Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Screaming for Shoes

Trips to Target are practically a weekend ritual at this point. I obviously need laundry detergent, hand soap and a new coat all at once, and it’s a one stop shop for almost everything.

This weekend I tossed the girls onto a cart, one in the seat and one in the basket, and headed inside (where I found the only double cart occupied by one kid). I gave a brief look through the clothes and where they leaned out of the cart in an effort to touch everything, and we headed to the shoe aisle.

Cute stuff but nothing earth shattering, let’s move along.

They really liked these
Oh, S needs winter boots, let’s check those out here.

As I slowly navigated the cart into the children’s shoe aisle both girls started getting visibly excited. They stood up in the cart, leaned over, and then both started yelling “SHOES, SHOES!!!” in screechy toddler voice while desperately grabbing at all the shoes they could reach.

S pulled her shoes off and threw them to the floor. The loafers with the dogs on them were way better, sizes be damned (and never mind that she can’t put her own shoes on) . D took off one shoe, and then realizing she couldn’t reach anything began to cry, standing in the cart with one sock foot. I handed their own shoes back to them and all shoes were promptly cast to the floor again. The shoes they loved so dearly a month ago were now total garbage in their minds.

I found a pair of black ankle boots (which are not what we were looking for) that were on clearance and tried them on S. They were a touch big (she has the larger feet between the two) but they should be fine in the next month the way the kid is growing, so I started to take them off and she started to scream.

Let’s just pause here for a minute and talk about screaming. I don’t mean she started to cry. I mean scream. And I don’t mean cry-scream, I mean someone is attacking her scream. This kid could be a horror film soundtrack with that ear-piercing howl that erupts when something doesn’t go her way.
Just wear the shoes and stop screaming.

In an effort to minimize the scene we have already made with the carnage of dropped shoes, yelling the obvious (SHOES!!!) and screaming, I out both shoes on her, still attached to one another via the stretchy band, and we moved right along to the ice cream aisle.

For the record, ice cream is way less interesting than shoes and everything else was so much less eventful than when we were in the shoe aisle.

I have to admit to sympathizing with them. Walking into the State Street Nordstrom Rack kind of makes me want to run up and down the aisles, grabbing things while yelling "shoes!" Throwing them up in the air and letting them rain list confetti on me.

Note: In this fantasy that wouldn't hurt like getting hit with a shoe in real life.

But seriously kids, get ahold of yourselves. We don't actually do those kinds of things in polite society. Yes, I have the urge to lick the window of John Fluevog whenever I walk past, but I don't because that's weird and someone may call the cops. And germs, but mostly polite society. You can't just go around acting like a maniac whenever you're excited. Or you can because you're a toddler and in an effort to make you stop screaming Mom bought you shoes.

Well played little brats.

How these two came to care about shoes that much is beyond me. It’s not like they have a closet overflowing with shoes. They have play shoes and dress shoes. That’s it. No in between shoes. No choices in colors of play shoes. They have black DCs to play in and glitter Mary Janes (from Target and OshKosh), and now the ankle boots. The snow boots D will wear are hand me downs she hasn’t even seen yet, so really kids, what’s with the obsession with shoes? Is the love of shoes genetic, or is it the fact that it’s one of the few words they can say? Then again, they also say “duck” and we don’t have a meltdown in the bath aisle. Perhaps they heard me talking about shoes and the loss of my legions of lovely shoes while still in utero. Or maybe they just happen to be total girls who love something that they can touch.

The fact that there’s a good chance sparkles are also included can’t hurt either.

Friday, November 6, 2015

Sounding Crazy

Daylight savings time is nothing to parents. Except maybe a pain in the ass. It’s just another day where things are all screwed up from the first squawk out of the baby monitor, which is an hour earlier than they normally wake up no matter what kind of crazy voodoo you’ve been trying to work the previous week to make sure they’re on a schedule.

This year was particularly bad on Sunday. Maybe it was a Halloween hangover or something, but I walked in the twins’ room and S, who is the Houdini of diapers, is rocking the deep v Elvis look and I marvel at how cute she is before realizing the reason she looks like that is because she has figured out how to work zippers overnight and taken her wet diaper off.

What the hell is she doing?
The whole day pretty much stayed on that trajectory and I found myself saying some really insane things.

“Stop coloring on your sister.”
“Why is there ham on the dog?”
“Who pooped?”
“Did you seriously just poop in the tub?” (She did. My bathroom has never been cleaner).
“No, you cannot play with dirty Kleenex.” (This was said to a kid and the dog).
“What the hell are you doing? Quit playing with the mower.”
“Stop kissing the Welcome mat.”
“Where is your diaper?”
“Fine, be naked.”
"That's not hugging, it's choking."

Who am I? I can't decide if I sound like a crazy person, a mother, or my mother. Those last three may be all the same thing (love you mom).

Parenting is fun. I think. Maybe I'm just tired and delirious.  I would like that hour of sleep back that they robbed me of. And also maybe a drink.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

Housebreaking the Kids

I've come to the conclusion that toddlers have a lot in common with pets. Both are entertaining, loving and generally mischievous. Especially the toddlers. 

The second you're not looking is when they get into something, and with twins it's really easy to not have one in your sights at all times, which means someone is into something at all times.

  • One kid is trying to dig in her diaper, so you focus on that one and preventing the impending gross event and the other one is eating a dog treat. 
  • One is running around with a dirty sock in their mouth, and while you’re trying to catch them the other one is chewing on a book. 
  • One has managed to open a container of wipes and is pulling them all out and the other one is dumping out a toybox. 
We may be spending too much time playing
with the dog if this is how we carry toys.

I could go on, but you get the idea.

There’s more too.  One minute they’re all fun and cuddly, and want to sit on your lap, and the next they’re screaming to get down and run around like assholes even though you've told them to stop running 128 times in the last 10 minutes. They come over an randomly drop toys in your lap, spit out food, play with things that aren’t toys, put random shit they find on the floor or ground in their mouth, lick things, lick each other, bite...

Ironically, Thor, my seven year-old Chihuahua is often better behaved than the girls. Initially weary of them he has new friends in them as toddlers. They often chase one another around the living room and the girls bring him his toys so he can play when they play, they share their snacks, taught him how to eat out of a snack cup (which sometimes gets caught on his nose) and they feed him the treats he hides around the house when they find them.

My sister's reaction to this was,
"My cat does the same thing.'
Kids and animals also find something magical about the bathroom, and it’s apparently the toilet. The magical porcelain water holder.  Not so much my dog because he’s short, but my twins have been enchanted with the toilet since they could walk. Of course the immediately want to stick their hand in it and touch it. Then we started introducing the potty so they can get out of diapers as soon as humanly possible, and they understand it flushes and want to say “bye” and wave as the water goes down.

A few weeks ago I was escorting them upstairs for a nap, when S got to the top first and was running around the upstairs, which of course included the bathroom. When I walked in I found her hollering “guck, guck!” as she tossed rubber ducks into the toilet for an afternoon swim. As I cringed, plunged my hand into the toilet to take out said ducks and wonder what the hell has become of my life, D started running around the bathroom waving a dirty Kleenex above her head like a flag.

Seriously kids are so gross. Animals are gross. I have both.  What is wrong with me?

Eventually I know the kids will grow up (be housebroken) and stop putting everything they pick up that looks like it may have at one time been edible into their mouth. They will start actually using their forks instead of just holding it in one hand while shoveling food into their mouth with the other hand, and they will stop shitting their pants and start using the toilet to go to the bathroom and not as a swimming pool for rubber “guks.” And as much as I never ever want to plunge my hand into toilet water again or stick my finger into a mouth to scoop out some mystery object (usually dog treats), even thinking about them being just that much more grown up makes me kind of sad. Luckily I still have that gross dog to drop drool covered toys on me, steal Kleenex from the bathroom trash can, and spit kibble all over the kitchen floor.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Changing the Routine: Tyrant Toddlers and Drunks

I should just give up entirely on writing about something interesting and instead just write about my everyday life. It goes like this:

  • Wake up when it’s dark
  • Shower, get dressed do hair and makeup
  • Take out the dog (This gets its own line because the dog is so freaking slow in the morning I have to block out 10 minutes for him to pee). 
  • Go to work and work all day (If I'm lucky I get a lunchtime workout in)
  • 11 hours later I get home, eat dinner, play with kids and put kids to bed (this is all about an hour and a half)
  • Watch TV and talk with hubby
  • Go to bed
  • Repeat

I could never make a dinner like this.
Not pictured: a glass of wine
I’m going out on a limb here and saying that my schedule looks pretty much like every other working mom’s schedule in the entire world, except that I’m really lucky in that I don’t have to take the kids to daycare or cook dinner. Husband stays home with them and cooks. I used to cook when he worked a million hours a week in an office, but it turns out I’m not a good cook, and so when the opportunity to work from home and not eat my cooking was available he jumped at it. I’m much better at drinking wine than cooking with it. Plus you don’t usually put wine in Hamburger Helper.

Sometimes I do the dishes, but that generally just pisses him off because I don’t do it “his way” or I put things back in the wrong place.

We’ve struck a balance with the kids and housework and going to work and it was working great for everyone. And then the girls turned into toddlers. Now the game has changed.

Where we used to have nice, quiet little girls who would play with toys, we now have 18-month-old monsters who know a dozen words, can climb things like lightning-fast monkeys, have obviously likes and dislikes, and those likes and dislikes change daily (or hourly). One has decided to fight us at every nap and bedtime. The other yells the second she is hungry. Both are independent, though one will let you help and the other won’t. At home they will hold hands and give kisses. In public they will run around like assholes, ignoring you, and scream bloody murder as soon as you pick them up.

Cupcake facial mask. 
Sometimes I am convinced that all the drinking I did with friends in my 20s was some kind of parenthood training. Sometimes they’re happy, then crying, then distracted, then asleep. They peed on their feet and may or may not vomit on any given day. For some reason at least one of them is never wearing pants. If they eat, there’s a 100% chance there is food in their hair and a 110% chance there is food on the floor. As soon as they’re done crying they love you even though they just hated you, and then they just pass out.

This weekend, after wresting them into their pajamas and carrying them upstairs, one under each arm like screaming footballs, I put them in their cribs. Later I admitted to Husband that I didn’t brush their teeth because I just couldn’t take another fight. He shrugged and said, “Who hasn’t gone to sleep without brushing their teeth?”

Yep, we’ve all done it. Especially after a long night out. Maybe my friends just partied a little too hard, but there were definitely some nights I let a friend fall asleep with their shoes still on. Drunks and toddlers. Eerily similar. The biggest difference is that these two are not going anywhere and each morning when I wake up after a few precious hours of sleep, I peek in on them before I go to work and they are precious, sleeping angels and I already can’t wait to come home and do it all over again, and if there happens to be a cocktail waiting when I walk in the door, even better.