazine, chatting with my girlfriends. And the best part, no one interrupting any of these very important activities with endless whining questions about Play-doh, juice boxes or Eric Carle books.
It was heaven, until I got home. You know when you eat too much candy how bad you feel? Well, I think the universe (as well as my IGC) was trying to tell me I had had my fill of sweets. It shouted, telling me I had taken too many days for myself, away from my kids. Most girl's weekends are just that, a weekend, not 5 days (technically 4 if you count travel).
I returned home to 1 teething baby with diarrhea along with a diaper rash that looks like 3rd degree burns; a 3 year old with an ear infection and ruptured ear drum with puss-goo-stuff oozing out his ear. In addition he has started saying 'Hey, Mommy' before every word he utters. This may sound trivial, but seriously, try saying that each time you start a sentence, 12 hours a day, every day, it's sure to annoy you as well as any conversation companion you have, including your mother.
'Hey Mommy, can I have some juice. Hey Mommy, can we play blocks. Hey Mommy, I'm going to flush my socks down the toilet. Hey Mommy, I'm going to bonk Gregory in the head then feed him to the birds. Hey Mommy, if I light that dog on fire, what will happen?'

I know I shouldn't complain, most of my friends are down right green with envy. But next time, I'll make sure not to tempt fate and keep my weekend to a weekend. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Sorry, that was my IGC talking. Scratch that. Next time I will make it a full week and not give a shit about the repercussions when I return home. My girl's "weekend" and the memory of it are something I will cherish and will get me through many a tough day with my kids. To all mommies everywhere, take some time for yourself to rest and regenerate, you'll love yourself and your kids more for it.

Men vs. Women

Men and women are different, we know this. But with all of the books, talk shows, movies, websites and time dedicated to this very subject, it's amazing that I still have so many questions.

1. Why is it that when I offer my husband a brief sabbatical from the kids at nap time, he looks at me and says, "What should I do? Where should I go?"
If you offered any woman an hour to herself, away from her children, her spouse, the dog, etc, the only question she would ask is, "I wonder if the door is going to leave a mark when it hits me in the ass on my way out?"

2. Why, when I told my husband I was going to sacrifice my morning to sleep-in to go for a run, did he say, "Are you taking either of the kids?"
My friend Eliza called me a sucker when I relayed the conversation.
'I hadn't planned on it. Did you want me to take one of the kids?'
"Well, I thought maybe it would be something the baby would enjoy."
Right.
Too many why's to count. But mainly WHY did I say, 'Sure.'?

2a. Why do we feel so guilty when we take any time for ourselves, away from our family? Most men don't think twice about heading off to a concert with their friends, or meeting the guys out for a drink after work. They feel they've worked hard all week and are entitled to a little alone time. Hello, what about us?
The sad thing is, a lot of husbands I know, including my own, want their wives to do more things for themselves. But most of us are our own worst enemy. We wrack ourselves with guilt; play out the worst images in our minds of what will happen if we step foot out that door sans children.

I have a theory, call it conspiracy or what have you, but it's the only logical explanation. When each of us delivers our baby, they install an intrauterine guilt chip (IGC). We're so completely spent after labor that we don't even notice. The IGC goes off whenever we have the slightest thought of doing something for ourself, wracking us with gut wrenching guilt, thereby altering our decision, forcing us back into selflessness. It's some man-medical profession conspiracy that I promise to crack once my kids are in school full time. Don't worry, in the meantime I've alerted Gloria Steinem.

Stream of consciousness

Charlie speaks 3 languages, English, Spanish and Charlie-speak. It's often hard to decipher which language he's using at any given moment. It's obvious where he picked up English, Spanish is from the wonderful women at his daycare, and Charlie-speak is his made up language. To call it nonsensical would be an insult, there are words he repeats over and over in sentences, with real meaning.

It's really interesting to listen to him when he gets into 'crazy mode' - usually happens at night around dinner time or when he gets excited or the moon is full or it's Wednesday. He starts doing laps around the house, running as fast as he can from room to room, screaming at the top of his lungs words in every language, in rapid fire succession. I imagine he sounds much like a person with Turret's on crystal meth. I really want to crawl into his brain to figure out what he is talking about.

Last night, Charlie shifted into high gear 'crazy mode'. I happened to have a notebook close by and put pen to paper. At a frenzied pace I captured everything he was saying in an attempt to decode the crazy and establish some kind of rationality to the things he was screaming.

Here it goes:
No puedes
No pinneas
Hot pancakes
(demonic laughter ensues)
I made you a house
(I yell 'thank you' from the kitchen)
It's only for me and Bonnie
(throws all pillows off the couch onto the floor)
I have an idea, let's start cleaning up toys!
(instead of cleaning, he starts throwing his toys around the house)
I made a good plan
Look at the living room, it's very, very, very, very, very, very dry
(runs into the kitchen and hits me, then runs out)
Sticky
Ven a sah dee, ven a sah dee, ven a sah dee
Pizza pie
I'm going to poke you in the rivvon
Wahsh, wahsh, wahsh, wahsh, wahsh
Water bottle, please
Kick (he actually kicks me while screaming the word)

Game over, TIME OUT!
I hear more demonic laughter from his room where he has been sent to read a book and calm down.
10 minutes later he and I are sitting at the dinner table. He looks at me and says, 'We're having a nice quiet time. It's so nice you could come over for dinner.'
Diagnosis: adorable but nuts.

Are you listening?

Most people with toddlers know, getting them to listen is next to impossible. As they mature and become preschoolers, the hearing skills improve slightly. Though they are not unlike the 1980 Ford Econoline van my Dad used to drive; not so reliable.
Last night Brian and I were hanging with Charlie in his room playing with his vast assortment of cars and trucks. Gregory was asleep and Charlie was enjoying time with both Mommy and Daddy. I think maybe he was even feeling a little heady from all the attention.
Brian was reading 'The Jelly Bean Book' on the floor when Charlie looked at him and said, "That book is going to go into a TIME OUT if you cannot be behaving." He of course raises his voice when he says TIME OUT with the exact intonations I use.
Brian was a little surprised but amused at this outburst.
"But what did I do?", he asked.
"That's it, The Jelly Bean Book is going into a time out. You need to think about being behaving and when you can be behaving, you can have the book back."
I'm in hysterics as Brian is left wondering what just happened.
This is a page straight out of Mommy's How to be a Disciplinarian 101 manual. Either the toy he's playing with gets a time out, or Charlie gets sent to his room to read a book and he can decide to come out when he's ready to behave or be nice to his brother or not act like a psychopath. Though in Charlie's manual they must have left out the part where you need just cause to issue the TIME OUT.
Maybe Charlie is sending us a message that he thinks our penal system and accompanying manual suck. He decided to turn the tables, issuing a time out KGB style - no warning or insight into the infraction, just straight up punishment.
I guess that's how he sees things, without cause or reason, just us being unfair. I can't wait for him to publish this century's version of Mommy Dearest. I haven't even unleashed my wire hanger shit on his ass. Just wait.
I do take some comfort in knowing that he is listening to me. Unless of course if he thinks reading a book in his room is not 'be behaving' I'm in trouble and the whole penal systems does need to be overhauled.