Where's My Helmet?

Having a two-year-old is kind of like having an angry NFL linebacker on steroids in a 30-lb body. Except you don't get the benefit of a helmet and pads.

Squish will get so filled with rage, she does this little dance... which I've aptly named the Rage Dance. She stands in place and waves her arms and stomps her feet and makes a sound like a volcano about to erupt. Why so much anger? Because I wouldn't let her have another bag of fruit snacks. Or Bean looked at her. Or the dog was within 2 miles of her while she was eating. At the height of her frustration, she refuses to talk, which just exacerbates the situation. So I'm trying to teach her to take a deep breath and "use her words." Right now she categorizes every problem as "WANT!!!" or "DON'T WANT!!!" Which is just so helpful.

Everything pisses her off right now. The wind blows her hair, and she's mad. The TV's too loud/too quiet/not a show she likes... and she's mad. Her juice has too much water in it (I'm a 50/50 water-downer), and she turns green and rips her shirt off.

I'm convinced children get PMS. I don't care what they say about hormones not kicking in for several years yet. MINE GETS PMS. And oddly enough, the cure is the same. A little chocolate, a bubble bath, and as little contact with other humans as possible.

After spending all day with my little tyrant, I have to remember to use my manners. When my adult friend is slow walking to the car, I should probably refrain from shrieking "CAR! NOW!" And when I go get a much-deserved coffee, I may not want to stomp my feet and holler "WANT LATTE! WANT LATTE!" and then dissolve into tears on the floor of Starbucks.

Although, who knows... maybe they'd throw in a free biscotti.

They're Not Crazy... They're Moms

You know those people you see walking along the sidewalk, muttering to themselves? They're not crazy. They're moms. Only moms deal with apparently deaf people who are hell-bent on doing what they want, no matter what the consequences. It's enough to make you shuffle along a sidewalk and argue with yourself.

Right now I'm dealing with a tyrant of a 2 year old. I spend every day locked in a battle of the wills. I think I'm winning. But I will let you know for sure when I see what nursing home they finally put me in. Today it was over whether or not she was going to eat breakfast. I tried begging, teasing, bargaining, making it fun, guilt trips (hey, I was raised Catholic... I can guilt trip with the best of them)... and finally decided that with the amount of chub my little Squish has been blessed with, she will not starve any time soon.

Bean seems to be suffering from hearing loss. I literally screamed "SOCKS! SOCKS! SOCKS!" for about 2 minutes straight this morning in a pathetic attempt to get her to school on time. Just once I would like her to look like she's not a third world poster child. For 35 cents a day, you can give this poor child socks!

I'm fairly certain NONE of my other jobs were this hard. I don't remember having to work this hard to get a report out of a manager. "Come on, Mr. Brown.... who's my favorite manager? Give me the report and I'll let you take a long lunch!" Or yelling at my staff when I needed their articles for a deadline... "ARTICLE! ARTICLE! ARTICLE!"

I need a paid leave of absence.

Squish's Emerging Personality

It's been so fun watching Squish turn into her own little person. Now that she's almost two, we see so many glimpses of what she will be like. She's less dramatic than Bean, and much bolder. She's not afraid to let you know when she's annoyed, and inherited ALL of my Irish temper. She loves to laugh, and tries to copy her big sister all the time.

The girls love to put on "shows" on our fireplace hearth. Before, Squish would just sit there and giggle along while Bean did most of the performing. But Now Squish will stand up and imitate Bean's movements, even adding in music and dance steps where she feels necessary.

It's also been interesting watching her grow apart from Bean a bit. While she still looks up to her big sister, she's definitely hitting that "Independent Two's" phase.

The other day, Bean was VERY excited to go see a friend of hers. She jumped around and squealed for a good 5 minutes. Squish, who had just woken up, watched her mildly. She then looked at me and deadpanned, "Wow." Her comic timing is fantastic.

A few nights ago, the girls were eating dinner, sitting next to each other as usual. Bean asked politely, "Can you please not touch me?" Squish thought about it, and then matter-of-factly said, "No." Bean tried again. "Well, could you at least wipe your hands first?" Squish shook her head no... "Nuh-uh." I guess at least she's honest!

Personal Space... Or Lack Thereof

I'm a fairly cuddly person. I love giving hugs, and snuggling with my family. But sometimes, I need my personal space. Today is one of those days. And today, like every other day, all three of us are jammed into one small couch cushion while I type this. We have a good-sized home. Big enough for a family of four, that's for sure. But without fail, at some point in the day, all four of us end up squished together. Sometimes the dog will even join in. Not that I mind being close to my three favorite people. But it makes it difficult to do my work, or type my blog posts.

This morning, my muscles were sore from an especially enthusiastic workout routine yesterday. I decided to bust out my old yoga DVD. I say old because it's a prenatal video, which usually prompts questions from Bean about my chubby tummy. But if you ignore all the sappy references to the "miraculous growing being inside you," it's a fantastic workout.

About halfway through the video, I remembered WHY I haven't done this video in a while. Bean likes to try to join me in doing yoga. Of course she wants to share the mat with me, so I'm bending and twisting at even stranger angles to avoid clocking her in the head. Today, while trying to do floor work, Squish decided she wanted to sit on my lap. It was easy enough to adapt when I was doing leg stretches, etc. But not so easy when I'm trying to do plank and table poses. The final straw was when I was trying to relax in Child's Pose, and she lifted my head up because she thought I was sad. "Mama SMILE!"

I gave up. I guess this is how my children ensure they will have a nice comfy lap to sit in for years to come.

Gee thanks...

Last night, in the car, Squish treated me to her favorite new game. Seeing how many times she can say "Mama" before I lose my mind. I respond quickly at first, and then after I realize she just likes the way it sounds, I give up and let her babble. Well, last night she apparently decided she had something to say after an hour of babbling.

Squish: "Mama. Mama! MAMA!!!!"

Me: "WHAT??"

Squish: "I wuv Daddy."

Me: :sigh:

She's already a typical woman.

Lately Squish will say in her best cute-but-demanding voice, "Peez?! Peez!?!" I answer, "Please what?" Because I'm not really sure what she wants. She shrugs her shoulders and said, "Iownno." (I don't know). She's a typical woman already.

What's the magic word?

Just like I did with Bean, I work hard to teach Squish sign language and communication skills. I also try to teach her to have some manners. While Bean picked up on signing quickly, Squish wants nothing to do with it. She learned "milk" quickly, because she knew it would instantly result in food entering her stomach. We've tried teaching her to sign "more" or "please," but it's falling on (pardon the terrible pun) deaf ears. She would much rather shriek like a teradactyl being dismembered with a spoon.

Now Squish loves her food. The girl can pack it away like a truck driver who's been on a starvation diet for the last month or so. She has literally out-eaten me on some days, and I'm no light-weight. She has a much more limited vocabulary than Bean did at this age, but the few words she does say are adorable. No, I'm not biased. Even the mailman will concur. So we've tried adding "please" and "more" to her vocabulary. She's not interested... even when there's food involved.

In my Imperfect Mama day-mares, I imagine her as an adult, demanding more food in a restaurant with an ear-piercing shriek.

A couple of weeks ago, I came home with some Italian beefs from our favorite beef restaurant. If you're unfortunate enough to live in a city without Italian beefs, I pity you. As the delicious smells wafted from my paper bag, she toddled over to me with dilated pupils. I hoped for a sweet welcome "Mama!" or something similar. Instead, my darling little cherub grabbed hold of my shorts with both hands, and with the urgency of a dying wish demanded "FEED ME!"

So much for manners.

The Squish that cried Wolf

Squish has taken to screaming "OWWW!" Whenever she wants attention. Or is frustrated. Or hungry. Or just plain bored. She uses just the right amount of edge in her voice to sound both insulted and adorable.



Obviously when we hear it all the time, we don't take it seriously when she says "Ow." She never says it when she's actually hurt... then we just get the delayed siren wail. You know the kind. Where she's crying but completely silent until she can catch her breath. And then she takes it to 11. The windows rattle, and the neighbors run to see where the ambulances are.



The child also has the fastest-growing fingernails I've ever seen. I have to cut them every other day, or we all look like we've been in a catfight. So obviously we say "Ow!" quite a bit around here. I guess it's a good thing we don't cuss when she scratches us.

Let me introduce you to our daughter... Mirena.

Today BigGuy and I were joking that perhaps we should give Bean the nickname Mirena. Lord knows she's much more effective at preventing pregnancy than any other birth control method we've tried. Although she has a negative influence on my hormonal shifts, and has definitely caused weight gain.

Bean has the most sensitive Romance Detector I've ever seen. She can be on the other side of the house, and if BigGuy gets a sparkle in his eye she instantly appears and needs attention.

Squish is learning from her big sister, and will now protest loudly at the sight of us snuggling without her. Apparently she doesn't plan on giving up her place as the baby of the family any time soon.

So when someone ever-so-delicately asks what method of birth control we use, would it be a bad thing to say, "my children"?

All the world's a stage

Bean and Squish have effectively turned our fireplace hearth into a stage. There are lights that shine down on it, and the hearth is raised high enough to make it the perfect spot to act out their dramas. Squish mostly just claps and babbles, laughing at Bean's silly faces. But Bean takes this very seriously. She spins tales of heroic princesses, beautiful brides, and puppies who need to eat/sleep/scratch every 15 seconds or so. Every so often, Bean will pause to ask, "are you watching?"

When I was little, my sister and I used to act out elaborate productions. Being the older child, I reserved the best roles for myself. I was the boss, and she was the secretary. I was the queen, and she was the princess. We both grew up in ballet classes, choirs, and drama clubs, and both have a love for the stage. My sister is much better than I am at all facets of stage arts... and in fact, she has a job where she's on stage very often. So these mini-dramas make me wonder where my girls will be in 20 years.

Now every time we turn on the lights over the fireplace, Squish happily claps her hands and climbs "on stage." Bean runs to find something she can use for a costume. I guess the apples don't fall very far from the tree.