Ben and Fluid "Damics"

One afternoon at lunch, Ben was taking a big drink from his cup.  It was the kind of cup with the lid and straw.  (We are slowly graduating from sippy cups to regular cups.  I don't trust him with open cups right now.)  He took a big drink, then slowly let the juice back down into the cup, then took a big drink and finally swallowed it all.

I was watching him, wondering what he was thinking about, when suddenly he looks up and says:

"Mom, how come when I suck the drink up my straw, it goes really fast up the straw, but it goes down really slow in the cup?"

Dark brown eyes with their long curly lashes, staring at me expectantly.  He's adorable.

Huh?

This was not what I was expecting from my adorable four-year-old.

And I knew it was a science-y type question, and I am not a scientist.  I studied French, and English Literature.  I could tell him what cup, straw, and drink were in French, but I was not up on my fluid dynamics and volume displacement theories.

So I told him that I didn't know, and that we should ask Daddy about it that night at dinner.  Well, we forgot about it.  Some time later (several days, I am not sure), he asked the same question again at lunch time, and again I told him that I didn't know, and that we needed to ask Daddy about it.

Finally, a few nights ago at dinner, Ben remembered to ask his question.  Bryan was surprised, and asked him if he'd been watching a show that talked about that (Ben likes Sid the Science Kid and sometimes they talk about stuff like that in the show), and Ben said no, he just saw it happening in his cup.

So Bryan began to pontificate about the workings of fluid dynamics, and actually did a good job (I thought, anyway) of breaking it down in four-year-old terms.  Ben seems to understand, gets excited about it, and true to form, suddenly interrupts his father.

"DAD!" (he's very emphatic when he interrupts) "Dad! Can you talk about the damics part now?"  (as if to say, "I'm done with all this fluid stuff, get to the good part about damics!")

With no time to think, I burst out laughing.  Ben realizes he's said something funny, so he repeats himself.

We try to get him to say "dy-nam-ics"...the best he can do is "dy-man-ics".  Good enough.

So if Ben ever tries to tell you how Dad taught him all about damics, or dymanics, you'll know where he got it from.

Sam's "Problems"

It’s true.  Three-year-olds have problems.  Struggles, really.  Especially newly-turned-three-year-olds.  Coming to the age of three, up from the age of two, is an emotional event.  There is a whole new world of expectations and discoveries.  I can barely remember being so little, but I do remember feeling small and uncertain about what was going on around me.

It's not easy being three.  Or green.

Wait.  He isn't green.  Thank goodness.  (I hid the markers.)

Actually, growing up isn't easy at all.  I don't envy the little people.  

First problem: holding up three fingers.  Learning coordination to hold the pinky finger under the thumb is difficult.  Holding up two fingers is much easier.  Or four fingers.  Now Sam accidentally shows people that he’s four.  When we try to help him with showing three fingers, he gets frustrated and angry.  So we’ll let people be confused when they ask him how old he is, and he says “free” while holding up four fingers.  There could be bigger issues.  Let the little man learn.

Second problem: forks.  We can never seem to give him the correct fork.  Since Sam wants to do everything exactly the same as Big Brother Ben, we (as dumb parents) assume that he’ll want the same utensil that Ben has.  WRONG.  I give him the same type of fork as Ben.  (salad fork)  I am greeted with a high-pitched, whiny “NOOOOOO….EYE WUN BOOOOO FORK!!”  Oh  my.  The blue toddler fork.  How could I have missed this? 

Third problem: pee-pee.  It is way more fun to play than to take time to go pee-pee in the toilet.  (And what adult does not know this?  Who can join me in raising their hand to holding it for an extra 30 minutes just 'cause you didn't want to get up?)  Sam loves to wear his Spider-Man underwear, not pull-ups.  This is not good when he suddenly starts shrieking “PEE-PEE!!!” as he runs to the toilet, having already wet himself.  Yet, five minutes before, he absolutely refused to have a “pee-pee check” when Mama asked.  “No, no, there NO pee-pee!” he insisted.  (Another problem: denial.) 

Fourth problem: Big Brother Ben is taller.  He can hold toys up over his head, out of Sam’s reach.  (We are working with Ben on his sharing issues.  Also on Sam.  They both have sharing issues, as most people do.)  However, currently, to Sam – his problem is not sharing, it is that he is not as tall as Big Brother Ben.  Daddy and Mama think that this problem will quickly be resolved – just give him a few years.  He may even outgrow BBB.

Fifth problem: Quick thinking.  Known to the parents as “Indecisiveness.”  However, to Sam, we are just slow.  For example, breakfast.  “What would you like for breakfast, Sam?”  He says toast.  So I make him toast.  Meanwhile, Ben comes in and announces that he’d like some cereal.  So I make cereal for Ben.  When I put the toast in front of Sam, again I am greeted with the high-pitched, whiny “NOOOOOO….EYE WUN EAR-EEE-ULLL!!” As if to say, “duh Mom, didn’t you know that once Ben says he wants cereal, that immediately makes my prior request of toast null and void??” 

I wish I had Sam’s problems.  I will never again have the first problem: I ran out of enough fingers to announce my age about 25 years ago.  However, I can imagine that if I live for another 40-50 years, I might devolve into the last four problems.  Funny how we come full circle, huh?  Oh dear.  I hope Jesus comes back first.  I would hate to think that I would argue with someone about a fork.

Also, dear little Sam, I know that your struggles are big to you.  I just pray that your struggles are never too big for you to conquer - that you'll never stop trying to work through them, or around them, or over them.  However you decide to attack them.  You are one strong little man.

Five Things Friday...The Sam Edition

This morning when I realized that it was Friday, I also realized that not only had I not posted anything since last Friday, but I wasn't even ready for this Friday.

What happened to the week?

I can barely remember it.  Lemme think: laundry, cooking dinners, dishes, sweeping up play-doh crumbs, poopy diapers, trying to interpret Sam-inese...

Speaking of Sam...at 2 1/2 years old, he is quite the opinionated little man.  And quite independent, in a Mama's-boy kind of way.  ;)  (So he isn't quite all grown up yet! But don't tell him that.)

Five Things that the Sammer-Whammer must have his way:

1.  Buckling himself in the car seat.  He is barely seated before he's saying, "Only I do it!".  And he's still in the big, 3-point harness seat with buckles that sometimes even Mama struggles with.  I've learned to leave time for buckling in now, unless I want to hear Sam screaming the whole way to wherever we're going.

2.  Strapping his shoes on.  He tries to pull the Velcro straps across his shoes before I even have them on his feet.  If I accidently strap them on (out of habit), they must be un-strapped so that he can strap them again, all by himself.

I don't know what we'll do when he outgrows the Spider-Man shoes!

3.  Taking off his socks.  He struggles so much with this because he pulls from the toes, not from the ankle-tops, but he is completely resistant to any and all assistance.  In fact, if you take the socks off for him, he becomes so angry and upset over it, that the only way to calm him down is to actually put them back on - so that he can commence his struggle to remove them again by yanking on the toes.

4.  Lightning McQueen sippy cup.  With a blue lid.  No exceptions, ever.  Heaven help the unknowing soul who tries to put a red lid on the Lightning McQueen sippy cup, much less inadvertently give him, say, a Toy Story cup.  

My cute little man with his beloved McQueen sippy cup.

5.  Blue car.  A day never goes by where we don't hear Sam wandering around the house, saying, "where my moo car?"  And the thing is, there are like three of them.  Oh, we have more than three blue cars in the house -- but there are about three of them that Sam especially likes, and one that is always a must-have.

Yesterday's favorite cars...the "must-have" one is the teal one in front (the one that is NOT a character).  And yes, I know Thomas the Train is not a car...but he is blue, so to Sam, that is what counts.

Today's groupies...two teal-blue cars, including the "must-have" one...and two yellow cars.  One of the yellow cars is actually a Lightning McQueen (color-changer).  The other one is an old Hot Wheels that Daddy played with as a little boy!  His initials are still on the bottom.

So you see...I choose my battles with Sam.  Some days it is just easier to be sure to give him milk in the Lightning-McQueen-sippy-cup-with-a-blue-lid.  Other days, I let him experience disappointment.  And I have to force myself to stand there and watch him struggle with his socks, shoes, and seat belt.  (As far as these last three things go, I tend to think that this is how he is learning, and that is a good thing.)

I pray that God can take his strong-willed tendencies and somehow use them for His glory!  And I find myself often praying for wisdom in how to raise this opinionated little man.

Do You Speak "Sam-inese"?

Sam does.

Ben is pretty fluent.

Hubby and I...barely.  We are participating in a daily immersion program, but it isn't helping much.

Anyone who has parented or spent any amount of time with a babbling two-year-old will understand the hilarity and frustrations that come with attempting communication with these little language-learners.

So far, this is what we've figured out:

"Pap-PEACE!" = Pacifier
"Bee-Bee" = Blanket
"Mil" = Milk
"Pop - Part" = Pop-Tart

The problem is, once we nail down what one word means, it will change without warning.  Thankfully, most of the time, Big Brother Ben is available to interpret for us.

For example, a few weeks ago Sam beckons to me from the bedroom he shares with Ben.  He is gesturing, very animated and excited.

"What is it, Sam?"  I ask.  "What have you got?"

Gesturing wildly to about two feet of space between his bottom bunk bed and the ladder to the top bunk, he garbles:

"EYE WUN PURRRR-RAIL!!!"

He is excited, his chocolate-brown eyes are dancing.  

I have NO idea what he's talking about.  

So I look at where he's gesturing, trying to make sense of the sounds and situation - any clues at all.

Nothing.  Is he trying out some French?  I tried to think of what word in French "purr-ail" sounded like.  

Of course this isn't it at all.

So I fake comprehension: "That's great, Sam!"

He looks at me directly and almost accusingly.  He knows when I'm faking it.

"EYE WUN PURRRR-RAIL!!!!"

I'm lost.  And I feel terrible that I can't understand this adorable, garbling little boy.

From the living room down the hall, Ben calls out: "You found your PURPLE WHALE, Sam?!"

Overjoyed, Sam nods vigorously and calls out clearly: "YEEEEESSSSSSS!!!" and then he pulls out a plush purple whale from under some blankets on the floor.

Oh.  Silly me.

Another phrase we had trouble deciphering:

"[unintelligible] MA WAH KEE KEE COW GO??"

Poor Sam kept repeating this, quite concerned about wherever this "COW" had gone.  But, the boys had no toy cows of any kind whatsoever.  We thought maybe he'd taken an interest in Hawaiian cows?  (Is there such a thing?)

Finally, Ben pipes up:  "I don't know where your Lightning McQueen car is, Sam!"

If it weren't for Ben acting as interpreter, we'd be lost.

But sometimes, he doesn't know.  Sam will say something - pacifier in mouth.

"Sam, take out your paci; we don't know what you're saying."

(Removes paci.  Repeats phrase.)

No clue what he's saying.  So I turn to Ben.  "Do you know what Sam is saying?"

Ben turns to Sam: "What are you saying, Sam?"

Sam obligingly repeats.

Ben shakes his head.  "I don't know what he's saying, Mom!"

Poor Sam.  He sighs, puts his paci back in his mouth, and walks off, as if to say, "You guys are hopeless."

Yes...yes, we are, Sam.

  

...what? why?

I have not been keeping up with this blog for the past few weeks, and for my two or so fans out there -- I apologize!  My brain is...fried.  I don't even have an infant to care for, like my dear friends Eileen...Kendra...Noelle...(who am I missing?)...I "just" have a two-year-old and a four-year-old.  So why am I still so very tired?  Oh, it's a different kind of tired than the I-was-up-every-two-hours-through-the-night kind of tired where you start to pour coffee into the baby's bottle and formula into your coffee cup.

But fatigue nonetheless.

More of the mental kind, because I'm constantly trying to figure out what in the world my adorable two-year-old is trying to tell me ("What is it you want?  Your Spiderman shoes?  No?  the sandals?")...

...and am constantly being bombarded by my four-year-old's ever-changing and persistent demands ("I want chocolate milk...can I have some crackers?...I don't want to go outside..." and my replies: "How do you ask?  Ben, you just now asked for milk, you have to wait a minute for the crackers...and how do you ask?  Ben, I didn't say you had to go outside, that was your idea...")

When the boys were tiny, two years ago when I had a two-month-old and a two-year-old, I looked forward to the time that would come, in two years' time, when I'd have a two-year-old and a four-year-old and things would be "easier." And those ever-wise fellow mommies who had children of those ages would smile a tired smile and say, "Well, you'll still be tired, it's just a different kind of tired."

Now I know what they meant.

That two years have come and gone, and I'm still just as frustrated and just as tired as I was then.  Just about different things.

Instead of nursing troubles with my younger child, I have communication troubles.

Instead of communication troubles with my older child, I have discipline troubles.

The troubles remain, they just changed.

And this troubled, tired mommy has not had time nor energy to blog.

But I've wanted to.  I've had tons of ideas as I lay in my bed at 11:00 p.m. wondering why in the world I stayed up so late again, working on yet another self-induced non-child-related project that I "had" to finish.

Why am I tired again?

Is the coffee ready yet?

Where is my Pumpkin Spice creamer?

Are there any Oreos left in the pantry?

Why can I not lose these last ten pounds?

Last I checked, I was 29 years old, 130 pounds, size 8.

Why am I now almost 35 years old, 140(-ish) pounds, and a size 12?

Whose children are these?


Why are they calling me "Mommy"?

When is their mother coming to get them?

Where did the last ten years go?

What did Bryan and I do before we had these beautiful boys?

I'll tell you what we did.

We slept.

"He tends his flock like a shepherd;
He gathers the lambs in his arms

and carries them close to his heart;

he gently leads those that have

young."

(Isaiah 40:11, NIV)

Knowing that  my Heavenly Father cares about parents of young children somehow makes everything better.  He knows our struggles.  He knows that we're tired.  He knows that we're frustrated.  He knows that we fiercely love our children even though we are so flawed and sinful that at times it doesn't show like it should.  And He's gently leading us.  He loves us, and He loves our children...He's carrying them close to His heart.

Sigh.  Oh, I could sleep so peacefully right now in this comforting knowledge.  

But I have a diaper to change.

So I go forth to do that menial task (which is greatly unappreciated by Sam, who would rather keep his poo, thank you very much) -- somehow buoyed up by this encouragement from my Lord -- though still a bit frustrated to deal with a struggling, stubborn Sam, but hopefully with more love and grace in my words and actions -- knowing that this is the ministry to which I've been called, for this season in my life.  

Why did we wait until our 30's to have children?  I think we'd have been much more energetic about it ten years ago, in our 20's.  I've heard you have more energy then, but I don't remember.    

"My soul finds rest in God alone;

my salvation comes from him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation;

he is my fortress, I will never be

shaken."

(Psalm 62:1-2, NIV)

Taken just last week -- oh, we do love our handsome little guys!!

Purification by Parenting

I've wanted to write so many times in the past several months and simply haven't made the time to sit down and do it. This title has been running through my head quite often -- as I daily struggle with my own selfishness and simultaneously attempt to keep up with my two boys -- I realize over and over (because I am continually forgetting) just how selfish I really am, and just how hard God is trying to root that out of me.

I never realized how self-centered I was until I became a mother, and especially a mother of two. Now there is even less time for me to do the things "I want to do" -- sleep, read, scrapbook, write, etc -- but what I know in my heart is that I am finally doing the things that I've been PURPOSED to do -- raise the children that God has given to me "as a gift from His hand." So my heart is joyful -- but the sin nature that resides within me is resistant to the changes. How thankful I am that God will never give up on me.

"being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1:6)

Another verse that I have written out and taped to my bathroom mirror is Romans 12:1:

"Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God - this is your spiritual act of worship."

When I think of how God never will give up on me, and in doing so, how much He "puts up" with me and my childish selfishness ("...in view of God's mercy...") -- it motivates, energizes, and fills me with the love I need in order to continue to care for my 2 young sons. He enables me to put aside my fatigue and my wants ("to offer your bodies as living sacrifices"). I can get through yet another poopy diaper, another frustrating and messy feeding to a picky 11-month-old, an umpteenth viewing of the same Thomas the Train movie...and not only does He give me the strength and the grace to "get through it" -- sometimes I actually enjoy it!! How can I "enjoy" another poopy diaper? Because "this is [my] spiritual act of worship". This is how God is calling me to serve Him today -- and what a privilege it is!!

Yes I'm exhausted...yes I would like to use the bathroom alone for once, or be able to apply make-up without having eyeliner pencils scattered all over the bathroom, or eat without having to inhale my food...but someday I'll have all the time in the world to do those things, and then I'll miss my boys and wish that they were there with me again. And hopefully I can serve them (and ultimately, my Lord) in such a way that will be a blessing to them, and I'll have been "holy and pleasing to God."