No, your body doesn't do that.

I feel as though I've aptly documented my sometimes warped perception of reality.  I'm about to add another statement to support my case.  You see, when preparing for Kaleb's birth, and gearing up to give breastfeeding the ole college try, I had this mental picture of how things were going to go.  It went like this: I would go in the nursery and nurse Kaleb.  Gavin would stay in the living room, playing quietly, until I was finished.  Thus, he'd never see me breastfeed.

Ha.

Ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Yeah,  . . . not so much.

For the most part, it hasn't been to weird, and I haven't had to answer to many uncomfortable questions. 

I mean, there was, "Mommy, why do you feed Kaleb from your tummy?"  My tummy?  Sweet!  I don't have to explain boobs to him!  "Because, Gavin, that's just how I feed him."

End of story.

"Mommy, why don't you feed Kaleb with a bottle?"  Because I don't.  And that was good enough.

He clearly doesn't think much of it, either, because he begs me to stay in the living room to feed his brother rather than going somewhere.  Honestly, I think this is because it's too hard to talk to me if I'm in another room.  If I'm in the same room, I can "look-Mom-watch-this" the whole time I'm nursing.

So, all was well . . . until the other day . . .

when he took his shirt off . . .

. . .  and he pointed to his nipples . .  .

and he said, "Look Mom, I can feel my baby food in here."

Uh . . .

Yeah, you see, your body doesn't do that.  You're a boy.  Boys don't make baby food.

Which is what I maybe should have said.  But that would have been followed up by, "Why don't boys make baby food?  How come you make baby food and I don't?"

So, instead, I just, "Awesome!" and left it at that.

I'm sure it's only a matter of time until I walk in and find him trying to feed his brother . . .

Uh oh. I'm fired up.

Warning:  If you're not in the mood to listen to me preach, then read no further.  'Cause I'm about to preach to the freaking choir like it's nobody's business.

It's not often that I get really fired up about social issues and debates.  I stand by my political beliefs, but I'm not really interested in arguing them.  I'm just not that passionate about it, and frankly, politics bore me.  I have opinions on abortion, gay marriage, and gun control, but again, not gonna engage in a heated battle over them.

But, sometimes, something fires me up just enough that I write ranty, ragy, preachy blog posts.  And that is what's happening right now.  From time to time, I hear about something that strikes me to the core.  It enrages me, it saddens me, it inspires me, or it disgusts me, and I can't stop thinking about it.  For instance, if someone has a seriously ill or dying child, it hurts my heart to imagine what that family must be going through, and I can't get it off of my mind unless I write about it.

In the past few weeks, I have had three friends come to me with horrible things that have happened in their lives, and it all makes my blood boil.  Why?  Because their lives have been forever changed, and they are sorting through terrible messes, by something that someone else did.  Someone else made a choice, and now my friends have to deal with that choice.  And, honestly, it makes me sick.  It makes me sick to look at these people I care about, who are hurting tremendously, from something that someone else did to them that they had absolutely no say in, and know that their pain could have been avoided.

The worst part?  All of these events involve children.  And that makes it even worse.

For some reason, our society is all for selfishness.  Not selflessness.  We are constantly told that OUR needs come first, that we deserve to be happy at all costs, that we should put ourselves before others, regardless of how it affects anyone else - even our children.  And, I'm sorry, but I truly believe you lose the right to be so selfish once you have children.  Agree with me, disagree with me, I don't care.  This is something I believe vehemently.  You lose the right to choose your own selfish needs over anything else once you have kids.   You owe it to your kids to make good choices, to make the right choices. 

So, if you feel like robbing a liquor store, and you have kids, you don't get to disregard their well-being and make the choice to do what you want.  Feel like getting high?  Tough.  You have kids, and your job is to look out for them and do what's best for them.  Unhappy with your life?  Figure out a way to be happy that won't hurt others around you.  Unsatisfied with your marriage?  Tempted by another?  Too bad.  You owe it to your kids to make the right choice and to try to make it work at all costs.  And, to me, there is no reason that can possibly justify any of these things - these things that will hurt and devastate the people around you.  Nothing.

And if one more person says to me, "Oh, I know someone who went through something similar and their kids are just fine," I will scream.  Scream, I tell ya.  Of course kids end up okay - they are resilient- but that's not an excuse to do whatever the hell you want.  Just imagine how much MORE okay they would be if they didn't have to go through what they did.  Imagine how much better their lives would be if their needs had been considered in the first place - not after the fact.


The worst part is that all of these things are widely accepted by our society.  And, by accepted, I mean no one says anything about it.  We try to stay out of the affairs of others because we think it's none of our business.  But, maybe that's the problem.  The problem might just be that we're so afraid of offending others that we don't say, "Hey, what you're doing is NOT okay.  It's not okay."  We make excuses, "Oh, she wasn't happy," or, "He made a mistake."  But, like I said before, there is no justifiable reason you can give me that warrants you doing something in which you knowingly and willingly hurt others.  No.  Justifiable.  Reason.

We justify racism, we justify hate, we justify greed, we justify addiction, we justify adultery, we justify corruption, and none of it is okay.  It's not okay.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." A-freaking-men.

We try to blame others, we try to blame our past, we try to blame our present, we blame our parents, our spouses, our teachers, our friends, our socioeconomic status - but you are responsible for the person you are and the choices you make.  Not anyone else.  No one can make you make a terrible and hurtful choice against your will.  At the end of the day, your actions are a reflection of the person YOU are.  They are not a reflection of anyone else.

And, if it's the last thing I do, I vow to be that voice for my sons.  If they do something in which they knowingly hurt someone else, you bet your sweet bippy I will say something.  I will tell them that they made a bad choice, that they knowingly hurt others and that's not okay, and that they need to rectify their mistakes and make better choices in the future.  Because, at the end of the day, I don't know that anyone else will.  And, I don't want my children to be so selfish that they devastate the lives of others without thought or care.  That they intentionally hurt other people because they're so selfish they make up some bullshit reason that half of their family and friends willingly believe.  I want them to make good choices, to work hard, and to not give up even when things are tough.  And, so help me if it's not the last thing I do on this Earth.

But most importantly, I want them to still have faith in people - to see that there is still a lot of good out there in the world.  But, I'm losing some of that faith myself as I see the selfish acts of others day in and day out, as I see so many people hurt unnecessarily, as I watch people make bad choices with no remorse or no acknowledgement or no desire to better themselves in the future.  Just excuses.

Well, that is my rant.  If you don't agree with me, I really don't care.  Enjoy!

Take heed 'cause I'm a lyrical poet

In the past few days, I've been keeping track of some of the things Gavin has been saying.  Most specifically - words he mispronounces.  Because it happens at least four times a day.  Now, these aren't things that he just says once or twice.  No, no.  They're things he says all time. 

For instance, a few times a week we practice his handwriting.  I consider this a win-win situation.  His handwriting improves; he gets fruit snacks as a reward.  Everybody's happy.  Except that he doesn't call it handwriting.  What does he call it?

Fingerwriting

The other day, he asked me if I would help him find all of his "action chiggers."  I said, no, but I would help him find all of his action figures if he wanted me to.

In Toy Story, one of the character says, "Do you want a piece of me?"  In Gavin's brain, this translates to, "Do you want a piece of meat?"  So, I almost lost it the other day when he was messing around, got hurt, and promptly told me, "I pieced of meat myself."  Oh, you did, did you?

If I ask him to try a new food, and he doesn't like it, he tells me it's asgusting.  No matter how many times I try to tell him it's DIS-gusting, he says, "I know, it's asgusting."

Trying to explain the Olympics to him took some time, patience, and creativity.  It's hard for him to understand why the U.S.A. isn't in every event.  I don't think he gets it, though, because anytime a new even comes on, he asks me which person or team is "Captain America."  We always root for Captain America.

The other day, he said, "amicos."  I said, no, it's amigos.  He said, "No, it's Spanish."  Gotcha.

He's pretty obsessed with the Lion King, and often walks around singing the "Hakuna Matata song."  It goes something like this:

It means don't worries

For the rest of your days

It's our problem-free possumy

philosophy mossumy

Hakuna Matata

We're still trying to straighten that one out.

But, my favorite by far is this one:

Lately, he likes to watch PBS Kids instead of Disney Channel in the morning (which I don't mind because the shows are much more educational).  So, during every commercial break, they advertise their website at "P-B-S-kids-dot-O-R-G."  He says: P-B-S-kids-dot-OR-G.  And that's all I have to say about that.

 

I'll get you to stop picking your nose, but you might be scarred for life.

Today, after I picked Gavin up from daycare, he wanted to read a few books.  Since I'm tired of reading the same books over and over and over and over and over (get the picture?) again, I decided to pull out Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein.  I mean, come on, who doesn't like funny poems?  Gavin's into silly and gross and funny things, so I thought it would be entertaining to pick out a few poems and read them to him (I made sure to pick ones that had pictures with them).

As we were flipping through, I came across this poem:

WARNING

Inside everybody's nose

There lives a sharp-toothed snail.

So if you stick your finger in,

He may bite off your nail.

Stick it farther up inside,

And he may bite your ring off.

Stick it all the way, and he

May bite the whole darn thing off.

And, I thought, "Awesome!  A poem about nose-picking!"  I figured it would be a perfect silly poem because I probably tell Gavin 14,592 times a day to stop picking his nose.  Literally, I probably say it at least seven times per hour.  

So, I read him the poem, and then we discussed it.  I said, "See, Gavin, you can't pick your nose because there's a sharp-toothed snail that lives up there, and if you put your finger in your nose, he'll bite it.  If you're not careful, he'll bite it off."  I then proceeded to put my finger partway in my nose and then screamed when the pretend snail bit at it.  He laughed.  And then we moved on to the next poem.

As I read the next poem, he wasn't really paying attention.  "Mommy, pick your nose!"  No way!  I'm not putting my finger up there!  The snail might bite it off!  "You're just kidding, Mommy!"  Am I?  Put your finger in your nose and see.  See if there's a snail up there!  "No, you pick your nose!"  Not a chance!  That snail is not biting my finger!

Then, all of a sudden, he jumps up off of the couch.  He returns seconds later.

"Mommy, I just looked in the mirror and there's no snail in my nose."  Are you sure?

"Yes.  I didn't see one.  Pick your nose, Mommy!"  No!  There's a snail up there and if I pick my nose he might bite my finger.

 He gets very quiet.  He looks at me for a long time.  "Mommy, look up so I can see in your nose.  I don't see a snail."  Oh, he's way up there where you can't see him. 

Suddenly, his eyes start welling up with tears.

What's wrong?  "I don't want there to be snail in my nose, Mommy."

I was just kidding, Gavin.  It's just a silly poem.  There's no snail in your nose.

"You were just kidding, right?"  I don't know.  Stick your finger in your nose and find out.

More tears. 

And now, I'm laughing.

Gavin, it was just a silly poem.  It's fine.  There's no snail.  "Okay, then I'm going to pick my nose."

And because I can't resist: Okay, but be careful. 

"Mommy, I'm mad at you."  Why?  "Because you're lying.  There's no snail in my nose, and you're lying to me."  (Note: both hands are on his hips as he says this to me.)  So, at this point, I'm laughing so hard I can't stop, and he's just getting angrier and angrier. 

Okay, Gavin.  I'm sorry.  I was just kidding.  There's no snail.  It's all made up.  There's nothing to worry about it.  It was just a silly poem.

"But, Mommy, my nose is running!"  Then get a tissue!  "What about the snail?"

Sigh.  There's no snail.  It's fine.  Just get a tissue.

We went around about this for over thirty minutes.

But, you know what?  I never once saw his finger go near his nose . . .

Thank you for eating your dinner . . . in under two hours.

Gavin might be the slowest eater on the face of this planet.  I wish (for my sanity and my impending grey hairs) that I were exaggerating.  But, alas, I'm not.

Now, I know that I've mentioned before that he's a good eater, and he is.  By good eater I mean he eats a diverse selection of foods - probably more diverse than many adults that I know.  He'll still try new things, and he never really complains about what I serve him for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

It's just that it takes him two freaking hours to eat every single meal.

We went to a baseball game a few weeks back, and he ate a hot dog and chips.  It took him two and a half hours to eat the damn hot dog.  That's averaging one bit every twenty minutes, I think.

Why is he so slow?  A variety of reasons.

First and foremost, the child has to go to the bathroom twice at every meal.  I kid you not.  This is always guaranteed to happen when we're out to eat.  It goes something like this:

We order. 

Not two seconds later, Gavin announces that he has to go potty.  I take him to the bathroom, he goes, we return, and all is well. 

Until our food arrives. 

I cut up whatever he ordered, and just as I'm about to get the second or third bite of my food into my mouth, he announces that he has to go again.  I sadly look at my food, sigh loudly, and take him to the bathroom AGAIN. 

It happens every single time without fail.  Without freaking fail.

Now, let's look at a typical lunch.  I try to make Gavin's lunch and then sit him down to eat while I'm feeding Kaleb (because, consequently, they're both hungry at the exact same time).  So, I'll make him, say, a grilled cheese sandwich with applesauce and carrot sticks.  I make him sit down, he picks up a carrot, and I commence feeding Kaleb.  Two seconds later, I look over, and Gavin's lying under the table.  I tell him to get up, and he says, "But I fell out of my chair."  Uh huh.  Right.

He gets back up in the chair, eats a spoonful of applesauce.  I work on burping Kaleb, and next thing I know, Gavin is riding his scooter down the hall.  I yell at him to go sit down, and he does, but only after he tells me something "really important" (i.e. "I.  Killed.  Mufasa.").

After a few threats, he sits in the chair for an entire five minutes, but only manages to eat one more bite because he's busy singing a new song that he's just composed.  Sadly, it's not about how he's going to hurry up and eat.

About thirty minutes in, I'm losing patience, and he's lying upside down in his chair.  Since I'm now done feeding Kaleb, I go sit at the table with Gavin, and he sees this as a prime opportunity to talk.  And he talks, and he talks, and he talks, until finally I have to tell him that I'm not going to talk to him until he's done eating.  That's okay, though.  He just talks to himself then.

About an hour in, the threats get serious (throwing away toys, removing his tongue, etc.).  And, somewhere between 1.5 and 2 hours, he finally eats the last bite.  And I kind of want to cry tears of joy while simultaneously choking him (not really choke him, but you get the idea).

And guess what happens not even 20 minutes after he's finally released from the table?

"Mommy, I'm hungry!"

Things that are really easy when you have two kids

Some people might think that when you make the leap from having one kid to having two, things get more difficult.  And, those people would be absolutely freaking right.  Almost everything becomes twice as difficult as it was before, but that doesn't mean that other things don't become twice as easy.  You see, when you have two kids (or even three or four or five), there are things you become really good at . . . and these things are incredibly easy.

For instance, it's really easy to:

- Empty the dishwasher . . . over a period of seven hours.

- Prepare delicious dinners . . . by driving through McDonald's or picking up a $5 pizza because as soon as you turn on the stove to start to cook, shit is going to hit the fan.

- Graciously accept compliments from friends and strangers alike.  (Wait, are you saying, "Oh, you look really tired," isn't a compliment?  Shit.)

- End up with bodily fluids all over you.  It goes something like this: you're changing a diaper, your four-year-old does something naughty, you pause to correct his behavior, and poo comes flying at you.  Literally flying.  

- Challenge the Guinness Book of World Records for the shortest period of time any human being has slept and considered it a night's sleep.  (For example, I slept for two whole hours last night.  Woohoo!!!!!!)

- Have patience . . . with almost nothing, including anything that makes a loud noise and threatens to wake up the kids you finally got to sleep after a two-hour-all-out-battle-in-which-you-were-the-victor-but-felt-defeated-by-the time-it-was-over.

- Get drastically behind on work and completely forget to pay bills.  And often, forget where the hell you are and what time it is.

- Lose track of what you're doing . . . thereby ending up with conditioner still in your hair after exiting the shower on multiple occasions.  And, sometimes, you don't even notice it for a few hours.  (I make myself feel better about this by pretending I was doing a deep conditioning treatment.)

- Consume a ridiculous amount of food in a short time . . . because you've been up for four hours but haven't been able to eat breakfast, so once you can eat, you just shove anything and everything in your mouth in a two-minute period.

- Change outfits multiple times throughout the day . . . not because you just have so many cute things to wear but because you've been spit up on three times, peed on twice, and had an entire juice box squirted all over your lap.  Oh, look, I'm on to outfit #7 for the day!

- Choose to laugh instead of cry because if you cry it will just make the headache you've had for 15 hours straight that much worse.

- Create a really long list of things you want to accomplish, and feel exhilarated when you actually accomplish one of them.  Or maybe even half of one of them. 

- Roll your eyes at people who tell you they're "tired."  Yeah, that six hours straight of sleep that you got must have been really rough.  I hope you can make it through the day.  Or, maybe you should just take the day off and stay home and rest up. 

- Leave your alarm clock unplugged for weeks, because, let's face it, you're always up.  Mine was unplugged two weeks ago and counting.

I'm certain there will be even more skills I'll be able to brush up on in the near future . . . especially once teething rolls around!

Oh, is that so?

I think it goes without saying that Gavin has quite the imagination.  As he get older, and has more experiences, his imagination is growing (if it can actually do that?).  I watch him play with his toys, and I hear him incorporate different things from books we've read, movies we've watched, and things we've seen.  However, his imagination is slowly starting to creep into our everyday lives, and our conversations are becoming more and more interesting.

For instance:
Gavin: Mommy.  There something I don't want to tell you.
Me:  You can tell me anything Gavin.
Gavin: No, it's terrible.  I can't tell you this terrible thing.
Me:  It's okay, Gavin, you can tell me.
Gavin:  Big sigh.  One time . . .(dramatic pause) I got lost in the jungle.

Oh, yeah?  Glad you shared that with me.

Or:
Gavin: Mommy, bend down so I can whisper in your ear.  I have a secret to tell you.
Me:  It's okay, Gavin, you can just tell me without whispering in my ear.
Gavin: No, I have to tell you in your ear.
Me:  Okay, fine.  What is it?
Gavin:  I killed Mufasa.

Really, all this time I thought it was Scar . . .

Last night, he wanted to have a sleep over with his cousins.  He was excited about it, until bedtime rolled around.  I think the fact that I was still there and hadn't left yet was the deciding factor in his not actually staying the night.  Shortly after all the kids were in the bed, he comes downstairs crying.

Me:  What's wrong, Gavin?
Gavin:  I'm scared.
Me:  What are you scared of?
Gavin:  Bears.
Me:  Well, I'm pretty sure they got rid of all their bears a long time ago, so you can just go back upstairs and go to sleep.
Gavin:  No, Mommy, I'm scared of bears.

After repeated attempts to get him to lie down on the bed (knowing he'd pass out as soon as he did), I ended up taking him with me when I left.  When we were talking about why he didn't end up having a sleepover with his cousins, he again mentioned that he was scared.

Me:  There was nothing to be scared of, Gavin.
Gavin:  Yes, there was.  I was very scared.
Me:  There aren't any bears in Aunt Amy's house, Gavin.  That's just silly.
Gavin:  Not bears, Momma.  I was afraid there was going to be a space storm.
Me:  A space storm?
Gavin:  Yes, I'm afraid of space storms.
Me:  Well, we're not in outer space so I don't think you have to be too afraid of space storms, Gavin.
Gavin:  But, Mommy, Earth is in space.

Touche.

As he has more and more experiences, I cannot wait to see what else he comes up with.  Or, maybe I should be afraid . . .