The Dreaded Question

The other day someone asked me what I did all day. I used to be a legal advisor for 9 police departments. I taught at police academy, did appeals work, reviewed evidence, wrote search warrants, trained new prosecutors, wrote a newsletter on changes in the laws and had other various duties. When I was working and someone asked me, "What did you do all day?" It was easy to answer that question with something tangible and important sounding. "I made fifteen bond arguments after reviewing all of the cases and then I worked on an appellate brief." That would be a fairly typical answer on a fairly typical day.

My days just don't translate into something that concrete anymore. Someone I used to work with recently asked me, "Are you doing anything anymore?" I knew what he meant- he wanted to know if I was still practicing- but my mind raced through everything that a typical day entails and I stammered for a response that was appropriate and didn't minimize what I do spend my time doing.

Someone else asked me recently, "What does Teddy do all day?" I answered, "In a broad sense, he spends all day learning." I know that it's true. I see him stacking cups and flipping through the pages of his book and I see him refining his eye-hand coordination and I see him taking in the images. He talks to his toys and the pictures in his books and each day his language becomes a little clearer and I can understand a word or two more. I sit with him on the floor and I help him with a task that's frustrating to him and I see him learning patience and perseverence. But how do you translate that into a sound bite? How do you explain why it's so draining, especially when the toddler is having a day filled more with frustrations than accomplishments?

Sometimes I think about what my goal for the day is going to be. I used to do it while driving to work. "I really want to finish that appellate brief this afternoon and get it filed" or "I need to finish that legislative update and get it sent out to the different departments." Now it's "I really need to get the floor mopped" or "I need to get my grocery list made out and go to the grocery store." It doesn't seem as important when I'm explaining it to someone who's never done it. It's even a little embarassing, actually.

I know that what I'm doing is crucial to my children. I know that my first responsibility is to them and I know that as surely as I know I'm going to draw my next breath. For me that means being here. Henry laughed for the first time a couple of days ago and his dad got to be there for it. So many of the milestones that they hit I get to see first and report on. To my recollection, I've been there for each of them. That's more important to me than any appellate brief I've ever written.

When people ask me "When are you going back to work?" I answer the question that they mean- when am I going to be a practicing lawyer again- but if they followed me for a day they'd realize that sometimes trying to get the kitchen floor mopped is a less realistic goal than finishing an appellate brief. My work is always interrupted and often superceded.

Speaking of, Teddy doesn't usually sleep this late- I need to go see if something's up. I've already fed Henry, changed his diaper and gotten him dressed. I coaxed him back into his first nap. Now I'll get Ted, change his diaper, get him dressed, feed him breakfast and clean the kitchen. My coffee's almost cold since I haven't been able to have an uninterrupted cup in months. I am a perpetual motion machine. So what will I do all day?

Everything.

My Favorite Sound

Someone once asked me what my favorite sound was. Today I realized what the answer to that question is.

Henry laughed for the first time.

I called my mom, aware that it was unlikely that I'd actually reach her; I still had to breathe in and out a couple of times fast so that I wouldn't start to cry when I left her the message on her phone. Yes- I am that much of a softie.

I spent the rest of the day trying to get him to laugh again and I got him going so hard that he got the hiccoughs.

Laughing is my favorite milestone with the first steps being my second favorite. So far, at least, that's true. So far nothing has given me as much joy as hearing my babies laugh for the first time.

It's a good day.

I Know This Much is Also True

Here are some other things I've learned:

• No matter how many recipes tell me that pearl onions' skins "slip right off" after they've been in boiling water for 10 minutes they are not to be believed. They all lie and it will always take like an hour to get the skins off of a bag of pearl onions.
• Frozen pearl onions are a poor substitute for fresh. They taste as though they've been frozen with the skins on.
• Tags inside clothing are made from a material closely related to steel wool. Almost any garment is made more comfortable by the removal of the tags.
• Do not remove the tags of any clothing labeled "Dry Clean Only." This advice is unnecessary if you have a boyfriend or husband who ever does the laundry. He will not read the tags, you may as well remove them.
• Counselling a husband or boyfriend to always read the tags inside any clothing that is shiny or fancy is a waste of time. He will simply stop doing the laundry out of fear. Or at least he will stop doing your laundry. Even socks.
• When you discover something in the back of your fridge and do not remember when you bought it, do not smell it to tell whether it has gone bad. Assume it has and throw it out. Your day will not improve by smelling the mysterious substance.
  
• Homemade beer is seldom as good as the beer you buy at the store. Usually it's worse. By a lot.
• Playing moonlighter frisbee at 3 AM will cause police officers to conduct field sobriety tests.
• Putting a piece of duct tape over the speaker of any toy will reduce its volume by a lot.
• Duct tape in a color that matches the color of a toy is often overlooked by a toddler.
• Duct tape comes in almost every color. If you don't believe me, go to www.tapebrothers.com
• It is possible to capture a flying squirrel in a laundry basket.
• If you spray a raccoon with pepper spray, it will leave your garage.

I know other things too. This is just a sampling.

The Devil in Disguise

We've been going out for a walk in the evening. Every walk starts the same way. I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who's wiggling and cooing and smiling. My husband is walking with the toddler. We turn right at the end of the driveway and the toddler turns left and makes a beeline for the manhole cover that's in the middle of the cul-de-sac, three doors down. He likes to sit on the manhole cover and feel the raised metal with his hand. He will sit down there for as long as we'll let him, but since we're going for a walk, we try to herd him along in the same direction we're going.

Herding a toddler who has a specific destination that is 180 degrees in the other direction is not easy. He has more moves than a gymnast and is more flexible than a yoga master. He will suddenly drop to the ground and twist away, at the same time emitting a shrill cry that has the effect of piercing your temple like an ice pick. He'll throw himself backwards against the ground. As parents, our first impulse is to protect him. We don't want him sitting in the middle of the street for obvious reasons. When he is throwing a temper tantrum in the road, we are trying to control and protect him from hurting himself and we are also trying to teach him to be a good citizen. Being a good citizen does not encompass temper tantrums in the middle of the street.

This is new behavior. He wasn't always like this and hopefully he'll return to his former behavior at some point. Better yet, hopefully he'll return to is former behavior sometime soon. In fact, the sooner the better. We know that it's important to remain firm. We know that a child who is unsure of who is in charge is unmoored. We sure as heck don't want him thinking he is.

Every walk ends the same way: I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who has fallen asleep. Nate is carrying the toddler who has his back arched and he's trying to wriggle free- kicking and twisting and pinching and pushing. His face is red and his mouth is open and he's sobbing so hard that either no sound is coming out or else he's making so much noise that the neighbors have started to look in our direction. (They're all hobby gardeners, so they're always outside.)

He's awfully angelic when he's in a good mood. Long lashes and crystal blue eyes, light brown hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. He smiles easily and laughs heartily and flirts with every stranger he sees. We were at the grocery store the other day when someone asked him how old he was and he responded "terrible two." (I suppose he's been listening to me talking on the phone to the veteran moms I keep on auto dial.) The lady said, "Oh- I can't believe that." I said "Come by our house in time for our evening walk- he looks like an angel but he's a devil in disguise."

We've discussed not taking a walk in the evening simply to avoid the stress. Sometimes we forego it if we're not up to the task or we put him in the stroller where he remains contained. We've come to the conclusion that the lesson is worth the hassle- he'll eventually learn that he doesn't make the rules and that we're in charge and that crying doesn't get him what he wants. At least that's our motivation for continuing the walks. And those are lessons he'll learn one way or another. In the meantime, if anyone wants to watch two parents wrangling an angry toddler, we take our walk right after dinner every evening- just ask our neighbors.

The Eye of the Hurricane

I recently got one of those e-mails that asks about 20 questions such as "What's your favorite flower" and "When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up." It went around a group of us who all have toddlers the same age. One question had a striking number of the identical answers. The question was "What's your favorite time of day?" The answer: nap time.

I've been thinking about that for a couple of days now- about why nap time is so important for the children and for us too. Nap time has lots of purposes to the stay-at-home-mom.

It is a time to recharge the batteries.
Toddlers are learning so much and growing so quickly that they need a nap. If they don't get one, their behavior gets worse. They cry and hit and yell if they don't get a nap. They are already completely id motivated, but now it's an angry id-motivated being who is volatile and loud. A toddler who's had a nap is still id motivated, but he's not a volcano that is seconds away from spewing molten lava on all of the villagers. A toddler without a nap is like a wild badger.

It is a time to get things done.
Nap time is the only time to mop the floors without having to worry about the toddler getting into the mop water or something else while being kept away from the mop water. Nap time is a time to fold laundry without the toddler taking each item and tossing it out of the basket with a squeal. It is a time to pay the bills without interruption. A time to put away the groceries without "help."

It is a time for assessment.
Sometimes during nap time I feel like a general- I think about my morning battle plan. What worked? What didn't? What tactics am I going to use this afternoon? What do I need to accomplish this afternoon?

It is a time to rest and regroup.
We all have bad days. On occasion I will give the toddler lunch a half-hour early just because it means that I can put him down for his nap early. Some days he is extra clingy, needy, frustrated, angry and bored all at the same time. Some days this mood coincides with the infant going through a growth spurt during which I have to feed him every hour-and-a-half. Nap time is like the eye of the hurricane- that bit of calm during a raging storm when you can look out and see what damage has been done. On days like that when nap time comes, all I have energy for is plopping myself down on the couch and watching completely inane television. (The parents of the girls on MTV's "My Super Sweet 16" ought to be ashamed of themselves.)

It is a time for myself.
I own nap time. It is the one time of the day that no one else needs me. My husband is upstairs sleeping and if the stars have aligned, both boys are sleeping too. It is my time. I can use it how I want to. I can call a friend or write my emails. I can do chores if I want to, but in the end I am accountable to myself and myself only. This is the only time of day I have that is truly mine. The rest of the day is accounted for by one or the other of the children or by my husband.

Your life gets taken over when you decide to stay at home. When you are working you have responsibilities to your boss and the company you work for, but I never felt like my identity was taken over by the job. I feel that way now- that I am less "Betsy" and more "wife and mother." Except during nap time. Nap time is when I get to be just Betsy again.

"I Am Two"

It came from down the hall "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.
So I went to see what it was. I knew who it was- it was Ted, my toddler. As a mom, you do these things in the middle of the night with a list in your mind. At first you hear it coming from down the hall and you have a conversation with yourself that goes something like this:

That's Ted. I must get up right now and see what the matter is!! Wait. He's almost 2. He could be manipulating me. Do I really want to encourage him to do this when he's bored? There's no real urgency in his voice. Maybe he'll settle back down. Besides, the covers are just where I like them....

And then you wait to see what will happen.

(My husband works nights, so I have this conversation with myself.)

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.

Maybe his foot's caught? Maybe he's leaked out of his diaper? Maybe he threw up? Maybe he had a nightmare?

So my mom-guilt and I get up and walk down the hall, trying to avoid the squeaky part of the hallway in case I decide I don't need to go into his room. I step on it every time of course. I put my nose to the crack of the door and I smell. This will often answer the question of whether I need to go into the room or not. (I think that only other moms will understand why that's not either gross or a cop-out.)

So it was last night. I'm nursing the infant- voracious little guy nurses three to five times a night still. He's two-and-a-half months old and has already gained 7 pounds. So I don't want to get up and tend to a toddler who might just be bored- I really need to sleep when I can. But even if there's nothing wrong that can be tangibly addressed, my opinion is that if the toddler has a bad dream, it would be a scary world if mom didn't come down and see what the matter was. Finding the right line between compassion and spoiling is not always easy.

So I went into his room and turned on the light. He was lying on his back, holding onto his bear, his feet up on the crib rails. He appeared genuinely surprised to see me. Bear in mind that I had been sleeping with a white-noise machine in the room when he woke me up and I had enough time to run through all the pros and cons before getting up and going into his room. All the while, I could hear him at the other end of the hall:
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.
He had no issue that needed to be addressed, he was just making noise. At least for last night, I figured out what
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh .
means. At least for last night, it means "I am two."