Big D doesn't understand the Salvation Army bell ringers and I have to say that it is a little understandable.
Who are these people? They stand in front of Hyvee and Walmart and ring bells. They just stand there. Mommy says they ring the bell so people will give them money. But if you give them money, do they give you the bell? No. That would make sense, but no. They don't give you anything.
Then, this year they are in orange jumpsuits. While the orange is bright and (some would say) cheery, they don't really match all the decorations around them. In fact they clash pretty horribly with their red money buckets. Last year at least they were dressed like Santa and thus created in tiny minds a connection to Christmas. This year they look like hunters who are just out trying to earn some extra cash.
And while the bell seems fun when we are getting out of the car 200 feet away from the building, by the time we are walking past it, our eardrums are bleeding from the volume. And heaven help us all if we have to stop at Redbox. We basically have to dodge the bell the whole time we're praying that the stupid machine stops whirring and DISPENSES OUR MOVIE BEFORE OUR BRAINS ARE VIBRATED INTO MUSH!
Anyway, all that to say that D is fascinated/horrified by them. Yesterday he was standing by the Christmas tree ringing one of our ornaments that makes a tiny, lovely bell noise. He stood there, perfectly serious and slightly morose saying:
"I'm a bell ringer. I'm ringing my bell. And standing in front of Hyvee. And I have some money....... Yup, just standing....ringing my bell....with some money."
I am constantly amazed at the developmental leaps that little people make.
On Monday I set Belvedere up in the sitting position, she smiled at me, drooled a little then toppled over - not changing her happy expression one bit as I caught her and let her lay down.
On Tuesday I confess I did not ever try to help her sit. When Big D was her age he would have gotten help about a dozen times a day on whatever skill he was working on. Not so Bel. She gets fed then plopped on the floor while I feed and generally care for the other people in the house.
On Wednesday, I sat her down and voila! She sat for about 2 minutes before reaching for something far away and face planting. How do you gain a skill that quickly? She can now sit quite well. Not unsupervised because she still leads with her head when she falls, but she'll stabilize herself very well as she plays with a toy in her lap.
As a mother these leaps make me feel a bit neglectful. Shouldn't I have known she was close to sitting? Seems as though I should have. Like I should have known she could get all the way across the room like I posted about before.
But at least my ignorance won't scar her. It seems worse when your child is older and more aware. Like about a year ago when D started talking about the helicopter he'd seen and I kept assuring him that there hadn't been a helicopter while he kept insisting there was, adding increasing levels of detail to convince me. After this went on forever I thought I might as well make him tell me about when he saw this helicopter that I was SURE he hadn't seen.
"It was in the hallway, mommy!"
"Yes! It was green and it talked to me! And we played!"
Oooooooooh! An IMAGINARY helicopter. Huh. Apparently he had developed an imagination that I didn't know about. So instead of just being surprised about his new ability to sit, I had spent the last 15 minutes crushing his newborn imagination! My poor little boy was experiencing the wonder of imagining and his troll of a mother kept saying, "That just didn't happen, honey, I'm sorry." Nice, mom.
Thankfully, judging by the outlandish story I heard yesterday about the shooting star that came into his room, offered him a ride and zoomed him through the sky to Gus' house, I'd say I didn't damage his creativity much.
D imitating Bel as she scoots herself legs first under the couch.
Bel in her "I'm in the giggling pink mafia" jogging suit.
Setting aside for the moment the suicidal meaning which Shakespeare first gave this quote while not belittling how wretched sleep deprivation makes a person feel, I thought I'd share some of the many sleep issues that we are having in this house.
Issue 1: Medman
Medman is in his internship year of residency. "Intern" is from the latin "to deprive of sleep" and resident is from the greek and roughly translates to 'live in the hospital". Stay there all day. Stay there for call over night. Spend your weekend there. The extra sucker punch of internship is that since you are technically a doctor, albeit one with very limited experience, you are constantly being either condescended to as though you know nothing or berated for not knowing everything. So the few hours of repose you are allowed are spent staring wide-eyed at the ceiling above your bed wondering if anyone bothered to check the meds you prescribed for Mr. Heart Failure and was he the one that was on the blood pressure meds that would cause a lethal reaction? Or how long it is going to be before you get to sleep again? Or how can you fake a hunting accident to take out a few of your more aggravating superiors? Or what other career you are suited for besides medicine so you can just drop out? And sleep.
Issue 2: Belvedere
Actually, I am ecstatic to say that Belvedere has in the last several days completely ended her sleeping problems. Up until then she was waking up 3-4 times a night with at least one time being over an hour of chatty I-would-like-someone-to-play-with-me time. The only thing that saved her life is that when she wakes me up some sort of instinct must kick in. It tells her "If your room is pitch dark and mom shows up looking disheveled and taking deep breaths as though to calm herself from being woken up AGAIN, smile a ridiculously big smile and reach out to her. If she so much as reaches back, squeal in delight and grab her hand. Continue rolling around as cutely as possible until she smiles. Then you are out of danger." Bel has had a magical transformation though and now sleeps straight through the night. No idea what happened, but I love it.
Issue 3: Big D
I've always had this fear in the back of my mind that potty training isn't really a good thing for the parents. I mean really, changing a diaper isn't that big of a deal. Getting up twice a night with a disoriented, crying 3 year old who has to pee but doesn't have the wherewithal to get himself to the potty is a big deal. Not that I want him to get up by himself, really. He has no regard whatsoever for getting his pee in the potty at night. None. It takes constant reminders. "Make sure the pee goes in the potty. Aim for the water. DON'T LOOK BACK AT ME--LOOK AT THE POTTY!"
Issue 4: Mommy wonders why, even though she is the only one in the house with no sleep problems, she is up the most of everyone?
Perchance to dream:
Big D has started talking about what I assume must be dreams. For instance last night while he peed in the general direction of the potty he looked over his shoulder at me ("WOAH! WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOING!!!") and said, "The big fish came towards me. It talked to me. It said everything to me and I said something back."
More questioning at breakfast revealed that the big fish did in fact come out of a fish hive. Which I had suspected all along. Oh, and D and the fish had a big problem because there were no car tables there.
Me: Where were there no car tables?
D: (blank look) I don't know. Do you know?
Me: No, it was your dream.
D: Can you tell me? Can you?
Me: In the hive?
D: No. Mommy, you are silly.
For having a three year old with a vocabulary of a 15 year old, its amazing how little actual communication happens sometimes.
I'm Janice, a thirty-uh-something year old wife and mother of the three cutest children on the planet and of the cutest tiny baby saint in heaven. I like to chat with my husband, Medman, listen to the stories told by my 6-year-old son, Big D, die laughing at the humor of my 3-year-old girl, Belle, try to keep tabs on the 1-year-old, Liam, and try to stay home as much as possible. If being a homebody were quantifiable by some chemical in the body, mine would be off the charts. When left to my own devices I like to sew, paint, read and dream of the day when I have nothing but vast open hours to write.