Andrew the SuperBaby

Andrew has done several things to amaze me in the last week.  I keep reminding myself that he’s not even two years old yet!  Sure, he will be in a couple of weeks, but he’s not yet.  As the youngest, he seems to be growing up much more quickly than the rest.  Therefore the title of my post...I will call him a SuperBaby for these last couple of weeks before I have to admit that my SuperBaby has become a SuperBoy...


1) After dinner one night, Andrew was riding around on his little truck.  Damien looked over and saw that he had taken his sippy cup and purposefully poured some of the milk into the bottom compartment of the truck.  He said “Andrew, we don’t put milk in trucks.”  Andrew looked right back at him and said “Dada… milk truck!  Milk truck!”  He had made a milk truck…of course.


2) I often sing to distract Andrew from things like wiping him up after dinner, and I often change the words to make it more entertaining.  On a recent occasion, I was singing a song from his WaterBabies class.  Instead of “Fishies, Fishies, dive into the pool!”  I changed “Fishies” to “Andrew.”  He grinned, and it was several moments later when I realized that he had not only joined me in singing, but was making his own name changes.  He did a round of “Gooma, Gooma” (his word for Grandma) followed by “Ben, Ben,” and on to “Sophie, Sophie,” etc.  


3) At the breakfast table the other morning, with no prompting or example by his siblings, Andrew stood his nibbled-on piece of toast on end, looked at me proudly, and said “Boat, Mama, boat!”  There seems to be a transportation theme with his food these days.


4) Andrew asked for one of the special Cheerio snack balls I had made the other day.  Benjamin asked for a cracker.  After eating only a few bites of his snack ball, Andrew saw Ben’s cracker and started begging for one.  He adamantly repeated “Cracker!” while I continued to respond with my terms, that he could have a cracker after he had eaten his snack ball.  At one point I worded my explanation as “when your snack ball is all done.”  Andrew looked at me very seriously and said “Trash!”  Before I had a chance to react, he ran off and threw his snack ball in the trash can.  Then he came back and said “All done snack ball!  Cracker!”  What could I do?  I gave him a cracker.


5) At dinner last night, I glanced over at Andrew’s plate and noticed that the rigatoni I had made for dinner were the perfect size to fit right over the top of the straw on his straw cup.  The moment I thought it, he picked up a piece of rigatoni and slid it right over his straw.  It must be genetic.  (Okay, this last one’s not so amazing…but it is funny!)

The Notes

A few months ago, I was traveling for a few days while Damien and his dad took care of the kids.  One of the nights that I was away, Damien found the following note on his dresser:

(If you don’t read 6-year-old, it says “To Dad, I would like to talk to you.  Please answer.  Love, Sophia.”)

A puzzled Damien dutifully went to have the requested discussion.  It turns out that Sophie felt that her brother had been receiving more “opportunities” than she had over the past couple of days, and she wanted to express her frustration.  After Damien heard how she was feeling, he was able to address her concerns and they were both happy the next day.  When Damien reported all of this, I was extremely amused, but also amazed.  I mean, a note is a very healthy and constructive way to approach a problem...isn’t it?  


What I didn’t know is that there would be more…many more.  And they continue to evolve over time. Here is the version from two days ago:

(This one was hung on her dresser, so that he couldn't miss it when he tucked her in for bed.  Note the addition of the "Yes" or "No" checkboxes with smiley and frowny faces.)


And here is the version from yesterday:

(Translation:  “Daddy, I would like to talk to you!  Love, Sophie!  Yes = Happy/I love you!  No = Sad/I hate you.”  Also notice that the frowny face now sports angry hair.)  


(I know my mom is laughing as she reads this, and remembering the time that I expressed my anger as a child by writing a note that said “Dear Mom, I hate you.  Love, Lisa.”  “Love, Lisa” was the only way that I knew to end a letter!)


Each note has been followed by a discussion in which Sophie gives her dad her thoughts and suggestions on our family relationships.  One discussion revealed that she gets tired of us telling her what to do in the morning, and resulted in a list being posted in her room that she can follow to get herself ready for school. Another discussion involved her thoughts on how we could motivate her to get along better with her brother.  (We have yet to test those theories!)  


Interestingly, the notes are always addressed to her dad.  Perhaps because this whole thing started while I was away.  Perhaps because she has found it an effective way of communicating with him.   Or perhaps she has learned from experience that her mom is not terribly receptive to parenting suggestions at the end of a long day.  


All I know is, we haven’t seen the last of these notes.  And we are more than a little afraid…

Co-Parenting

Occasionally another parent with one or two children will ask me what it’s like to have three.  I could make many observations on this topic, and perhaps I will in future posts.  Last night I was reminded that with three children, my hold on authority has become much more tenuous.  Not just because chaos reigns at all times, but because the older children frequently attempt to assume the role of parent for their younger sibling.

Last night I came in from the laundry room, and immediately heard “Mom!  Mom, come here!”   I followed the sounds to the back room, and as soon as I came into view I heard both of the big kids saying “Mom!  Andrew hit a cat!  Andrew hit a cat, and he needs to go to time out!”  Benjamin added “Yeah, I told him to stay right there until Mommy or Daddy could deal with him.”

Sure enough, there was Andrew standing perfectly still with his back against the wall, as though in a holding center awaiting processing.  “Andrew,” I said, “Did you hit the cat?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you need to go to time out.”
 “Yeah.”  (Guilty grin.)

So I carted him off to the time out chair.  It just so happened that he had a half-eaten dinner roll in his hand at the time, and as we left the room I heard Sophie instruct “Make sure you take the roll from him before you put him in the time out chair!”

Sure, Sophie was bossing Benjamin around long before Andrew entered the scene.  She has always had parenting advice for me.  But somehow now that there are two “big kids” and one toddler, the older ones often slide into the roles of surrogate parents.

At times I appreciate the help.  Comments like “Mom, come quick!  Andrew’s on top of the piano!” or “Mom, come quick!  Andrew has your scissors!” are always welcome.

At other times it can be frustrating.  Such as “Mom, come quick, Andrew has a cord!” to which I respond “Just a minute!” because the cord in question is from a long-discarded baby monitor and is nowhere near an active outlet, and therefore the raw chicken on my hands seems like a far greater threat.   Since they have internalized that electricity is dangerous (Yay!  Parenting success!), in this situation they will continue to scream at me in increasingly panicked voices despite my assurances that I am aware of the situation, and my promises that Andrew will be okay.  They will be near hyper-ventilation by the time I get to them, at which point they have been known to chastise me for my lax parenting.  The phrase “I kept you alive all this time, didn’t I?” has been uttered on more than one occasion.  But the fact is that they simply don’t trust my parenting.  Needless to say, this is rather demoralizing.

Since they are so capable, I am sometimes tempted to turn over my parenting duties to the big kids.  It would be so nice to let them keep Andrew in check while I lay on the couch munching on bon-bons.  But I don’t.  Because deep down I know that if I were to validate their view of themselves as co-parents, my authority over them would be lost forever.  And let’s face it…there’s only room for one mom on this island.

The Phone Call

Since I highlighted a parenting success in my last post, it seems only fair to follow with a parenting failure.  This one was pretty spectacular, so please, go back and read the success story again after this, and promise to be kind in your thoughts toward me!


This story begins with my attempt to make a phone call.  So many of my terrible parenting moments have to do with phone calls.  I go to great lengths, in fact, to never make phone calls when the children are awake.  Occasionally, an exception has to be made. 

(Now at some point in this story, you are going to be asking yourself “Shouldn’t she have just put the phone on hold for a moment while she dealt with the children?”  The answer is yes. Yes, she should have.  But all of these events took place in approximately 90 seconds, and there was no time for rational thought.)


On this particular day, I needed to call the Aquatic Center to confirm whether our swimming lessons were still taking place that afternoon.  The kids were at the dining room table snacking.  I gave them strict instructions to please be quiet for one minute while I was on the phone, and then went into our family room to make the call.  I dialed the first 9 digits, and then let my finger hover over the last button for a moment, confirming silence from the other room before executing the call.


Less than a split-second after I finished dialing, Ben came barreling into the room pushing his two noisiest toy cars across the floor.  As the phone rang once, I put my finger over the microphone and told Benjamin in my firmest voice to stop immediately or he would go to time out.  Before I had even finished my sentence, the Aquatic Center staff person (we’ll call him AC) had picked up and issued a greeting.


As I tried to put together a coherent sentence to explain my question to AC, my other two children came running into the room.  I walked to the opposite side of the room.  They followed.  Benjamin then turned around and raced the same super-loud cars back across the room, causing loud eruptions of glee from Sophie (age 6).  I couldn’t hear a word AC was saying.  Benjamin was out of my reach, facing away from me, and I was desperate to get his attention.  My large exercise ball was next to me, and I quickly kicked it in Ben’s direction, expecting it would bump him in the back and cause him to turn and look at me.  Instead, the ball flew into the air, ricocheted off of Sophie’s forehead, bounced into my computer monitor, and knocked half the contents of my desk over before landing back on the ground.


I was HORRIFIED!  Sophie started crying and ran out of the room.  I was still trying to wrap up my conversation with AC (what he was thinking on the other end, I’ll never know), and Benjamin still had those cars in his hands.  I ran over, swept up the cars, ran to the back door, and dropped them outside into the mulch.  I said a quick thank you and goodbye to AC while Ben cried “DON’T PUT MY CARS OUTSIDE!” in the background.


After I hung up the phone, I ran to find Sophie.  She was in Andrew’s room, sitting on the rocking elephant and crying.  She was startled, but luckily uninjured.  (The exercise ball is really very light…probably why it has such great lift-off.)  I gave her a big hug, told her how sorry I was, and asked if she was okay.  “Yeah…” she said, “but…did you mean to hit Ben?”  


I cringed.  “No, honey, I didn’t mean to hit anybody!”  (I mean, not really.  I certainly thought about bouncing that ball off of his head, but that wasn’t actually my intention!  I only meant to get his attention - not to injure him – I swear!)


Ben was still crying, too, supposedly over the cars, although with some prodding he admitted that Mommy had scared him with the ball.  Apologies were issued all around.  I vowed to never kick an exercise ball again.


There was one thing I wouldn’t apologize for…the cars.  They stayed in the mulch for the rest of the afternoon.  My puzzled husband got to find them on his way in from work later.


So, my dear friends and family, if you ever wonder why I rely too heavily on email and never pick up a phone to call you…this is why.  You’re welcome.  

More Yogurt

Apparently this week’s adventures were sponsored by Yoplait.  (Note:  I have received no compensation for this endorsement, but I will accept any if offered.)  Remember my last reflection on yogurt involved me pondering how self-sufficient my children are?  Apparently that thought stuck with me…

After lunch the other day, I was in the kitchen cleaning up when I heard Benjamin (age 4) starting to cry in the dining room.  (Not the “I’m really sad” or “I’m hurt” cry…the “I’m upset about something” cry.)  I glanced into the dining room and saw Ben standing next to the table, holding onto the plate and cup that he was clearing.  I couldn’t determine the problem, so I said, “Ben, what’s wrong?”  He immediately cried, “I dropped my yogurt cup and it spilled on the floor!”  

I looked down by his feet and, sure enough, there was his yogurt cup lying on the floor.  He had eaten only a few spoonfuls of it at lunch, and there was now yogurt pooled at his feet, sprayed across the floor, and splattered on the baseboards on the wall.  I sighed internally.  I am not one to get mad over spilled milk, but I can get frustrated when my lunch cleanup suddenly doubles in magnitude.  This is when I had a sudden and rare moment of mothering clarity.  I put on a smile and said cheerfully, “No problem, Ben!  I’ll tell you how to clean it up.”  

I braced myself for the “I don’t want to!” fit, but was pleasantly surprised when he stopped crying and said, “I know how to clean it up, Mommy!”  

“Great!” I said, followed by “Start by picking up your yogurt cup and bringing it over to the counter.”  (I couldn’t stop myself from giving some direction.)

Then I turned back to the dishes.  A minute later, a yogurt cup appeared by my side.  I handed Ben some paper towels, and then watched as he went over to the side of the dining room table opposite the spill.  “Ben…what are you doing over there?”  

“I dropped it again over here, Mommy!”  Right.

But after that, he got right to cleaning up!  I stayed busy with the dishes in the kitchen (sometimes it’s just better not to watch), and Ben mopped up all of the yogurt with paper towels.  

“It’s sticky, Ben.  You’ll probably need to use some wet paper towels to finish wiping it up.”

Back he came and wet a paper towel himself.  I looked over again, and he was trying to clean up massive areas of stickiness with only a single, slightly-damp paper towel.  I suggested a little more water might help, so he came and wet more paper towels.  The next time I looked back, he had done such a good job around the dining room table that it seemed to have sprung a moat.  He was now working on the floor in front of the kitchen.  “What are you doing there, Ben?”  

“I spilled here, too!”  Of course.  “The floor’s all wet!”

“No problem, Ben.  I’ll get you a towel to dry it with.”

I got him a rag towel from the laundry room, and he quickly recovered the dining room floor from beneath the water.  (Mostly, anyway.)

The end result of this whole adventure?  Benjamin was so proud of what he had accomplished.  We were both relaxed and happy.  My lunch dishes got done at the same time that the yogurt cleanup did.  I got out of cleaning up a gigantic mess AND I get to be a good parent for teaching my child how to clean up his own messes.  It doesn’t get any better than that!  Sure, the dining room floor did need a follow-up mopping, but not right away.  (My feet only stuck to it in a few places.)  This is the good life…  

The Yogurt

The other day, I was sitting on the floor of our family room playing with the kids.  My toddler, Andrew, suddenly got up and ran off toward the kitchen.  This is not surprising, as it was five o’clock.  Dinnertime at our house is usually five-thirty or six, since my husband doesn’t get home until then.  But given the choice, Andrew would prefer to eat earlier, and so he starts begging around five.


A moment later, Andrew came back and jabbered several sentences at me that I didn’t understand and then promptly ran back to the kitchen.  I knew that this was my cue to follow and address his request for food, but I stayed, not wanting to deal with the tantrum awaiting me.  However, when he hadn’t returned in a minute or two I decided I had better follow.  He is known for his ability to outsmart baby-proofing devices.  Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how to cut meat and chop vegetables with my bare hands, so there are still sharp knives in our kitchen.


As I walked past our dining room table, I saw something odd.  It was my daughter’s cup of half-eaten yogurt, which I was sure she had returned to the fridge after snack time.  It was sitting on the table, right in front of Andrew’s booster seat.  Oh well…she must have left it out and I failed to notice.  (It seems I fail to notice many things these days…)  I turned and walked into the kitchen.  There was Andrew, standing in front of the open silverware drawer, and in the process of pulling out a large serving-size spoon.  He turned to look at me, and suddenly I put it together…  My little toddler (okay, fine, *giant* toddler) had figured out how to open the fridge, get out his sister’s yogurt, remove the plastic wrap from the top, carry it to the table without spilling it, and he was now getting himself a spoon.


Andrew's face was all innocence, and I realized that there was nothing devious to his actions.  After all, he had first come and “asked” me to help him.  When that didn’t work, he decided to take care of things himself.  He wanted to eat, so he got himself some food.  His self-sufficiency astounded me.  My 20-month-old had just accomplished a feat of self-care that I can’t even get my 6- or 4-year old to perform without coaching.


I couldn’t help but wonder what the implications of this behavior are.  What does this combination of physical capability beyond his years and lack of inhibition mean for me?  Will I be struggling for the next 17+ years to keep ahead of him so that he doesn’t get the best of me?  Or maybe it’s just that my parenting skills have improved so much by the third child that I have cultivated an above-average level of independence in him without even trying.  Yeah, that’s it…it must be the latter.


One thing I do know for sure.  In retrospect, I should have let him eat the yogurt.  Or at least allowed myself to enjoy the sight of watching him try to get that serving-size spoon into the cup of Yoplait.  

The Day I Lost Control of My Head

This is the story of the day that I lost control of my head.  Not my mind – that happened more slowly, and over a longer period of time.  Losing control of my head happened all at once.


It was time to stock up on a month’s worth of groceries at the local WinCo.  I had just come from the swimming pool with my two boys, and had my hair thrown up in one of those ponytails that says “No, I made no effort with my appearance today, but I am fully clothed.  That may seem like nothing to you, but if you had been in the swim locker room with us you would consider it a true feat.”  At least, that is what I imagine that it says.  


So there I am, pushing along a cart with terrible steering capabilities that is weighed down by a growing amount of food and the 40-pound 4-year-old mounted on the front end of it.  My 30-pound 1-year-old is perched happily in the hiking backpack strapped to my back.  This may seem like a crazy plan to some, but I have come to accept it as how I grocery-shop most effectively.  The toddler is content in the backpack for long periods of time, and I have determined that the additional physical burden is preferable to the stress of trying to keep him happy riding in the cart during a lengthy shopping trip.  


Suddenly, as I am using my full weight to push past the pasta shelves and on to canned soups and beans, I feel a painful tugging at my ponytail.  “No, don’t pull Mommy’s hair!” I say.  (I have done this backpack-grocery shopping with three toddlers to date…my youngest is the first to figure out that he can reach over the backpack and yank my hair out strand by strand.  It has really added to the experience on the last several grocery trips.)  I feel a stronger tugging.  I issue more admonitions.  Stronger tugging.  


Suddenly, my head tips back completely against my will.  I try to straighten my neck, but he has a hold of the rubber band in my hair, and I am unable to release from his grip!  I stand there, staring at the ceiling, pleading with my toddler in a tone that attempts to be calm but forceful, hoping that I can simultaneously convince my toddler that I am serious without letting on to bystanders that I am not fully in control of the situation.  I briefly wonder what the other shoppers are thinking, as I can sense them going by me, but I cannot see them to judge their reactions.  So as my toddler continues to pull painfully on the rubber band, sliding it out of my hair at an excruciatingly slow rate, I instead think about all of the things I have given up control of in order to be a parent.


Every parent has a similar list:  When (if) I get to sleep and for how long.  What I eat (given up when nursing, and then again later when menu planning becomes based on what will elicit the least screams of “I don’t like that!”)  How I decorate my house (think goodbye romantic candles and artful placement, hello baby locks and padding on the walls).  When I go to the bathroom, and how many people come with me.  How much snot is on my shirt at any given moment.  I could go on, but you know what I’m talking about.  Now on the third kid, I am no longer surprised by the list.  I have fully accepted the loss of control in all areas of my life.  Or so I thought.


Somehow, unwittingly, I had taken for granted that I would maintain control of which direction my head faces at all times.  But as I studied the WinCo ceiling, I realized that even this was no longer in my control.  And so I stood there, waiting, until he finished removing the rubber band, and I was able to right my head again.  I gave my neck a brief stretch, and then reached up behind me and politely asked my toddler for the rubber band.  He obligingly handed it to me, wet with drool, and I stuffed it in my pocket.  And then I finished shopping, now with a hairdo that could only say “This woman has truly lost it.”  And so I have.

All in a Day's Work

You know those charts that tell you how many calories you burn for each activity you undertake?  (For example:  30 minutes of biking = 185 calories; 1 hour of gardening = 345 calories.)  I have occasionally glanced at those charts, but have never found them particularly relevant for my life.  For one thing, they assume that you are engaged in the activity for an uninterrupted period of time, something unheard of in the life of a mom.  For another, they assume all of the activities are done by yourself, without any small children strapped to you, being pushed by you, or working against you at every turn.  

After returning exhausted from my most recent trip to the grocery store, I came up with the idea of doing my own calorie-burning analysis for a mom of small children.  A quick Google search led me to the activity chart at nutristrategy.com.  Using the data for a 130-pound person, I listed a few of my typical activities and paired them with the activities from the chart that seemed most equivalent.  Below are the results.

Grocery shopping: pushing a cart loaded to the brim with a 40-pound child riding on the end of the cart, while carrying a 30-pound child strapped to your back

Equivalent to:

    Climbing hills, carrying 21-41 pounds (472 calories)

    Pushing plane in and out of hanger (354 calories)

Total calories expended: 826

Running errands: lifting a large stroller in and out of the car at every stop; using your entire body weight to force your resisting toddler into the carseat multiple times

Equivalent to:

     Loading, unloading car (177 calories)

     Pushing stroller, walking with children (148 calories)

     Wrestling (354 calories)

Total calories expended: 679

Doing laundry: pushing your children across the house in the laundry basket, at top speed, while shouting “Choo-choo!” to bribe them into giving you the basket; sifting through clothing to remove firmly embedded bark, rocks, and other playground treasures; sprinting to put the clothes away before your toddler unfolds them all

Equivalent to:  

     Housework, moderate (207 calories)

     Running, training, pushing wheelchair (472 calories)

     Coal mining, general (354 calories)

Total calories expended: 1,033

Vacuuming the house:  picking up piles of toys and clothing from every inch of the house in order to uncover the floor; navigating around playing children as you clean

Equivalent to:   

     Shoveling snow by hand (354 calories)

     Farming, baling hay, cleaning barn (472 calories)

     Ballroom dancing, fast (325 calories)

Total calories expended: 1,151

Serving dinner to your family: serving food; continually jumping up from your chair and running back and forth to the kitchen; cutting food into small pieces; bending down repeatedly to pick up food and cup that toddler drops on the floor 

Equivalent to:  

     Farming, feeding small animals (236 calories)

     Circuit training, minimal rest (472 calories)

Total calories expended: 708

General parenting:  mediating arguments and directing behavior;  issuing consequences; chasing down struggling, screaming children and forcing them into time-out; continuously searching the house for your toddler and removing him from high-up surfaces

Equivalent to:  

     Police, directing traffic, standing (148 calories)

     Police, making an arrest (236 calories)

     Boxing, sparring (531 calories)

     Hunting, small game (295 calories)

Total calories expended: 1,210

Grand total for all of these activities:  5,607 calories!  

I spend as many as 4,456 calories on a given day!!!  And that doesn’t even include the more mundane daily activities: Carrying small children (177 calories); Bakery, light effort (148 calories); Farming, grooming animals (i.e., bath time) (354 calories); General cleaning (207 calories); Standing, playing with children, light (165 calories); Juggling (236 calories).  These add up to another 1,287 calories, which brings my new grand total to as many as 6,894 calories burned per day!!!

Clearly a 2,000-calorie-per-day diet is alarmingly insufficient for a mother of small children.  I suddenly suspect that I am malnourished.  I am nowhere near to meeting my daily caloric requirements!  I had better go eat something very calorie-dense - perhaps a flourless chocolate cake with raspberry mousse filling, chocolate ganache icing, and whipped cream on top…just off the top of my head.  (And no, I did not leave out “slice.”)  Not because I want to, of course, but for my health.  After all, it has taken me 89 calories just to type this, and it seems I have none to spare!

Stuffie Warfare

This was written about two months after the original island posts, in January 2011...

New terrors are threatening the island!  This no longer feels like an ordinary Survivor episode…  Have we been bumped over to Fear Factor?  Is this some sort of crazy merging of shows?  Have the network execs yet to learn that combo shows are never the answer?

Large and Medium Native have teamed up in a most terrifying way.  Last night while I was away from the island (only for an hour, I swear!), the Chief was bathing Small Native and kept hearing loud and disturbing noises from the larger natives’ room.  When they emerged a short time later, all smiles, he asked what they were playing.  Without batting an eye, Large Native explained that their Stuffies (stuffed animals) had been very naughty.  The Stuffies hid Medium Native’s new baby doll, so they were all receiving punishment.

“Stuffies”?  What is that, British?  “Punishment”?  We never even use that word in our house!  (We prefer the euphemism “consequence.”)  Where have the natives learned this behavior?  Are they secretly being transported to another household during the night?  And if so, isn’t it about time that their other family started contributing to the food budget around here?

It only gets worse…  It turns out that “punishing the Stuffies” involves kicking them, punching them, throwing them against walls, and generally breaking their spirits.  And the natives do this with much glee.

Our initial reaction was to play this low-key, and hope that a new game is found soon.  That decision grew very difficult this morning as I was trying to get all of the natives ready to leave for school.  Large Native, a very sweet, beautiful, compassionate little thing when the island does not have hold of her, looks at Medium Native with an oatmeal box in her hands and says “This food is for the Stuffies who didn’t hide the baby.  The others just get punished!”  and “Don’t punish the Stuffies without me!  Let me help punish them and wait until after school.”  I am concerned we are in violation of the Geneva Convention.

I fear that some strange island phenomenon is causing this sociopathic behavior.  Is it a virus?  Something in the water?  Tainted food?  Small Native seems generally unaffected, although on second thought, he did throw his stuffed animal out of the car in a parking lot the other day…was he trying to land it under the wheels?  Only one other thought occurs to me, and it is no less terrifying…what if the Stuffies really are naughty, and are committing their own atrocities when no one is looking?  What if the natives are really on our side, and are the only thing standing between us and Stuffie warfare? 

Only two things are certain:  The Chief is right when he says that kindergarten justice is terrifying.  And we will both be sleeping with one eye open tonight.

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Seven - ESCAPE!

Finally escaped the island yesterday! Tricked Grandma into watching the natives while I went to the doctor. Felt strange leaving the house unencumbered, a full 110 lbs. lighter than usual. Spent twenty minutes alone in the car, without a string of “why” questions, or “Wheels on the Bus” playing on repeat. Didn’t know other songs still existed. Took a book along as a little piece of indulgence for the waiting room. Was able to read three pages, with interruptions, before the doctor saw me. It was heavenly. How did I find the only doctor’s office that runs on time? Note to self: Must switch to less efficient practice. Left armed with a diagnosis of sinus infection/bronchitis, with a bit of viral-induced asthma. Scored some super-antibiotics and an inhaler. Was also told to get plenty of rest and fluids. (Hee hee hee! 17 hours later, and still laughing…hee hee hee! Wait…you don’t think the 72 hours last week without sitting down or finishing a glass of water are related, do you? Hee hee hee! ) Now reading this and thinking perhaps I have been pushed over the edge to hysteria.

Returned to the island. Grandma helped bathe large natives while I prepped dinner. Relearning how to cook dinner is difficult, but also a welcome change from the standard island cuisine (PBJ, mac & cheese, and frozen pizza). Took Small Native to Water Babies class (a great way to help even the littlest native become comfortable in the water…Small Native has already learned to stand in, crawl in, and try to climb out of his tub at home…very useful). Grandma and larger natives stayed behind and picked up the entire house and set the table for dinner. (The natives would have required me to do a very undignified tribal dance to get this kind of result! How does Grandma do it?!)

Have decided to turn the island over to Grandma. Clearly she is the right one for this job. Chief is standing today, so I am sure she will have help soon. Where shall I escape to next? Maybe the dentist…45 minutes lying down in a chair…sounds amazing…

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Six - BONUS ROUND

For those of you who said you wished the island could continue…you got your wish. After a brief return yesterday, the Chief is now settled back in bed with a nasty cold.  I am alone on the island again. If experience has proven anything, the Chief will be down and out for three days while I run myself into exhaustion. Upon improving, he will disappear to the business world to catch up on a week of missed work. This should coincide with my coming down with the illness, and remaining trapped on the island with sick natives.

Meanwhile, island life must go on. Had to take Large Native to kindergarten against her will today, as she proclaimed that it is “too hard.” This from the native who writes out triple-digit addition problems in her spare time. Medium Native wanted to go to school today, but does not have preschool until tomorrow. Cut the “But today is tomorrow!” conversation short, as I now know from last week that an hour of discussion will not alter his skewed perception of time. Instead, helped Medium Native do turkey craft sent home from preschool. Supposed to write down words he is thankful for on turkey’s feathers. Turkey’s feathers say: “Turkey, Cars, Chickens, Movies, Eyes, Family.” (Manipulation may have been involved in getting him to say “family”.) 

The savage nature of island life is starting to affect Small Native strongly. Have always thought the term “ankle-biter” was funny. Not funny when it is literal. The island (and its inhabitants) are now his teething ring. Trying to figure out what to instruct the larger natives to do when they find themselves being chewed on. In addition, he has learned to open the gate to the bathing area, a feat no other native has accomplished until age 3. Would like to do more baby-proofing, but am pretty sure if I am able to find a latch mechanism that he can’t figure out, I won’t be able to figure it out, either.

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Five - Return of the Chief

Came home from church and found the Chief waiting in the front yard. Happiness! Was expecting to keep going with another round of lunch-making and child-maneuvering to help the Chief rest, since he is tired, jet-lagged, and sick, but I suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired. Larger natives ended up going with grandparents to their church this morning, and are still there for lunch. Chief is now out picking up a sandwich for our lunch, and a mocha for me. (A small confession…my time on the island has caused me to, once again, become addicted to mochas. Have driven through to pick one up each day. When the natives ask what we are doing, I say “Mommy needs a special drink.” This will come up in their therapy later in life.)

Since I have stopped attending Tribal Council, I am uncertain of my status in the competition. However, since $1,000,000 has failed to show up on my doorstep, I assume that I did not win. I am expected to have many nice things to say about my time on the island, and how the experience was its own reward. I will not say these things. I was robbed of that prize. Show me a mom who did better, and I will show you a mom who put Valium in the water supply. Yes, the thought occurred to me, too, but I didn’t do it! (Couldn’t find any Valium on my island.) 

I would like to take this opportunity, however, to thank all of you who have helped out in various ways. You sent warm wishes, offered to pick things up from the store, offered to come help out, brought your own natives over to distract mine, dropped off food or coffee, helped me wrestle carseats in the dark, and most importantly, listened to my rants. For those of you who helped, please don’t be insulted that you did not make the Survivor journal…it is only because your kindnesses are simply not as laughable as my struggles. Also thank you to those who have said they enjoyed reading my entries. I really do appreciate that, although I can take little of the credit. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Sappiness done. And I’m afraid my island journal entries are done, too. As of yesterday, I found myself starting to call the natives by their island names. Pretty sure that will be detrimental over time. 

My real reward is that the chief has returned…and I would take him over $1,000,000 any day.

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Five

Final Challenge: Must get three natives fed, dressed, groomed, and out the door by 9:40am. This would seem easier than getting them out the door at 8am, but it is not. The later time allows for loss of focus, and will require constant redirection toward our goal. This will be most difficult. Also must finish returning island to inhabitable state. Must then work in the nursery at church, watching other small natives while Small Native fusses because he would rather be home napping. Larger natives will be trapped in the nursery with us, having nowhere else to go. Must keep larger natives from stepping on small natives.

Already behind because I once again failed to wake up early enough to get myself ready before natives awoke. Will now have to somehow shower and dress while Small Native is wandering the island. Must reinforce temporary blockade around communications area, and hope he is unable to breach the perimeter.

Already losing points because I am typing this instead of feeding them breakfast. Must succeed in this challenge if I am to win the competition! Only hours left to go until a winner is declared!

An Excerpt from the Survivor Transcript

This conversation took place while larger natives were making shapes with edible dough in the dining room, and I was mixing up more edible dough colors in the kitchen.

Medium Native: Look, I made a cookie!
Me: That’s great.
MN: I made a cookie!
Me: Nice cookie.
MN: See, Mommy? It’s a cookie!
Me: I do see it. It’s great.
MN: I made a cookie!
Me: Got that. You know you can make other shapes, too. You don’t have to make cookies.
MN: I made a cookie!
Me: Mmm-hmm.
MN: Look, I made a submarine!
Me: Wow, that’s great.
MN: I made a submarine!
Me: I love submarines.
MN: I made a submarine!
Me: Good job. That’s exciting.
MN: I made a submarine!
Me: I heard. Terrific.
MN: It’s a submarine cookie!
Me: Perfect. 
MN: I made a submarine cookie!
Me: That’s great.
MN: I made a submarine cookie!
Me (testing the hypothesis that I was not an integral part of this conversation, and that since the nature of my responses were, in fact, irrelevant, I could say whatever I wished): Maybe it will come to life!
MN (with much glee): It will come to life? My submarine will come to life? Yay! 
Me (internally): (Dang.)
Large Native: What is life?

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Four - UPDATE

Managed to squeeze in a shower while Small Native napped and other natives watched Bob the Builder. Even shaved legs! Bonus points for that! Emerged with clearer mind and, without natives currently clamoring for attention, was finally able to survey the island itself. Destruction. Desolation. Debris covers the land, and I can actually see imaginary tumbleweed balls blowing across. This was hardly Paradise Island to begin with, but now it looks like something from a Will Smith action movie. Has the Fresh Prince been here?! Is that who set my watch back?!

With a sinking feeling, begin to realize how many business items have piled up while focusing exclusively on the natives for two days. School sign-ups are delinquent. Financial accounts need urgent juggling. Emails requiring replies are days overdue. Reference letter I have been composing in my head needs to make it to paper. Favorite uncle’s birthday card is so late, it may now be more appropriate to wait for next year. Sigh. Pretty sure Small Native’s technological capabilities are more than sufficient for him to help me with some of these items. Too bad he is working for the other side.

Side note: Marx was wrong; religion is not the opiate of the masses, Bob the Builder is. Trust me on this. Must get more work done before natives emerge from Bob-induced coma.

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Four - ANARCHY

As expected, the island inhabitants are crumbling today. Now on Day Four, hope is fading. The distraction of Borrowed Native is gone, and the reality of our situation is hitting the natives hard.

Large Native has produced a constant stream of venom since she woke up. Was she attacked by a poisonous snake during the night? Can’t find any bite marks. She was sent to the isolation area after kicking Medium Native. When I went to retrieve her, she proceeded to berate me loudly for the insult of having been sent to the isolation area twice already this morning. Clearly this was unrelated to her actions, and is a cruelty on my part. She is now in quarantine until I can be sure her affliction will not infect the other islanders.

Medium Native takes a different tactic. Rather than shouting and arguing, he simply issues a polite “no” to my requests and walks off to another part of the island. I should probably address this behavior, but I find it rather refreshing at the moment.

Small Native has been identified as a saboteur. Multiple times yesterday I came across my communication center in disarray. Papers were scattered on the floor, keyboard was skewed, mouse hung down in a threatening fashion. Found Outlook open in three different windows on the main screen (I don’t even use Outlook). Window sizes of various programs were altered. Gmail was open, with a draft message all in gibberish (or was it code?), but a valid addressee in the “to” box. A window I have never seen before, with the phrase “Developer Tools” at the top, was open, and “file not found” (all in red) was repeated hundreds of times on the screen. Comcast service went out on the island last night, and it was a full half hour before I realized it was not Small Native’s doing. Although he may have been in league… 

9:24am. Natives are dressed and breakfasted, but not pottied and groomed. I opted for extra sleep and missed my window to clean up and dress. Will have to forgo those luxuries today.

Large Native is calling that she is ready to be released from quarantine. Suspect it is a trap, but must check it out…

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Three - Tribal Council Results

Have no idea what Tribal Council results are for tonight. Too tired to go. Is disqualified better than voted off?  Whatever.

Borrowed Native left the island with his grandparents this afternoon. Wish him and his new baby sister the best. Hope I am coherent enough in the morning to remember where he went, and that I don't panic and start searching under sofas for him.

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Three - UPDATE

WE MADE IT!!! Feel exhilarated. Or is that light-headed? Slightly shaky? I'm sure it’s fine.

The tribe organized to challenge my authority and impede our exit this morning. One native threw a tantrum on the bathroom floor. One native dumped a milky cereal bowl upside-down on top of his head. One native threatened to step on me and make me dead.

But I prevailed! Checked my wristwatch at 7:45am. Right on schedule! I called all natives to put on shoes and coats. Then looked at the hall clock and saw that it was actually 7:55am. Somehow my watch had been set back 10 minutes since yesterday! SABOTAGE!!! There must be other inhabitants on this island.  (If there are, I wish they would step forward and help out! Kind of understand why they wouldn’t, though.)

Still made school drop-off and eye doctor appointment on time! Grateful to have an optometrist who is also a mom friend. While she may not have appreciated the medium natives removing the rubber grippers from the back of her exam chair, she was at least not surprised.

Off to put Small Native to nap, and then maybe it is time to pull out a video. I have always scoffed at the children’s DVDs that come with the “autoplay” feature (when you put in the DVD, it automatically starts playing all previews followed by main show, and then plays on a continuous loop for eternity). I have always smugly thought, “Where are the parents of these children sitting in front of autoplay?” Now I know…the parents are stranded on an island, with no hope of rescue, and autoplay is the only way to save the natives' lives…

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Three

It’s amazing what 8 hours of sleep can do for the soul. God bless the sleeping natives! I intend to reclaim my status on the island…not getting voted off yet!!!

Must get all five of us out of the house by 8:00. Large Native to school, then remaining natives loaded into the car and to the eye doctor by 8:30. Everyone must be fed, dressed, pottied, groomed first. 

Off we go!

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Two - Failure is Imminent

I fear paranoia is beginning to set in. I found items in my dishwasher that I don’t remember loading. Are there other inhabitants on the island?

Had to clean Large, Medium, and Small Natives tonight. Borrowed Native did not wish to be cleaned, and since he did not come with cleaning instructions, I let it be. Large Native wished to clean herself. Usually I require some sort of parental involvement or at least a check-in to ensure cleanliness. Tonight the voice in my head said, “How can she come out any dirtier?” I like the new voice. Much more fun than the old ones.

Bedtime preparation took 2+ hours and was exhausting. Last native was in his camp at 8:15. Couldn’t have made it another moment. Finished cleaning up dinner, wrestled another carseat into our car, got out baby food for tomorrow, and was ready to finish mandatory paperwork and head to bed. Then realized that tomorrow is waste pickup day. All waste must be moved to the dropsite by tomorrow, or it will pile up on the island for another week and throw the island’s entire waste-removal system off in perpetuity. Aside from losing a native, no bigger failure could take place than to miss waste removal day.

Rounded up waste, delivered to container, and wheeled it out to the dropsite in the dark. While walking over wet leaves in the dark, remembered that tomorrow is also leaf removal day. Leaf removal day only comes every two weeks. Leaves have already been accumulating for several weeks. The old voices came back, and I briefly contemplated getting out a rake and moving wet leaves to pick up location in the dark. Decided instead to take it as another hit at Tribal Council.

No vote was taken tonight, but I am pretty sure I will be voted off of the island tomorrow. Wonder who will take my place. Whoever they find, I hope that she is pretty. Not sure why.

Feeling disheartened by the failures starting to rack up, but taking comfort in the fact that all of the natives fell asleep nearly instantly tonight. Glad to know this wears them out, too. Also confident that I will sleep well tonight, provided all natives stay in their camps. Reminding myself that the object of the game is to survive, not excel.

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Two - UPDATE

The natives grow restless...

The morning went smoothly, and then hunger set in. Foraged for food. One native required a PB&J. One native required a grilled cheese. One native required a mayo sandwich, cheese on the side. One native required purees and small pieces of banana…spoon-fed. The tribe became overly excited by eating together, and eating turned into playing with food. This culminated in one piece of mayo-covered bread being rubbed all over the eating surface. Used the lollipops provided by Medium Native’s preschool teacher as incentive to finish food. Do not feel the slightest bit guilty. Discovered much later that a significant portion of food ended up on the floor. Don’t know if Small Native discovered it, or how many new foods he may have exposed himself to.

Scarfed down my own grilled cheese, and discovered we were already late for naptime. Had to clean up massive piles of toys to uncover napping surfaces. Natives refused to help. Threats were issued without much effect. Natives were ushered through pottying. Tribal mood became tense. With much difficulty, three natives were put to nap sequentially, miraculously without tears. Large Native was unable to nap as we were now out of sleeping areas. Did some rushed cleanup, then took 5 minute power nap on the sofa while Large Native wrote and solved her own math problems. Feel refreshed! Wonder if I can take credit for Large Native's math prowess without having had any direct involvement in it?

Borrowed Native bit his own lip. No unsafe situations or other natives seem to have been involved, and crying was momentary. However, blood was spilled. Wondering how many points I will lose for that. Pretty sure point loss doubles for a native that is borrowed.

All natives are now up from nap. Three larger natives are now watching Bob the Builder. Small Native has been given a sippy cup of water to cart all around the house, because it makes him content. I have also neglected to remove his pacifier post-nap. Still no guilt. Perhaps I have lost my guilt center? I didn’t think that was possible for a Mom…

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day Two - SHOCKING TWIST!

Another medium-sized native was dropped off on the island in the middle of the night! New challenge: Continue with all of current activities while settling Borrowed Native on the Island, assimilating him into the tribe, and keeping him alive until his parents return home from the hospital with his new baby sister.

Must complete challenge in sleep-deprived state…only slept from 1-4:30am last night. The more you know you need the sleep, the harder it is to sleep. The silence of the island kept me up. Regular coke for dinner might not have helped, either.

Finally gave up on snoozing at 5:56am, and debated whether I could risk a shower. Borrowed Native was already coughing and stirring. Feared he would leave the Island in search of his parents while I was in the shower. Small Native was also squeaking intermittently. 

Decided to compromise: take a quick shower, but not enjoy it. Was washing my hair when I heard a bedroom door open. Jumped out of the shower to intercept Borrowed Native in the hall and guide him to the potty. Borrowed Native complained about the water I had dripped on the floor. Sigh.

Trying to keep Borrowed Native quiet in a secluded area of the island while the other natives get a few more minutes of sleep.

Is it just me, or is this challenge just an obvious ploy for ratings?!

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day One - Tribal Council Results

Today’s challenges were completed, although I think I am only scraping by. 
Time to spare before start of school when Large Native was dropped off: 0 seconds. 
Time Medium Native spent staring at a TV screen: 1 hour. 
Time spent trying to get Small Native to eat a balanced meal before giving him whatever food elicited the least screams: 10 minutes. (Maybe less.)
Time it took to make the school’s tribe leader suspect that I am nuts: 5 seconds.

Had to go to a neighboring island to pick up Large Native’s glasses. It was already nearly 6 o’clock when we headed back to our camp, so we picked up McDonald’s for dinner. Pretty sure I lose points for that. I did order apple slices in place of fries. They gave us fries instead.

Tribal Council results: I have not been voted off, but Grandpa and Grandma have left the island. There may be an additional resource taken away tomorrow…perhaps my sanity. 

Must put out the campfire and rest up for tomorrow’s challenge…

Survivor - Mom Edition: Day One - UPDATE

Fatigue is setting in earlier than expected. The day is less than half over. Decaf coffee is not providing enough mental kick. Weighing the pros and cons of scouring the island for caffeine.

Pro: I really, really need caffeine.
Con: Small Native could be up all night.
Pro: But he might not.
Con: But if he is, you’ll be up all night.
Pro: Then I must find enough caffeine to last all night.
Con: Then you will be worse off tomorrow.
Pro: Then I need to find an arsenal of caffeine.
Con: That could endanger Small Native’s health.
Pro: You really think so?
Con: Possibly. And that would certainly disqualify you from this contest.
Pro: Sigh.
Con: Try a nap.
Pro: Island rules prohibit any two children from napping at the same time. Therefore, nap is not an option for me.
Con: Try jogging in place to energize yourself.
Pro: HA! And HA!
Con: Jumping jacks?
Pro: I’ll just have one cup.
Con: We both know it’s a gateway cup. 
Pro: There are other forms of caffeine on this island, you know. No one would be the wiser.
Con: Such as?
Pro: It’s just after Halloween! CHOCOLATE!
Con: I can get on board with that.