Lately Adele has been saying things that have me cracking up, like, while looking at a family photo album last night, I pointed to a picture of my cousin Matthew (when he was a baby), and asked: "who is this?" not really expecting her to know. But quickly she shot back her answer:
"George," she said, which is a boy in her class, who looks similar to how Matthew looked when he was a baby. I laughed so hard I couldn't contain myself.
And when she asked for a boo-boo pop (which is a teether stored in the freezer used at school and at home for injuries and low grade fevers) after bopping herself repeatedly in the head with her xylophone mallet.
{Bops self on the head 2-3 times with xylophone mallet}
Me: "Adele, please don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."
{continues to bopp her head}
Adele: "I want a boo-boo pop." (for her injury, which was self-inflicted)
They say being a parent requires patience.
It also requires letting go of most of your expectations of how a certain task will go, such as dinner, or bath time, or a play date. Since becoming a mom I have cultivated these highly desired skills that I thought were only found in mythical creatures I read about or watched on TV: patience and letting go of expectations.
I know most people who know me assume I can't fly by the seat of my pants. Things require careful planning. Itineraries are great. I love Google calendars. I book my travel, my babysitters, my plans with friends, months in advance. I like everything to be just so. Sometimes that kind of planning is necessary. And sometimes it's nice. And sometimes I enjoy it.
But then: toddler.
Now don't get me wrong, we are great with our routines. Routines are an important part of childrearing. But do we always, always stick with them? No. Because that's just life.
Adele usually goes to bed at 7 p.m. But sometimes we're at a friend's house past 7 p.m. Adele usually eats at the table. But sometimes Mommy needs to keep her sanity after a long day at work, and Adele won't - just won't - sit in her booster seat and there is thrashing and screaming - and eating in the living room in front of the TV provides that sanity.
Adele usually eats balanced meals. But sometimes she just eats two bananas. Or an apple. And sometimes she just eats Goldfish.
Adele usually listens to us. "One more book and then it's bedtime."
"We don't throw balls in the house."
"Make gentle to Campbell."
"Please use your words, and say 'please' and 'thank you'"
But sometimes, toddler. Just toddler.
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| Photo by Lloyd Wolf |
I'm completely fine with letting go of some expectations, especially about plans and timing. Because there are naps and dirty diapers and runny noses. With a toddler, things come up. I let myself enjoy this. Because if I didn't, I wouldn't get by.
There are non-negotiables, of course. Safety and health, first and foremost. But when it comes to everything else, as long as she's HAPPY, SAFE AND HEALTHY I am OK. I enjoy the craziness. I really do. I know you may not believe me, but I do. I love it. It adds (more) color to my world. It causes my heart to flourish. It's rewarding. In ways I couldn't even begin to describe. If I were to explain it as it were an illustration, it is a large, forever growing picture of a flower, long, flowy petals, twirling round and round, bursting with color. Curly and growing. All the time. Filling up the page, expanding beyond the page. That is also motherhood to me. A continuously flourishing flower. My heart and soul on a piece of paper, always growing, always surprised, new colors added every day. Colors I had never seen before. That is motherhood, and everything that comes with it: new colors, swirling petals.
And we are so lucky and blessed. Adele is a happy and healthy baby. And boy, is she smart! She sings, she "reads", she plays with her dollies, she builds with her blocks, she can brush her teeth and use the potty, she shares with her friends, she giggles uncontrollably. She is a joy. A squishy, joyous joy.
She knows how much she is loved. As long as there is love, other things can slide. And now a few thoughts on toddlerhood lately, as Adele is now 21 months!
On getting out the door in the morning:
Adele has to go through every single item in the pantry to pick out a snack for the three-minute car ride, even if she just finished breakfast, or is still eating breakfast. Some items she's chosen are a jar of jam, Hanukkah candles, and margarita mix. We finally settle on graham crackers or Cheerios or a Kashi bar, something that can be transported.
On taking care of Mama:
Adele makes sure I have my water during dinner, shares her dinner and snacks, and nighttime bottles, with me. When I tell her something is mine, she will grab it and hand it to me.
On helping:
Adele wants to do everything herself and/or everything like Mama does, from cutting the food on her plate and emptying out her potty (don't touch that!) to pouring the Cheerios from the container into the plastic bowl. It's incredibly endearing. She wants to help with everything. Every.THING. I love it, but it also creates a lot of effort where effort otherwise would not exist.
My bad for giving her an egg to help with breakfast. I told her, "Here, hold this egg, very carefully and do not let it drop. Mommy will use it for making breakfast."
Even before I could finish my sentence, she dropped the egg.
So I gave her the very important task of sorting uncooked kidney beans in Tupperware containers. I gave her a few containers, a few beans, and some large mixing spoons. She got to work, moving the beans from container to container, and handed me the spoons to "help" with breakfast. That lasted about 10 minutes (enough for me to make scrambled eggs), until she started putting the beans in Campbell's water dish, or all over the floor, and I had to clean them up. However, even the tiniest victory of creating an on-the-spot task for a toddler, in which I actually had time to make something using the stove, was considered a mom win.
On mom wins:
I do have a lot of mom wins. I do. Getting through the hardest tasks are considered mom wins for me. Just like getting her shoes and socks on each day, getting her into the car after school, getting her to wash her hands upon entering and leaving the classroom, and getting her to actually sit in her booster seat at the table for a meal.
Getting on the shoes and socks: I show her that Mommy gets on her own shoes and socks, and asks if she wants to do it herself or have Mommy do it.
Getting her into the car: food.
Getting her to wash hands at school: almost impossible. Because first we have to roll her sleeves. And then she can't decide if she wants to use the pink princess foam soap or the blue liquid soap. And then we decide. And then once it's on her hands it's the wrong soap. And then there is crying and wiping said soap all over Mommy's work pants. Then we use the other soap. And then there may be some more crying. Eventually we get the soapy hands under the faucet, after, of course, Adele adjusts the temperature exactly to her liking. And then at first she doesn't want to dry her hands. Mommy gets some paper towels. But Adele wants to do it herself, so those paper towels go to waste. And now it's been 35 minutes.
Other mom wins include having her ACTUALLY HELP me with housework, and I don't mean sorting kidney beans. I mean, she helps mop up messes on the kitchen floor, she helps transport laundry from the washer to the dryer. She brings Campbell his bones and closes his crate door when he's in there and it's time for us to go.
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| Photo by Lloyd Wolf |
And other times, I am just completely and utterly depleted and defeated. When every attempt at peace and cooperation is met with absolute chaos - screaming, throwing items on the floor (most notably food, and most notably breakfast 60 percent of mornings.)
Like any mom (I suppose), I try out many different options. When Adele was first introduced to the world of breakfast (and of all meals, for that matter), my food never failed her. Anything I handed to her, she ate. And she ate all of it, to the point I was running from table to fridge to freezer to microwave, trying to find additional food to fill her plate with.
And then toddler happened. Breakfast used to go rather smoothly, with Adele and I quietly sharing our oatmeal, giggling, trading spoons.
And then oatmeal wasn't welcome at the table. So I found solace with other items she would eat: applesauce and yogurt. We did that for a few weeks.
And somehow along the way, breakfast turned into flinging food all over the kitchen, or eating upstairs in the Pack N' Play while watching "TD."
Finally, today, I was sick of the battle.
I sat her down in her booster seat at the kitchen table. I gave her sliced plums (which she loves), her toddler organic yogurt (which at one point she loved because there is a baby on the package), a graham cracker, a "big girl cup" with a little bit of milk, and her water sippy cup. There were going to be no more negotiations. No more "I'll literally give you anything you will put in your mouth, even if it's just Goldfish."
No more.
I put the food in front of her.
"This is breakfast," I said. "This is what we're eating today."
(Keep in mind it's clear my child doesn't starve - as you can see from her juicy cheeks and thighs which I like to kiss incessantly.)
My plan was met with pure and utter chaos.
I normally keep my cool as the food flies. I remind myself that she is a toddler. That food can be picked up. That it is OK. That if I remain calm, then she will be calm. That I CAN DEAL WITH THIS.
But today, Friday morning, Sean had been away since Wednesday, and all this past weekend, so I'd been balancing work and Adele and Campbell by myself. At this point in the game I was barely hanging on by a thread.
First she threw the plums.
And then the yogurt spoon. And what little bit of milk I had given her (in case of a spill), was all over the table.
Everything was thrown all over the kitchen, including the graham cracker, which I didn't even find until like 10 minutes later.
I took all the food away, and explained, calmly but sternly, that food that is thrown on the floor is taken away. That it is NOT acceptable to throw food on the floor.
I reiterated that we use words instead of screaming and crying, and that if we want something, to ask Mommy nicely.
After the food was off the table she proceeded to cry for probably five minutes, but it felt like 30 to me.
I stepped away from the scene. I had to calm myself down. I proceeded to make my coffee and clean up while she screamed at the top of her lungs.
*Deep breaths*
After letting her wallow for a little bit, I went over to her, spoke calmly and explained if we are to eat breakfast, we keep breakfast on the table.
I asked her if she wanted a spoon for her yogurt.
Yes.
The situation eventually evened itself out, and Adele placed the plum skins that she didn't want to eat on her plate instead of the floor, so that was a mini mom win. She ate her yogurt.
By the end of this session, I was depleted of all energy and sanity. I still had to get myself dressed and feed Campbell breakfast, and I still had to get Adele out the door, which is another 20-minute battle.
However, with a full tummy, getting her into the car (with her Elmo book) wasn't too hard a task. But by the time I drop her off at school (have her wash her hands, get her signed in, say "goodbye"), I head to my office. By 8 a.m. I am depleted. Defeated.
And without Sean, I do it all over again at 5 p.m.
I said in my most recent post that motherhood is a million decisions every day.
It's also a million little battles every day. Some we win. Some we lose. Some we choose not to fight at all. (Dinner last night was pizza I ordered, and we ate it in the living room while coloring and watching TV.)
But some battles are worth fighting, like making sure this little firecracker of mine actually EATS her breakfast every morning.
Motherhood: battles, choices, mom wins and mom fails. All wrapped up into one hour.
