BaBa ba-bye!

I just freed up some time in my arduous schedule... No more washing bottles or diapers! I mean I'm still washing urine soaked clothes on occasion because the shiny newness of potty training has already disappeared, which makes sitting on a potty less fun. The bigger change - the one that whispers you don't have any babies anymore - is Piper is off the bottle. I had been waiting for her bottle to just no longer function (there's been a hole in this last nipple for months) so I don't have to be the bad guy. But, just like her sisters, she was a bit bottle obsessed. Her drinking habit had her leaking through night diapers & wool covers onto full sized sheets, and I had to say enough. My these-ugly-scarred-boobs-that-don't-let-me-breastfeed guilt would get the best of me & I would put off yanking the bottle. Usually, I would only commit to one change at a time (and our address & family size have changed 3 times in like 4 years). So with Piper's potty training & traveling in November, this bottle taking has been pushed back a couple months. It's pretty similar timing for when I weaned Macy. Claire was an embarrassing 2 1/2+ when I finally pried the bottle from her sweet little paws. Not that new mothers are clamoring for my advice, but it is a bit worse when your child says to you(last night), "no water. bottle milk." I had told myself I had to do this sooner this time around. I didn't. But it really feels like I have kids, not babies. Sniff. I'm going have to go back to work one of these years. Ugh.

Let it all hang out

You know that desire to take off your bra after a long day at the office? Macy's kinda got that but with leggings. She goes to playschool (1 hour) in leggings (because the boss makes her), comes home and discards them on the bathroom floor first chance she gets.Can't say I blame her.

It's All a Matter of Perspective

I found it quite adorable this week when we were waiting for Claire's bus and Piper and Macy were snuggled up on the dog bed. Lincoln found it less than adorable, I'm sure.

It's all about perspective. When I was childless, I declared myself not a baby person. I thought older kids with their inquisitiveness & their active lifestyles seemed much my speed than needy, non-communicative babies. Now, I am firmly in the "baby person" camp. Incessant questions, no thanks. Sassy four year olds, I'll pass. Today I drove the car while answering questions like, "what if there were two suns? Three suns? No sun?" I wanted to scream, "shut up, let me listen to NPR!!!"


My favorite stage is the sitting up independently through cruising, but I am open to newborn through walking. This is problematic in that I am getting near the end of babies. I visited my neighbor's newborn this week. How cute are babies? How easy is it to walk around carrying 7#?!? I did cherish my babies as babies, but I never understood society's love of babies. I used to get so offended when someone would comment how cute my baby was in front of a toddler- or ask how old the infant was. I used to be snarky and respond with the older daughter's age.This week Macy & Piper were in the cart when a cashier commented how cute she was. She then recovered saying they were both cute, but I wantsome gush, "I know isn't Piper adorable! " I get it, society, little babies are cute. I just needed some perspective.

Nicknames

Macy declared that she will now be referring to me as Mommer and the artist formerly known as DaDa as Bobber! I love it. I might call him Bobber, too.

Meow

Hortonville had the sterotypical "cat lady". You know, disheveled appearance with ratty hair, paper bags full of God knows what, and cats- lots of cats. The people in the village quite creatively called her Cat Lady.

Not to speak disparagingly about mentally illness, but young kids in my experience seem to act like Cat Lady. Macy tends to haul around animals. Claire has illegible scribbles that only she can "read". She insists on having my junk mail to carry around. Lord knows, they both despise any semblance of organization I attempt to impose. Why would the toy food go in the play kitchen? They love to take actual bags and fill them with random stuff. I find the canvas library bag full of dolls, a train track, a headless barbie, a lamp from the dollhouse, toy fruit, someone's underwear and the Tablespoon from the real kitchen.

Maybe just my kids are going to be crazy cat lady sisters...

Maternity Test

Claire is a mini-me. Piper is Bob in pink. Macy looks like no one. Blue eyes? Constantly eats, skinny little thing?

If I didn't recall her labor (hardest of the the three), I might wonder if she's mine! She is generally fine being bossed around by Claire. Last weekend my mom had the big girls, and Claire took a toy from Macy. My mom told Claire that this might make Macy sad. Macy asked if she promised not to be sad, if Claire could keep it. Mind you, she's smart as a whip and not a pushover. Her tolerance of Claire's constant micro-managing is enviable and not a trait passed down from her mother.

But what floors me the most is her preference to play indoors, alone. Unseasonably warm day this week, I offered a walk before naptime. No thanks, rather sleep. SLEEP?!? Most times when Claire, Piper and I go outside, she will play alone indoors which means I'm stuck hanging out by the window. At the beach she'll often chose to play in the sand over water. Sand is so sandy!

Claire gets up and wants to know where we're going. If we're not going anywhere (school isn't enough anymore?), it's who is coming over? I was hitting the library story hour circuit pretty hard last year to appease her appetite for people & adventures. This year Macy has asked once to go to the Neenah library. I was happy to oblige, but I was caught so off guard. I would have showered or chosen my clothes with more care since Neenah seems to be the fancy library!

Macy is so often in her own little world Claire even knows we call it La La land. She's an absolute hoot, everything in the past was "yesterday". She's probably spent more time with her head in the clouds at 2 1/2 than I have at 33.

It might help the whole mother-daughter relations to be so different, but most days I think, how are we related?

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!

"I win!"



(Claire and Macy's standard exclamation after walking down the stairs/getting dressed/finishing a meal)






"It's not a contest!"



(my standard response especially to a meal-eating race)







I had been wondering, where do they get this competitiveness from? Is it because Claire's in school now? I certainly don't pit them against one another. And Bob might be the least competitive person I know.







I remember being so competitive with my brother. I thought it was because he was so into sports and had a competitive personality and that we were 14 months apart in age.







I am beginning to think it's some genetic survival mechanism. We are just competitive people, and I created more competitive babies.







I came to this last night when I stepped out for a quick run and was walking with this internal dialogue:







"None of my music is suitable for running"



"Just run. Nicole, you're stalling!"



"I can't start to Jack Johnson. It will just set the tone for a slow run"



"There's not enough daylight left to be so picky, you have already skipped 10 songs"



"Why is this song even on here? It is offering me every slow, sucky song on here"



[Lady runs across the block perpendicular to me]



"You could run faster to Cat Stevens than that lady. And she's skinnier than you, unfair."



"Cat Stevens it is!"







Then, I ran to catch and pass the lady. She had headphones on and didn't hear me coming. There were cars on the street, so I couldn't cross to the other side or get around her. I was stuck behind her going slower than I wanted and thinking this was so not good for my karma. She probably just started running or had a baby. I eventually was able to cross the street and run off ahead. Then, I thought, geez, that lady didn't even hear or see me. I could have been a mugger or a rapist. So, then I was paranoid I should be on high alert for muggers and rapists (though, there's probably no black market for cracked iPods). Or, in the very least, being competitive makes you less aware of what's going on around you and is a bit obsessive.







And that, most certainly, the girls get their competitiveness from me.

Great Expectations?

Claire's teacher sends home a newsletter on Fridays. Recently, she reminded parents to let their kids do stuff themselves like put on their clothes, shoes, jackets and winter clothes. My guess is this is a reminder for parents of only children or children further apart in age. Or, I am a major meanie with Michelle Duggar like expectations for my eldest. Sure, I have to help with zippers, but she does all that and when Macy's cooperative, she even helps Macy do it.

I was a bit relieved to read the teacher said that because when Claire was at the doctor with UTI symptoms, the doctor said 4 was pretty young to be wiping herself... I was like, sheesh, I am trying to get the 2 1/2 year old to wipe herself, and you want me to wipe the 4 year old? Plus, it's pretty hard to convince her she can't do it anymore. I am not lazy. I would prefer my more hygienic wiping to theirs, but Macy loves to use the bathroom the second I have a sleepy baby teetering on the edge of going down for a nap.

The teacher probably has an idea Claire's putting on her own winter things since even a not-very-fashionable 33 year old would chose the hat/mitten combos she does...

Over their heads

This morning in a exasperation and sheer annoyance at watching Claire chase Macy with an imaginary needle, I dove into a talk waaaay above the heads of my 4 and 2 1/2 year olds (albeit smart ones).

Despite spending the vast majority of my time with these shorties, I am not a big baby talker. Half for my own sanity, and half for their language acquisition, I talk to the kids in a semi-adult like manner. (You know, trying to avoid the really bad profanities but not over-the-top goo-goo-ga-ga). Claire talks in third person, so I am trying to get out of the "Mama will do that for you," "Bring that to Mama" habit I have going on.

In our extended family we're exposed to talk from all ends of the spectrum. Ga-ma likes to employ cutesy euphemisms like "potty wotty" and "tinkle winkle". I remember reading some of this motherese is good for kids. Like if you say "doggy" or "kitty" it emphasizes the "G" and "T", and hearing it twice will help kids learn those sounds at the end of word rather than dropping them off. Or, slowing your words per minute helps the kids. However, it's confusing, and this is a total Ga-ma thing, too, to call you toes pigs (because there's nothing porcine about those digits!) . So, we got the baby talk on the Ga-Ma end of things, and the girls think Ga-ma's little phrases are hilarious.

This summer we went to the Wisconsin Historical Society where my brother-in-law and sister-in-law work. The girls' aunt was talking about the fur trader's shack exhibit. She was telling them about the various hats, pelts, and tools. I was having a hard time following, and I think the girls were just wondering if the fur on the wall was a live or dead animal. My thought was, does she remember they're under four?

Back to me this morning, I had the Aunt Beth problem. I dove into an explanation of "informed consent" for medicine. They are always playing doctor. All day. I am usually holding Piper while Claire operates on my foot and takes my blood pressure. So, I'm all, "You can't give a shot unless your patient wants you to and you tell her the risks (like it might hurt), it's called informed consent." Granted sometimes people don't kids enough credit for being able to understand things. This wasn't really the case, it was more of me trying to think of a way not to scream "QUIT CHASING YOUR SISTER WITH THAT DAMN TOY SYRINGE!!!!"

As one might guess, this was over their heads. Bored, they wandered out of the bathroom (yeah!) and went into Claire's room where they established a rule where the doctor would poke the patient and then the patient got to poke the doctor. So, basically, the 1-2-3 poking just doubled, but at least I got my hair did.

United

They were fighting over chocolate milk. Not real chocolate milk, mind you. Imaginary chocolate milk, and it was before real breakfast. They were at early this morning. Macy had a dish of the imaginary good stuff, and Claire claimed to drink it all. We really can't be sure since imaginary milk is hard to see.

Then, they both took toys from the immobile baby who proceeded to cry and look towards me to get it back. So that's how it's going to be, Piper? You're not going to learn to crawl or walk? You're going to wait for your Mom to swoop in retrieve your treasured items? You know if we go that route, they aren't going to like you. They're going to think you're getting preferential treatment. They might just gang up on you.

They're already ganging up on me. Claire and Macy were continuing to bicker over the coveted (imaginary) chocolate milk dish at breakfast and reaching over their place mats. I was desperately trying to get some coffee made and spilled the coffee beans all over the floor (near the baby who likes to put leaves in her mouth). Claire said, "Ha! WE don't have to help you with that! Me and Macy didn't spill it, you did! So, YOU have to clean it up, WE don't." So now they're buddies all of a sudden?

I suppose, despite how different my brother and I are, we sure like to talk about the antics of our parents...

7 months, 1 tooth

In honor of Piper's 7 months on the planet, she sprang a bottom tooth yesterday. Claire's so excited you'd think she's pulled it out of Piper's gums for her. The enthusiasm is pretty cute. In honor of her special anniversary, I am going to Happy Hour on Wednesday. Not really for that reason, it just ended up that way. Piper needs some Dada time, anyway. She was pulling that MaMa preference stuff the other day. I got a middle child that has a strong one of those, it loses its cuteness rather quickly. I prefer the I'll-take-whichever-of-you-has-a-free-hand-whenever-you-can-get-here over the MaMa-NOW crap. Hopefully, the tooth's arrival was the reason. More likely, it was her father being gone for too long buying something he doesn't need.

Poor Macy doesn't see, sure he still lives here. Saturday Macy surprisingly said to him, "oh, I didn't know you'd still be here" when we returned from the grocery store.

Red Hot Cinnamon Dot

Red Hot Cinnamon Dot is my nice title for a blog post titled in my mind "Fricking Livid" (but since my 4 year old said 'fricking' yesterday I'm trying to use nicer words until I'm sure one of them pisses me off). Plus, I'm not even livid anymore since I told my husband I was mad, and he apologized. It was all very civilized and adult of us.

Last weekend Piper had her 6 month photos taken. The big girls came along to get one quick Christmas card picture. Seeing as Macy was in some mood where she wanted to shut one eye to be funny, I wasn't very optimistic about the outcome. Plus, in telling a friend about the photographer I learned after the fact that her rates went up like 33%! I had taken the girls solo to the photographer since Bob was dirt biking. That wasn't a big deal since it was morning.

I was overjoyed when I got the pictures, because I loved them. I was pleasantly surprised that there was one picture where ALL THREE of my girls looked good, at the camera. I was trying to share my joy with my husband, but he didn't think they were real enough. (Next year, a picture of Claire picking her nose, Macy eating toast, and me washing dishes while holding a baby?). Then, he said that he wished there was at least one picture where Piper wasn't wearing "that flower thing" in her hair.

"That flower thing" ?!? The night before the pictures while Bob was running around in preparation for his dirt bike trip (to which he forgot to bring a change of warm clothes, some preparation). I engaged him in a conversation about "flower things." Did they distract from the baby? Would it be a good match for the picture of Macy on the wall where she has the crochet hat and a flower? I am not really a flower person; I really wasn't pushing one way or the other. I ended up going to the mall. I hate the mall. Since little girls tend to wear pink, finding a black and gold "flower thing" wasn't an easy feat. I had to go to multiple stores. It was a terrible way to spend kid-free time. I was in at least two kids store that sold bra-lettes to CHILDREN. It was depressing.

I was less than pleased when Bob commented disapprovingly of the "flower thing" because if he didn't like them, this should have been said before the shopping trip.

But, Bob apologized. He said all the right things. He said he needs to listen better, and I didn't say, "Damn right you do!" because I also need to work on being less bitchy. Plus, in the grand scheme, thank God my life is so good I'm worried about my husband's reaction to a flower. Some high school and college acquaintances recently have had three pound babies and have to go visit them at the hospital. A woman who lived down the hall in my dorm freshman year has cancer. I'm part of a 24/7 prayer vigil for her today (my kids have to be good from noon-one today!!) I truly have nothing to complain about.

Seriously, Piper is so stinking cute with or without a flower.

Tale as old as time

Last night the girls started dancing in the middle of our game of catch. Claire says to Macy, "I'm Beauty, and you're the Beast."

This is where I thought the quality family time would quickly disintegrate into an endless volley of "No, I 'm the Beauty!" that would make me want to whip out my inner beast.

But, Macy paused, and said, "Ok, but I am a NICE beast!"

Didn't see that coming.

We ain't raising a bunch of Nancies

We keep journals for each of the girls to tell them of their antics and all the things we love about them and don't want to forget. Bob was basically complaining in Piper's that I make him hold her all the time, but that this loving approach served her sister's well, so he's fine with that. It is true, we love to cuddle them babies.

However, I pride myself on not being a whiner. If my kids turned out to be wusses, it would be sheer hell. I mean I would love them and all, but I wouldn't be happy about it. My running partner commented that her other running partner is kind of a complainer. That is like my favorite compliment. I might be slow and offer little in the way of conversation on pop culture due to my lack of TV, have limited knowledge on running gadgets, but at least I don't complain!

So, this is my bad momma confession, I am thrilled that signs are pointing to my kids being tough cookies. I don't squelch emotions and fear, but I say a little internal "sweet!" when they are brave - like when they take on the HUGE slide at Fritse park or jump in cold water (my big wussiness, brrrr).

Claire wanted her ears pierced. That meant Macy wanted hers pierced, too. I took them at separate times (more of a nap timing issue to take some baby stuff to Once Upon a Child). Claire watched two kids get their ears pierced first. When the infant cried Claire told me that she wasn't going to cry because she wasn't a baby. I told her it was ok to cry, and that it would hurt. But, true to her word, she did not even wince. She told her sister, "it's didn't even hurt!"

Back to the mall Claire and I went with Macy. Macy climbed up in the chair herself. Claire had sat in my lap, but Macy had it in her mind that she was going to sit on her own chair. So, up she climbed. She looked so little up there until she started talking. She was chatting with the woman like an adult. She even told her, unsolicited, that she wanted to start with the opposite ear. And the next day the earring came out, I basically re-pierced her ear with an earring from my jewelry box, and she cried then, too. She is still the town crier, so it's not like she doesn't cry, but she is also very brave when she puts her mind to it. I'm digging the tough girls.

River of tears, still flowing

This morning waiting for the bus for Claire's second day of school I still cried, but I think it was less than yesterday, YES! By the end of the week I just might be able to put Claire on the bus without crying.

Claire and Macy were fighting and refusing to eat their Cream of Wheat. I was so ready to put her on that bus. I didn't expect the tears. I am often in denial about my sappiness, though. I have said, "I don't think I am going to cry at this wedding" and been wrong more than once...

Facebook much?

So, twice a day you will find me on Facebook. Naptime & bedtime. After the books are read and the potty run is made, I sit on a comfy chair in Macy's room and say things like, "please, stop kicking the wall," "it's time to be quiet," and "please, get back in your bed." She thrashes around on her bed, I'm guessing, because she knows if she stops moving her body will succumb to sleep. This is all made more bearable by wireless internet. So, I see what the people who haven't annoyed me enough to be hidden are up to, and I read up on HuffPo. .

For something that's been around like 1/6 of my life, Facebook creeps into my thoughts often. Someone says something amusing in an e-mail to me, and I try to "like it. A friend's blog has a picture of my kids, and I want to tag it. I want to be able to comment on someone's so true post

about how easy one kid is, and I get flustered having to do the verification to leave a comment (I am really bad at that, it's like those 3D pictures at the mall in high school I could never see...)

Isn't it funny how if I told high school me all the things I could do online I might be pretty impressed (might, computers weren't really that cool to me...), but now if it is running slow, I am so annoyed I might not even go and read it. Technology is a funny thing. Almost as funny as the ridiculous positions Macy finally falls asleep in...

For the love of God, please be nice to your sister!

It's been a rough week for me at Chateau Lemke. I got a urinary tract infection. Yeah, too much information, I know. But seriously, haven't I been through enough? In the spirit of TMI, the hemorrhoids from pushing out the 9 pound 3 ounce baby haven't been healed long enough for this to be fair. On top of that, after 5 weeks on a 1,500 calorie diet I have lost one pound. They have ruled out a thyroid problem. The doctor recommended 1,200 calories a day. Someone needs to invent calorie-free beer.

But, the saddest thing of my week was when Claire was mean to her sister. Sure, they bicker over toys incessantly. I am used to this. But, Claire started summer school this week. Maybe that change is throwing her off a bit. I got a glimpse of her nastiness earlier in the week when she was playing with the Nursing Nina cat. Mama cat has magnetic nipples and three little kittens that latch on. Claire had a random orange cat not part of the set. She was telling me the Mama was the Mama, the baby was the baby, and she kind of wondered what the orange cat was. I suggested the orange cat was the older sister. She liked this idea. And then proceeded to have the big sister cat drink all the mama's milk and laugh & tease the baby that she drank all the milk. I don't think you need to be a psychologist to read into that a bit...

So later in the week it's bedtime. Our typical routine of late is Bob puts Claire to bed, and I put Macy to bed at the same time. Claire asked for me. So, I suggested, well, let's read our books together and then separate. Macy loved this idea; Claire not so much. By then, Claire decided she wanted just Bob to read to her and Macy was not invited. Macy was devastated. Sometimes, I think she cries about something when tired and forgets what she is crying about. Not this. She was inconsolable. She was sitting on the rug outside Claire's door crying, crying, crying. She could not be distracted or redirected. Finally, Bob talked Claire into letting Macy in

for the second book - probably because Claire couldn't hear the story over the wailing. Macy was so happy. She hopped into Claire's bed, was all smiles. After the book, she told Claire she loved her and kissed her. Claire didn't reciprocate. It broke my heart seeing Macy swoon all over Claire, and Claire be a jerk. I can't force her to be nice. I just need to keep being nice for an example, but, it's not easy when she acts like a major a-hole.

Macy will be ok. I don't think she noticed the cold shoulder treatment. She was just pumped to read one story with her big sister. And, I have a feeling a little someone will be looking up to Macy with the same reverence....

Maslow, be damned!

The big girls have a definite problem distinguishing their needs from their wants.

I can't think of a scenario where a two year old actually needs a horse, dinosaur and a cat especially in a twin bed...

What's in their bag of tricks?

All of a sudden Claire can draw things that look like things! It started with an octopus with hair, then rainbows and, now, people!

I had no idea when to expect this. I pretty much don't know what sort of things older kids can do. The other day the neighbor boy who is 8-ish (yeah, can't gauge older kids' ages either) looked at me like I had two heads when I asked him if he could physically turn off the sprinkler. Apparently, that is something very easy for a child his age, but he still enjoys running through sprinklers with pre-schoolers, who knew?

Likewise, I have very little idea what sorts of tricks other people's kids can do even if they are at an age my kids have already been. I like to ask kids questions they can answer, not stump them. I was trying to get my nephew to do the animal noises he knew. Eventually, my sister-in-law said he knows wolf. That wouldn't be my first guess. I wouldn't expect an 18 month old to howl on demand until they have mastered all the barnyard animals. But, there's no order to this.

This week we visited my mom's school. To every question an adult posed to Macy, she would exuberantly respond, "I'm 2!" The girls talk about their age a lot. How old is MaMa? How old is DaDa? Seriously, I don't know how old my brother's girlfriend is. Do I guess? Ask my brother and get back to them? But, they aren't asked, "What's your name?" at home. (She eventually was able to tell them her name. Kinda freaky, though, two different people were "guessing" her name and said George.)


So apparently, this parenting gig doesn't provide one with many transferable skills. It basically is teaching me how to talk to my own kids. This is probably good since I couldn't handle more than the kids I got!

Nutjobs

Having worked in diversity & inclusion I can understand the importance of how words can hurt, but I always had a hard time not saying "crazy." The local NAMI chapter was a member of the multicultural center, and asserted that it was offensive to saying something or someone was "crazy." I get what they're saying. I don't call things "gay" or "retarded," but I used the word crazy like, well, crazy!

Now that I am home, political correctness has gone out the window, and Bob has gone so far as to calling the girls nutjobs. Many a mealtime conversation has centered around who is a bigger nutjob. "No, YOU'RE a nutjob."

Claire, in my opinion, is the biggest nutjob. Sleeping with notebooks with illegible scribbles in them = nutjob. Insisting on hauling a backpack full of underwear everywhere you go= nutjob. Insisting on going out in public wearing a hat over your hood and sunglasses= unabomber.

Macy does do some nutty things, too. Wearing two head bands? Her hilarious rooster impression? Wearing winter hats in the warm or bike helmets anyplace but on a bicycle? I live in the nuthouse. Their sense of humor is my favorite thing about them.