Santa Baby

Last year, Santa was called "Ho-ho-ho." There were Ho-ho-hos every where, on the mantle, on the refrigerator, on the Christmas tree, at Mimi's house, in lots of front yards, even at the grocery store...and then one day... they were all gone. Ethan was especially concerned with his disappearance. "Ho-ho-ho?" he kept asking well into January.

This year, the memories started coming back to him when he saw the Halloween decor popping up in our neighborhood, in the stores and everywhere. "Ho-ho-ho!" he said. Wow, he remembers! I can see the resemblance...kind of. The bright colors, the neighborhood hype, the blow-up inflatables, the sudden and temporary themes blasted all over town.

This year we decided the kids should meet the real Ho-ho-ho himself. As we drove to the mall with the kids in the car, I felt a looming sense of guilt. I felt like I was driving my kids to be traumatized. They really had no preparation for it. I knew they wouldn't like it. It seemed mean. How could they like this? He's a big, strange man with long white hair, a burly beard hiding his face, and he's wearing a bright red suit with strange fluff all over it. To make matters worse, he is sitting in a strange, white cage-like construction. And their parents will walk them into the cage, put them in his arms and walk away, oddly smiling at them and waving, wondering why this isn't awesome.... Plus, I already feel bad about the "story". It has started. We're telling our kids that this man knows them, loves them, watches them, and will be sneaking into our house when we are asleep. Sigh. Merry Christmas, kids. Mommy and Daddy love you so much.

If I was thinking right and really on the ball, I would have introduced Santa gradually before asking them making them sit on his lap. Seems like I did the whole Santa thing backwards. That's me, I guess. Figuring things out after they've already gone wrong. The hard way seems to be the only direction I know most of the time.

As we approached him in the mall, I tried to use my cheerful, excited voice to point him out: "Look! It's Santa Clause, kids! Say hi! Santa is so nice! Let's go see Santa Clause!" Lol. When we finally made it to the front of the line, I walked Emma and Rodney walked Ethan closer to Santa. "Hi, Santa! Say hi, Emma." At this point, she was pulling back and sticking her bottom lip out. She looked so scared. "It's okay, baby. He's nice! See?" She started whining louder and getting red in the face. "Come on, Baby. Say hi! Let's sit on Santa's lap, okay? It's okay." I lifted her up into his lap as I told Santa that he may have to really hold her at the waist. Let's just get this over with, I thought. I stayed beside her for a few more seconds and said again in my most cheerful voice, "Santa is so nice! Hi, Santa!"

She looked at Santa, and through her petrified cries, bravely managed the words, "Hi, baby." Sweetest words ever spoken to a stranger.

Rodney placed Ethan on his other knee and he whined a little, but surprisingly sat there for several beats before he started trying to get down (being unrestrained) but the photographer managed to get a picture.

I lovingly decided that maybe they should have a few more encounters with Santa that didn't involve getting forced into his lap. So we went to the mall again for Christmas shopping and the kids just looked at him...just stood and stared without returning the friendly waves. Emma started to cry. Poor baby thought her mom was going to have the red, fluffy man hold her down again and stand there five feet away smiling at her terror. "Emma, you don't have to sit on his lap this time. We're just saying hi, okay? He is so nice, huh?" And then we moved on. She seemed relieved. After we got home, she ran to their picture with Santa that was sitting on our end table in the living room and said, "Hi, Sis Clause! Mmmmaa!"

The last time we saw Santa this year was with our friends, Necole and Colton. They invited us to come to the bank down the road from our house because Santa would be there giving out two dollar bills and cookies! So we went, again without intentions of sitting on his lap. This time Emma didn't cry, and Ethan didn't seem as afraid. Colton was very excited to sit on his lap and told him what he wanted for Christmas. I think that may have helped too. I gave Santa a high five as I held Emma and kept reassuring her that he was so nice and that he loved her. She just leaned her head on my shoulder and held on to me tight. I was proud of her for her improved nearness to Santa. Necole had Ethan and asked him if he wanted to go to Santa. He declined and pulled back toward Necole. But he was willing to give him a high five! Brave boy!

Santa talked Necole and me into sitting on his lap while we held the babies and Colton could stand in the middle. That way, we could get a free picture and the two dollar bill! I said no at first, but he kept insisting and patting his knee. So we did, and I think it did them good to see that their mother could sit on his lap, too... even when she didn't really want to.

Hostage Situation

Emma got sick on her first slumber party with her cousins. She must've picked up a bug somewhere in the few days before when we were out running all over town. I was shocked when my sister told me she vomited. That hasn't happened since White Rain. I felt terrible that my sister had to deal with that on her first time with them overnight. And I heard later that her kids got sick after mine left. :( Both Emma and Ethan's Christmas pajamas had to be washed. She told me that she'd given Emma a much needed bath that night without Ethan and that he had cried and cried outside the door. That was their first bath without the other since they have been taking a bath in the big tub. Amy said she thought it was odd that Emma didn't cry or whine because she had "been sick" all over their air mattress and must've been feeling awful. How ironic that it was Ethan who needed comforting outside the bathroom door, being worried and left alone without his other half.

Emma was running a high fever when we picked her up. We treated her symptoms and let her sleep with her daddy in our room when she got home. I was dreading the inevitable infection of Ethan. It's impossible to keep them separate. Well, not impossible I guess, but it makes things so much more difficult. I think I would probably need help, a sitter to be with my well child. Plus, they cry if they are isolated from the other for any amount of time, especially at bed time and especially if they know the other is near, being withheld. If I were to take Ethan into our room, or vise versa, for bedtime or make effort to keep him away from her for her entire sickness, I honestly believe it would cause her more stress in time of weakness and I can't stand that. At the same time, I feel like I am not protecting Ethan from this sickness that he will surely get if I don't remove him.

So he sleeps beside her in the crib even though she has a fever. And yes, a few days later, he came down with the same bug. By that time, Emma was better. But she also slept by her brother's side in his time of sickness. In the morning when I went in to check on them because they hadn't woken by 8:00, they were both sleeping so soundly and peacefully. They had both moved to the other end of the crib because Ethan had thrown up on their usual end. It smelled terrible. Poor babies. And then I looked closer and saw that Emma had throw-up all in her hair and  on her shirt. Ethan too. They are like hostages to the other's sickness. I cannot imagine being puked on. I was never puked on by my sister or any one else. But I wasn't a co-sleeping twin. I didn't live my life side-by-side with my sibling.

They didn't seem to mind being covered in puke, but I stripped them down, stripped their bed and put them in the bath tub immediately.

Even aside from the co-sleeping, they would still undoubtedly infect each other every time. They share sippy cups no matter how hard you try to keep them separate. They kiss and hug. They want to be right next to each other a lot, so who am I to keep them apart, to tell them, "No, you can't sleep with your brother tonight. Lay in there and cry all night. Don't touch your brother; don't breathe on him," etc.?

When they get older, things will be easier to explain. They will surely understand more about germs and sickness, and how to stay well. But for now, judge me not, I think it's best that they just endure toddler storms together, comfort each other in a way that I can't, help each other fight the same viruses, build immunity together.

Together, in sickness and in health.

Kacie's Story: "Kacies 1st time babysitting Emma and Ethan"

This post is written by Kacie Ashing:

Kacies 1st time babysitting Emma and Ethan

When I first got to the Garland's house, I thought to myself this is going to be fun. Later Aunt LeeAnn told me to feed them because it was their dinner time. I fed them Ethan ate really good. Emma did not. When LeeAnn started to leave Emma saw her mom and dad go out the door and she started to cry. Then I picked her up and walked her around and I was telling her its going to be okay. Later she stopped crying and we went in the living room and Emma ran to me and I picked her up and she went in the air. Ethan wanted to do that to. I let him. They both did that for a long time. Then we finally quit. We were all wore out. LeeAnn told me that I could go get a drink out of the garage if I wanted to. I decided I needed a drink. I put the babies in the kitchen right by the garage. I started to go in the garage and Emma had got up on the bar stool without me knowing. Then she flipped off. But surprisingly, it was before I was out the door to the garage. Emma was not screaming crying. She was just whining. So I picked her up and walked her around and was saying it's going to be okay again. She stopped whining. She had a red spot on the side of her leg. She did not hit her head. I was thankful for that. Then later I took them into their bedroom Ethan was whacking his drums. Emma was playing with her doll. We played in there for a while. Then later we went back to the living room. Emma was watching tv. I was letting Ethan click the button on my phone to turn the screen on. Justin Bieber was on there. I told Ethan that is Justin Bieber. Then he repeated it. It was so cute! Then both Emma and Ethan began to watch tv. I just sat in the chair and watched too! Later Emma came and got into my lap and was acting tired. Then Ethan came and got into my lap too! Then I thought they both must be getting sleepy. So I took them back into their bedroom we were all playing in their toddler bed. Emma was laying down and I decided to lay on Emmas tummy. Then I jumped up and said Peek a boo! both Emma and Ethan started to laugh. I did that over and over. Ethan would tell me to lay back down and do it again. It was funny! Later I took them back into the living room to wait till their mom and dad got home. But first I changed their diapers, brushed their teeth and put them into their pajamas. Later their mom and dad walked in. Emma jumped up and screamed. Then later Aunt LeeAnn took them to bed. Both babies gave me a hug before they went. Then me and LeeAnn and Rodney talked about what happened during the babysitting and they talked about the scary movie. Then later my mom walked in to pick me up. Then I went home and told my mom what happend on my first time babysitting.

Wax On, Wax Off!

I have dark hair, so I kind of have a little bit of dark-ish peach fuzz on my upper lip that I call my mustache. Embarrassing, right? Ew. It's not that noticeable, but I notice it and I hate it. I use those wax strips from Walmart or wherever, you know, the plastic ones that you heat with friction and then separate the two-ply plastic, apply...and then RIP them off! There's no better way to do it. It lasts for a long time, and it doesn't grow back prickly. Ahhh, I feel somewhat liberated from having shared this so publicly.  Well, semi-publicly. Not that many people read this little blog, so those of you who do are sort of like my anonymous, faceless family. :)  So there you have it. I wax my upper lip from time to time, lol.

So, one morning, I was just going about my business, getting ready to rid myself of the peach mustache and Emma and Ethan happened to be in the bathroom with me. They like hanging out in there when I'm getting ready, especially when I'm listening to music. I started rubbing the strip between my hands, heating it up, and that got their attention. They watched carefully as I quickly moved my hands back and forth to the beat of the song on my iPod. Then I pulled it apart and told them it was like a sticker, one of their favorite things.

"Sticker!" they said. They started reaching for the other half of it, wanting to use it themselves, I assume. "No, babies. Trust me, you want no part of this sticker," I said. I began pressing it on one side of my upper lip and rubbing it on really well. Then, I closed my eyes and braced myself--"UHHHNNN!!!" I growled as I RIPPED it off as quickly as I could in the opposite direction of the hair growth.

Both of my children had horrified expressions on their faces. "UHHHHH!!" Emma mocked.
"Hurts really bad!" Ethan noted. I laughed out loud at their reactions. They were just standing there side-by-side, staring at me in the mirror with their hands up by their faces, gripping the bathroom counter. I guess I have done this so many times that I didn't think of just how dramatic it could be for two little first-time observers. Emma looked really sad for me. So did Ethan. "Hurts really bad!" he repeated with the cutest little scrunched eyebrows.

"Yes, it does hurt really bad. But I'm okay," I smiled even though my eyes were watering from the sting.

Round two.

I repeated the process for the other side and I still had their full attention. I guess they were going to have to learn of the harsh realities that women put themselves through in the name of beauty some time. It might as well be now and it might as well be from me...right?

"MMMM!" I tried to control my outward response this time, but it is so ingrained in me...and it really does hurt really bad. This had become too much for Emma. She poked out her bottom lip and started to cry. What a sweet angel she is. "It's okay, baby! Mommy's okay. I should not hurt myself on purpose, huh?" It seemed really ridiculous as I imagined what she had just witnessed and what she could be thinking of it. Am I impressing on this little tiny girl too soon some sort of odd and morbid self-hatred that she'll never forget? Lol, I hope not.

I read an article the other day about a woman who had decided to start telling her daughter that she was beautiful. She started saying, "Sweetie, I'm feeling very beautiful today," and so on. She wanted to stop the hateful comments against herself and the perpetual dissatisfaction with herself from infecting her daughter when she reaches adulthood. I think it's a really good idea. People tell me all the time that Emma looks like me and I think she is the most beautiful girl in the world.

Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. I'm feeling very beautiful today. Go, me!

Sugar Baby

The first time Emma had something sweet was when she was about 2 months old. Rodney let her suck on a piece of watermelon...or was it cantaloupe? Anyway, her eyes got really big and she grabbed on with both hands and wouldn't let go. It was hilarious to see her so aggressive. When her daddy pried it away, she was devastated. So he gave it back.

Later, we let her have a bite of ice cream or a lick of an orange cream popsicle. She and Ethan are now hopelessly drawn with great magnetic force to every popsicle or ice cream bowl they ever see. Once on the playground, Emma spotted an old mini Blue Bell ice cream container in the gravel. She picked it up and immediately raised it to her mouth. She knew what that was--birthday party ice cream! I was watching from above on the big toy, so I caught her before she could taste the sticky, dirty vanilla--"EMMA, NO! That's dirty trash!" She threw the cup down hard and ran away, startled, irritated, humiliated.

If they see you having a treat, they each make a beeline to your side. One perches on the arm of your chair and the other crawls up in your lap. They lick their lips and open their mouths like little baby birds. They chant, "bite o' ice cream, bite o' ice cream, bite o' ice cream...mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm...." When you pull it back to take your turn, they pine and pine, stare at what remains of the popsicle, puff in and out, move their faces closer and closer. You'd think I'd give them some discipline for their bad manners. We all have our weakness. Theirs is sugar. Mine is them.

After the popsicle is gone, Ethan moves on, but Emma is terribly upset. She suddenly forgets how nice you were to share, and she focuses on how mean you were to run out. She starts in with the guilt trip. It's already gone? You take bigger bites! Isn't there any more??  Sugar is her kryptonite. Her bones turn to mush, causing her to drop to the floor in a puddle of despair. She may even bang her face on the carpet for extra effect. Then, she picks herself up and drags her limp body over to the couch and throws her upper body on the cushion, wailing and wailing in the highest pitch with her arms overhead like in one of those dramatic dying scenes from a black and white movie. Poor little damsel in distress. She looks out of the corner of her eye to see if I'm getting all of this. She is so expressive and sensitive like her momma. Her brows are pulled down and raised in the middle as if she is thinking, "OMG! I cannot believe this is happening to me! How will I ever live?"

I try not to laugh at my daughter when she's upset, but it's pretty funny. "Ohhh, I know. I'm so sorry, sugar baby," I say, and I really am.  I start jokingly telling her she is "going to have to face it. It's gone." Pretty soon, Ethan starts repeating me:

"Face it," he says. "All gone. Face it." Such a realist.

Emma starts getting over it very gradually. First, her brows relax, but she keeps wailing for several more minutes, hypnotized by the siren song. Soon, her mouth relaxes too and the pitch drops to her normal tone. A minute or two later, she's finally quiet. Defeated. No more cookies come, no more candy, no more orange cream popsicle.

Just Emma with a sugar hangover and an orange mustache.

Tubby Time-Out

Ethan acts up during baths and he thinks it's so funny. He stands up over and over and I harshly tell him to sit down over and over as I help him to his seat. Or he lays down over and over and I tell him to sit up over and over. I don't want him to slip and fall or get water in his ears, get swimmer's ear or something. I lift him up by the back of his head again and again and he laughs himself silly no matter how serious I try to look and sound. I have this fear of a "dry drowning" ever since I watched that Oprah episode of the 10 year old child who went swimming, unknowingly got water in his lungs and died hours later of suffocation. I can't imagine a tragedy like that. Actually, I imagine tragedies like that more often than anyone should. They say information is power, but information can also be terrifying.

If he slips and falls, gets water in his nose, or gets choked on water from his antics, it's very scary for him and me, and he immediately panics, stands up and wants his mommy. I would think that would teach him to heed his mother's warnings. But it doesn't.

Nothing I say upsets him, and none of my threats have any value. One time, I swatted his butt during his game, and he didn't even seem to notice. He just kept right on breaking tubby rules and laughing all the way.  A little red mark appeared on his little butt where I'd swatted him, and I felt terrible. I knew that had to have stung, but he didn't show it. Still laughing like a little hyena. Emma even joins in sometimes too. They are in the tubby and that's like home base. They seem to know that time-out is not happening because I can't just leave one in the tub alone or put them in the time-out crib soaking wet. And time-out after the bath doesn't happen either. I have to hurry and get their diapers back on and get them dressed before they pee all over the house. By the time I have them dressed, the time-out I promised in the tub is long forgotten or feels too removed from the incident.

Tonight I decided to try something new, a tubby time-out. He started his laying down game and I told him he's gonna get time-out in the tubby if he does it again. Of course, he did it again. So I lifted his head as usual, and slid him in his seated position to the corner of the tub and the wall. "Tubby time-out," I said. I held him in place with his nose in the corner for probably about 20 seconds. He cried and cried just like he does in regular time-out. I kept tubby-time-out shorter than regular time-out since I was having to hold him in place. I felt a little like a bully on the play ground as I did it. But he seemed to see after two tubby time-outs that Mommy was winning the game now and it was no longer fun. 

Mommy-1

Ethan-50

Game over. Mommy wins!