Bawkin' Bunny

We were just pushing our cart up to the back of a long line at the grocery store, and Ethan had already honed in on the candy.

"Mom, you should get us some of that candy. Because you never let us have candy. You always say no. So we never, ever get candy."

"Well, that's because I don't wanna get somethin' started, so you think you're gonna get candy every time we go somewhere."

"Because of you, I'll never have candy every day."

I laughed. "You're welcome."

Emma noticed some shiny eggs. "Eggs! Mom, what's a chicken say?"

"Bawk-bawk," I said.

Then, Emma noticed the bunny on the egg box. "A bunny!! Mom, what's a bunny say?"

And she looked back at me, waiting for me to do the bunny face. I never have a sound for a bunny when she wants one, so I just pucker my lips and move them up and down like a bunny. She loves it. She does the bunny face back to me, and we both smile every time. It's like our own little inside joke.

I made the bunny face but then said, "But this bunny right here says bawk-bawk-bawk like a chicken. It lays these chocolate eggs, and there's creme inside them. I never did like them. I'm not big on creme-filling."

"That bunny says bawk-bawk-bawk? Like a chicken??"

"Yes, I promise. What a silly bunny, huh?"

Ethan laughed very hard and told the man in line behind us all about the confused bunny. "This bunny thinks it's a chicken! It says bawk-bawk-bawk like a chicken! And it lays chocolate eggs!"

"Yes," the man laughed along, "the Cadbury Bunny!"

"Me. Mom, pwease. I need 5 eggs," Emma said as she pointed to the eggs.

"When I'm an adult, I'm gonna buy one of those. And one for Emma, too," said Ethan.

"Awwww, you are a sweet brother," I said.

"We would like those, Mom. They're not gross. They're yummy!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, how about I buy you and Emma both one, so you can try it for yourselves?"

"Okay!!" said Ethan.

"Yeah!!" said Emma.

When we finally got to the car, they both concentrated and worked very busily to get that shiny, smoothly wrapped foil from their prizes.

I smiled as I drove home in the complete quiet except for the "Mmmmm's" and the satisfied smacks of those little shugs in the back seat.

Sensory Overload

Emma has been struggling with her language and communication and I noticed it fairly early on. I think I flagged it early only because she is a twin. If I didn't have another child of the same age, I don't know if I would've noticed it as a problem so soon. Then again, I feel guilty for not doing something about it sooner.

I had been noticing some strange behavior...like the repeating and reciting and the distorted or inappropriate responses to questions. She seemed to know a response was required, so she'd just repeat my question. There were also times that Emma would completely fall apart and cry when interacting with some of her loving family members like her papaws. They looked at her too long? Too soon? She wasn't ready for that head-pat? She suddenly felt social pressure or intense discomfort for whatever reason. It was sad. It was scary. I'd hold her and try to comfort her. She'd eventually come through the panicked crying and heavy breathing. I felt a need to apologize to her papaw and explain that she really does love him. Ummm...I'm so sorry that Emma seems to find you horrifying. Haha! It was a little embarrassing. But I think they understood. We all understood that something was going on inside of Emma that we didn't understand.

But I think I do kind of understand. I was a very sensitive child. I remember feeling intense waves of emotions with every vulnerable moment or awkward exchange. Anytime I was spotlighted, I felt it. Anytime I was singled out at all for any reason, I was extremely uncomfortable and could be easily brought to tears over anything. I couldn't help it. My feelings were so intense and out of my control. Maybe that's what Emma's feeling. But maybe it's a little bit more than that. She says things totally out of context. For example, her latest strange repetitive go-to is "I can't see." Yes, she can see. This is something she says when she needs an escape clause.

Emma, don't hit your brother!

                  "I can't see..."

Emma did you make this chocolate syrup mess?

                  "I can't see..."

She started saying it after school one day when apparently other kids were saying they couldn't see the tv because she was standing in their way. I imagine she was then told to sit. She must've seen this as a valid excuse that requires the other person to move. "I can't see," is the trump card...the I'm-right-and-you're-wrong card...the it's-not-my-fault card. For now. Before "I can't see," the trump card was, "I have to go home." She'd say it every time she faced resistance of any kind. Even when we were at home, she had to go home. She'd say it at everyone else's house too, and I'd worry about her rudeness. Ugh, why does she have to have these strange, rude outbursts? Sigh... she'll be okay. Before "I have to go home," the trump card was: "Melmon, now, shut up!" That's a line from a movie. She said it when she was mad. She'd yell it out in church when she couldn't go sit with Mimi in the choir loft. Ummm...she doesn't mean that, guys.... I promise she's a sweet little girl.... lol

I'd swear sometimes that she was just parroting everything and not taking in any meaning at all from language. But I knew that wasn't true. She knew when to protest. I knew when "I have to go home" was coming. But I couldn't excuse her behavior and ignore her intelligence. I was taking meaning from hers. I knew what melmon now shut up and I have to go home meant.

I know what "I can't see" means. But that won't help her. No one else knows. I can't accommodate her by ignoring it and adapting to it. "Use your words, Emma, ...the right ones."

As this problem was surfacing, I was aware of my brain shutting it out. I know denial is usually not something you are aware of...but I was a little aware. I knew something was different, something that might be bad. What if my baby has something that may make all of my dreams for her out of reach? What if there's nothing we can do to help her? I'll just not worry, I said. She'll be fine, I said. I'll just wait for...whatever this is to go away. 

What if it doesn't go away?

When the kids were starting school, I was so excited and anxious. I was well-aware of Emma's verbal weaknesses and her destructive tendencies, as I have written about in Pick-it-up-now... and Tay inna Win., so I was sure to warn her teacher at the 1st meet-and-greet. Judging by the look on her face as I tried to explain, she probably thought I was one of those mothers whose baby is always the exception, who's always in need of special treatment. But she was nice, and she listened.

Then, the folders started coming home with daily behavioral marks. It has been interesting to see how differently the kids' teachers manage their classrooms. I truly appreciate all of their differences. Ethan's teacher doesn't send home a behavioral mark or grade at all. I've yet to hear a peep about Ethan's daily conduct. Emma, however, has not escaped the radar. And that's good, right? Green monster for Emma's sweet teacher! ;) That's what I think she needs, to be on all of our radars. Ethan, on the other hand, is yelling out his coordinates at every turn, so we don't have to radar him as closely.

The behavioral scoring system in Emma's class is Green Monster, Yellow Monster, and Red Monster. Her teacher made sure to clarify that "monster" was a term of endearment, her whole class being known as "The Marvelous Monsters."

On the first week, Emma had a yellow monster and a red monster. That escalated quickly. My heart started racing. I didn't know what to do. Should I punish her? I was so worried because she couldn't/wouldn't tell me anything. She couldn't/wouldn't answer any of my questions. She'd get a far-off look in her eyes and be babbling or la-di-da-ing to herself, but somewhere in the distance, she must hear me saying: "Emma, why did you hit your friend at school today? Emma...Emma, honey, look at Momma."

We took her to her doctor and he referred us to an occupational therapist. When he first walked in the door, he spoke to Emma:

"Hi, Emma."
"Hi."
"What book are you reading?"
"Library..."

He was quick to tell us that he doesn't think she has..."The 'A' Word." Yes, he used that term: "I'm certain just from that brief encounter that she does not have...The 'A' Word."

He knows how afraid parents are of that word...of autism. I was afraid of autism...of that word and what I don't know. I had wondered if she was on that vague phenomenon known as "the spectrum" before, but I decided that it didn't matter. Whatever it was, I love her still the same.

One day after Ethan had a failed interaction with her, he asked, "Mom...why are Emma's words wrong?" He had never asked that before and I was glad because before that time, I wasn't prepared to confront that question. I was too scared and frustrated and powerless. There was nothing I could do about the red monsters and the wrong words. After all the worry and fear, I think I am winning the battle with my own red monster. I know that no amount of discouragement will help her. Only love will.

"I don't know, brother, but she is working on it, and someday her words will be right. We just have to help her and love her."

"I love Emma," he said. "And I'll help her."

We all love her more and more every day, and we know that her speech and occupational therapy are some great things we can do to help her make her own dreams come true.

Alpha and Omega

After the death of Ethan and Emma's Papaw Jack, Ethan was confused and thoughtful. Emma would state now and then that Papaw was in heaven, and we would gently confirm. They both seemed to accept this as a vague fact, but Ethan was more concerned about the concept than Emma. They do go to church on Sundays, but I really didn't think my 4-year-olds were taking away any religious concepts other than "Jesus Loves Me."

One day as we were lazily playing in the front yard, Ethan made a comment that was disturbing for me, and a very significant conversation ensued:

Ethan: God's dead.

Me: --No, He isn't. [stunned] God is alive. Ethan, why did you say that?

Ethan: Because he's in heaven like Papaw.

Me: He's alive in heaven and in your heart.

Ethan: [Looking down at his shirt] How does God fit in my chest?

Me: God is in your love. That love you feel for Mommy and Daddy and Emma, that happy in your heart, that's God.

Ethan: Is this leaf alive?

Me: Yes. [feeling somewhat relieved of the gravity]

Ethan: And when it dies, it'll go to heaven.

Me: Ummm...if it has love in its heart.

Ethan: It does have love in its heart.

Me: Ok. Then, it will go to heaven.

Ethan: ....Why did God make his son die? ...on the cross.

Me: [stunned again] He didn't make him die. He died on the cross because of mean people.

Ethan: Is my dad gonna make me die?

Me: No. Never. Ethan you are such a deep little thinker. God loves that about you, and so do I.


Amen.

Parkbook: Social Networking

I had one of those moments that I knew would come, one of those small beautiful moments that I'd seen happen to other mothers on the playground, and it was amazing.

Just as I was thinking it was about time to go home, a small group of kids about my kids' age arrived at the playground, and I thought, "Oh, here they come. I wonder if my kids know any of them."

Now that Emma and Ethan have started school, I knew this moment would come soon. Emma looked over...and started yelling, "Hi! Hi!" Then she ran over to one of the kids.

"Emma!" the little girl beamed. Awww...they were so excited to see each other. Then Ethan spotted her and ran over too. He got right in her face with a big smile, as if to say, "Look, I'm here, too! Do you see me too?"

"Ethan!" the sweet little girl said.
"I didn't know you were here!!!" said Ethan.
"I didn't know you were here either!" she giggled. "Come on, let's go!" The three of them ran up the stairs and all over the big toy.

I couldn't have smiled any bigger. I think I almost cried. The joy that I had for those big kids is indescribable. I know it may seem like no big deal. But I stood there in the grass at a distance with my hands on my cheeks. I felt like I was watching a movie of my kids' lives. And I felt like I was invisible, just an onlooker. I was no longer needed for every little meet-and-greet, no longer hanging in the balance for every possible mishap. They were so big and so happy. I watched as the little girl introduced Emma and Ethan to her other friends. It was amazing. "This is Emma, and this is Ethan. They're my friends."

I couldn't leave after that. I wanted them to have a nice long time of playing together before we had to go home.

It was just the other day that I brought them to this park for the very first time. I'd see other kids meeting and recognizing each other from school, and I'd think, wow, I wonder what that feels like...to have your kids knowing people that you don't know, to have them out in the world making friends on their very own.

After a while, Ethan came running over to me. "We know her, Mom! She knows our names! She's not in my class, but she knows my name!"

"Well, what's her name?"

"Ummm...Aleesia!!" as he jumped high in the air, full of childhood excitement.

Tanish

When Ethan and Emma started learning their colors, they were all over it. They wanted to tell me what color everything was. And if they weren't sure, or if I seemed to be losing focus, they'd ask me what color it was. Then, I bought a color puzzle that named all kinds of lesser known shades. There was fuchsia, periwinkle, chartreuse, aqua, and azure.... It looked a lot like this one:

They had most of those colors down in a few weeks. I was so proud to hear my babies using such smart words.

Then, one day, when we were reading one of his books, Ethan was naming all of the different colors of the Sesame Street characters. He suddenly paused and asked, "Mommy, what color are you?"

I thought about it for a second, and of course, my first instinct was to say, "white," but I knew he'd never go for it. So I said, "Ummm...I'm kinda tanish, I guess."

Instantly, I saw the opportunity for racial identification, but I passed on it. He's so young. I know the time will come when he will be exposed to society and its stereotypes and racial classifications, but for now...what does it matter? He asked me about color, not race.

"Tanish? Well...what color am I?"
"You're kinda tanish, too."
"Is Emma tanish?"
"Yep, her too. And Daddy. We're all tanish."

I figured my next step would be to look up the names of every shade of brown and variation of white that I could. But, he never got hung up on it, never asked me about all of the colors of the people we saw when we were out. It never seemed to strike him that there were a lot more colors of people than just tanish.

Then, one day when we were in the grocery store, a man said hello to me as he passed, as many polite people do, and after he was a ways down the aisle, Ethan said, "Who is that man?"
"What man?"
"That brown man with the different hair..."
"Oh... That man who said hello to us? I don't know him. He just said hello, so I said hello, too."
"Because he's nice?"
"Yep, he seemed nice."
"Does he know our names?"
"Nope."
"Why doesn't he know our names?"
"Because we didn't tell him."
"Let's go tell him!"
"No...let's not bother him right now while he's shopping."
"Awwww...he'll never, ever know our names." He's getting so dramatic these days. Everything is never, ever going to happen again. I can not imagine where he gets that. ;)

Just the other day, another skin conversation happened. I was putting sunscreen on him, which he hates. He was crying hysterically: "You're making me turn white! Stop making me turn white!"

"Let me rub it in.... See? There. Tanish again. We have to put on sunscreen so we don't turn red."
"We'll turn red??"
"Yes. The sun will burn your skin and make you turn bright red and it hurts really bad."
"Well, I don't want to be red and hurt really bad."
"Well, then you better let me put this sunscreen on you, so you'll be safe...and tanish."
"Well...okay."

I smile every time I hear him refer to a person's color as tanish. Little sweetie pie. I hope no one ever corrects him about that. Clearly, he is tanish, y'all.

Old Cookbook

Emma took down my cook book from a decorative shelf in our kitchen. That's what it is pretty much, decorative. My mom gave it to me with the best of hopes I'm sure. I love it because it was hers and I have lots of memories of her actually using it. I love the red plaid cover and the old yellow pages. 

Ethan came to announce his sister's obvious offense at once: "Emma's-playing-with-the-food-book!"

"She is? What food book?" I asked as I headed in the direction he was leading me. "Oh, that food book." Ethan's head snapped toward me, like...what's to be done about this?? 

Seeing no real discouragement, Ethan asked, "What's it called? Is it Rachel Ray?"

I laughed and said, "No, not Rachel Ray. Let's see.... It's called Better Homes New Cook Book." 

"Oh, is it new?" asked Ethan. Of course he would ask that.

"Well, no...it's actually really old, so I'll let you guys play with it, but you have to be REALLY careful with the pages because they're VERY delicate."

They seemed to hear me very clearly and then turned to start right in. Their little hands tried so hard but clumsily bent the page in the first turn. It's a 3-ring binder, so it is already a little more complicated than typical page-turning. But Emma just placed her hand on the page and slid it hard to the left, straining it to the maximum of its life. Ethan tried to intervene and picked up the book from the table, and small recipe inserts fell to the floor. 

"Uh-oh, okay it's falling apart. We've played with it long enough." I picked up the inserts and placed them inside the binder. All the while, Ethan is begging me, starting in on the plan to convince me to give him the food book. Real tears were streaming down his face as I placed it back in its place. 

His last outcry for justice came flying out of his mouth: "BUT NO ONE EVER READS IT!" I was taken aback. Huh. That's true. I never read that book and I never cook from it. Now, I feel guilty. I don't cook enough. And I'm a mean mommy.

"Okay, I will let you play with it one more time if you promise to be careful with the pages."

"Okay, okay, okay, okay!"

They were much more careful this time, and Emma kept looking up and saying, "Careful with the pa-ges." 

Then, Ethan gave me a far-off look and said, "Can I read the Rachel Ray one?" 

I smiled and said, "Yes, you may because I never read that one either."

Accident-Purpose

Me:  So...what do you DO at school anyway?

Ethan:  I play at recess.

Me:  But what do you do when you're not at recess?

Ethan:  That's an accident....    And when you build a dukie house, that's an accident.

Me:  No, that's not an accident. That's on purpose. Now... if you tripped and fell and the dukie house fell down, then that would be an accident. [unfazed by any dukie discussions at this point of Ethan's boyhood]

Ethan:  Building a dukie house is an accident.

Me:  No, that's naughty behavior. And very gross.

Ethan:  But if you knock it down, it's an accident.

Me:  Very good. You know, my cousin Cassie and I used to fall down on purpose and say we did it on accident-purpose.

Ethan: Accident-purpose?? That's silly!

BatNannie Princess

Nannie watched the kids 2-3 times a week for a few hours to help out. She really wanted to, insisted. She and Papaw had started by helping my mother, the three of them, feeding and holding babies, watching them scoot and climb and crawl. Then, as Emma and Ethan got older and less physically dependent, Nannie approached me about keeping the children by herself. She said she really wanted to be more of a help to my mother, allow her some freedom, and I think she also wanted to spend more time as a valuable and responsible adult who is fully capable of watching over her two little great grandchildren for a few hours.

Far be it from me to stand in her way or to make restrictions for a woman who knows her limits and who has raised two children, cared for 5 grandchildren. When they were very small infants, she would never stand to hold them, only sit. She was always so cautious. I knew that if she thought she could manage a few hours, she could.

Now, the kids gave her a run for her money. They wanted her to play! So she played. She'd tell me about how she's been on a wild goose chase for that one singing Big Bird toy that Emma simply must find or that squawking, egg-laying Easter chicken that Nannie bought for them a few years ago. "Mama hen, back again, squawk and lock and let's begin! I'm about to show you how it's done! Layin' eggs is so much fun! Squawk!"  Emma sees Nannie and immediately associates the chicken, and it becomes the object of the moment, the task that Nannie must complete. Once found, Emma loses interest and thinks of something else Nannie must do. She told me about how they want her to get in the floor and play! And she did! Nannie eased her body from the chair to the floor and played with the kids and their toys. When she was ready to get up, she crawled over to the chair...and she couldn't get up as easily as she got down. Ethan asked her, "You can't get up? Why can't you get up?" and Nannie was laughing as she told him, "I'm an old, old woman, Ethan. This old woman can't get up and down like she used to." Ethan cheered her on as she made it to her seat.

Nannie loves to tell me the stories of the things that happen on her twinkie adventures. Once, one set of car seats was in the house and they loved playing in them. Emma buckled herself in and then she couldn't get it undone. Nannie couldn't get it undone either. So she just had to stay in there...until my mom got home. Nannie entertained her in the car seat. "They don't make things simple anymore." The world has done so well at complicating things. Nannie and Papaw have a cell phone, but they don't use it very often and they don't follow the usual cell phone practices, such as leaving the phone on when you're not using it. They don't send text messages, and they don't receive them either. Nannie is not completely convinced that Papaw can make a phone call when he needs to with it. We had done away with our land line since the cell phones are our only communication devices that we seemed to need, and Nannie felt vulnerable without it. Papaw's health is declining and she didn't want to be unavailable if he needed her.  So we got a land line. The kids think it's bizarre. It's big. It never rings, and when it does, we don't answer. It's always a sales call or a "message for Frank..." click. But it's a lifeline for emergencies and peace of mind for Nannie. And her son...I know he worries about her from out of town and is probably uncomfortable with her twinkie adventures altogether for the strain it may put on her body and mind. But she handles it. She wants it. And it's so very special to her and to Rodney and to Emma and Ethan. Those few hours on Mondays and Wednesdays are something that they'll always remember.

Then there's the tv. They sure don't make those simple anymore. I showed her how to work the DVR and how to get it back on her channel 8. Sometimes she forgets and becomes overwhelmed by all of the buttons and menus. I hear that. Why does the tv have to be so complicated? If the kids are watching a movie, it is an involved sequence of steps to get the tv to play the regular channels. I had Dumbo playing on the Play Station one day because the kids were really into it, and it helps me get ready in the mornings to distract them with a movie. I rushed out the door when Nannie came before I remembered that I didn't get the tv back in the mode where she could operate it. So they just watched the Dumbo intro of flying elephants across the screen and circus music for hours on end. Ethan asked Nannie to put on one of his Batman masks with him and shoot elephants with his shot guns. So she did! They played Batman and Batnannie hunting flying elephants! Nannie laughed and laughed when she told me about that. All of that dress-up fun made Emma want Nannie to play dress-up princess with her next. So she did! Nannie put on the tiara and Emma put on the dress. What a sweet Nannie. Super Nanny Princess to the rescue! Ethan told me later that Nannie says it messes up her hair, but she doesn't mind. What a trooper. That mask hurts my face after a while. It's uncomfortable. Ethan insists that you leave it on, and none of this raising it to your forehead business.

Since then, Papaw's health has taken another turn for the worse, and Nannie has had to resign her duties as Batnannie Elephant Hunter Princess. Since she and Papaw love our dog so much, we have started sharing her with them. We take Daisy to their house every Tuesday to brighten their day. They love to tell us about her day and how she loves to explore their yard and bark at their neighbors' dogs. Daisy loves to sit in Papaw's chair with him and eagerly accepts all of the yummy human food snacks that he sneaks her. More recently, Papaw has been admitted into a nursing home, and our family is greatly saddened by it. I still take Daisy to be with Nannie on Tuesdays, and I hope she brings her some comfort. I know Daisy loves going to see her Nannie because she gets excited when I say, "Let's go see Nannie!" The kids and I drop her off and Emma and Ethan say, "Bye Daisy! Be good for Nannie!" I ring the door bell and hear Nannie saying, "My baby is here! I'm coming!" She gets her key from its special spot and carefully unlocks the door from the inside. "Come on in here, baby!" she says with a smile in her heart. Life and love go on and on...

"Tay inna Win"

Emma and Ethan are full-blown talking machines now. Ethan is very inquisitive about everything he sees. Emma is very observant and likes to repeat phrases and lines from her favorite tv shows and from her favorite moments of play. Her rendition of the Dinosaur Train line, "Welcome to the Cretaceous time period!" is one of the cutest things her daddy has ever seen. She really emphasizes with her voice and facial expressions: "TIII--peer-rud!"

 

When Ethan says it, it just doesn't have quite the same effect. Ethan speaks very clearly and loves conversation. He requires acknowledgment for his every statement. If he doesn't get verbal recognition, he pushes for it: "Talk to me; talk to me; talk to me." If he gets a response he doesn't like, like a non-word utterance of recognition--"Mmmhmm," "Eehhh," "Hmm-mm" He objects: "No! Don't say, 'Hmm-mm.'"

When Emma gets a "Hmm-mm" or a "not right now," she immediately whines, screeches, and begins slapping the wall or storms to her room just so she can SLAM the door! If the nearest door is out of reach, she slams whatever cabinet door or drawer that's nearest. Slamming doors and drawers seems to give her deep satisfaction. The violence against the door, the slam in the face, the power, the control, the symbolic expression of her grievances.  "And stay out!" she says.

She is not as conversational or verbally expressive as her brother. Sentences take more effort, so she takes short cuts, and pronunciation is often muffled. We took her to an audiologist just to make sure the issue wasn't auditory. We sat in the small darkened room as the audiologist showed her pictures and asked her to point to each object that he named. He looked into her ears and warned her about a tiny sound she would hear in the earphone instrument he was placing on her ear. She sat quietly, curiously. He told me not to respond to the sounds I was about to hear and not to cue her in any way. Then, he left us in the room and sat behind a glass window where we could see him wearing a headset. Suddenly to the left--a sound. She turned to see a monkey banging its cymbals inside a clear box mounted on the wall. To the right--a clown blows a horn. The audiologist began speaking into different speakers that surrounded us, and Emma looked all around. She passed all of the tests for her age-level.

So I'm not sure what it is that causes her trouble with verbal communication. But I'm not going to worry. She'll get it. And her language is pretty cute. She still resorts to her baby babbling sometimes. Her pretend phone conversations are more about vocal inflection, mumbling with an occasional, "Oh my gosh," and "Okay, bye."

One day when we had some friends over, all of the kids were in the driveway riding trikes and Power Wheels. For some reason, Emma was so upset. She sat on her trike, pulling and fighting, whining, and crying. Something was obviously wrong, but I couldn't figure it out. I'd try to steer her in another direction, push her along. This made her even more frustrated. I didn't get it. I gave up. Later, when Ethan got on the trike, he said, "It isn't working. Something won't go!" and he was looking behind him for whatever was blocking the trike's movement. I never even realized there was a wheel brake that could be set on the trikes, just like a stroller. I'm so sorry, Emma. Mommy didn't know. 

She loves to be held and carried around, especially when Mommy is busy cooking dinner. She stands at the baby gate with her arms up, repeating, "Imma hode-ju. Imma hode-ju, pweese?" I usually can't resist this request because I know the time will come too soon that she will no longer want to hold me, no longer beg for my attention and affection. Many dinners have been burned while Mommy gets held by Emma or during another potty break...or yet another clean-up on aisle 2.

While I cook, I try to distract her with her all-time favorite show, "Sya-nah Sreet." She loves Big Bird. She watches episodes repeatedly and knows every word that is spoken and when. I have no doubt of Emma's intelligence. She has an amazing memory for songs, tv show lines and phrases that her parents say. I don't know why she doesn't talk more.... She sings the alphabet perfectly, counts to 15 without much thought. She even goes to "school" now once a week with her brother. They have a music class, and she just loves saying, "Ma tea-cher. Miss Beff, Miss Chorween.... Goo'moreen, cwass!" And you should see her operate her cd player! It is hilarious to me...her tiny little self popping open the disc lid like she was born doing it, switching out the cd, closing it, quickly pushing the appropriate buttons even though they are all very small and similar looking. She gets that baby blaring her favorite songs in no time flat. "Hakuna Matata!"

Talking Tom is the best app on a phone that Emma has ever seen! She is so happy to hear that little cartoon kitty repeating her favorite sayings and gibberish phrases. I noticed that she kept saying one particular gibberish phrase to Talking Tom...again and again. I tried so hard to figure out what it sounded like.... What is she saying?? Talking Tom had it down pat, and before too long, so did I. "It's a rah-tae mikka-wah! It's a rah-tae mikka-wah!" Your guess is as good as mine. I can't help but be reminded of the movie Nell (movie trailer: 1994) . She's like a little Nell with her own "wanguage."

Every once in a while when she is speaking her gibberish again, I repeat that one sentence of Emma's "Nellish" that I know: "It's a rah-tae mikka-wah!" She smiles her biggest smile. Wow, Mommy knows Nell-ish! I'm trying to teach her the only actual Nell-ish phrase that I remember from the movie: "Taaaaay ina wiiiiiin!" and I wave my hands like a tree in the wind, just like Nell. Oh, please, sweet Emma, just say it for Mommy. :)

Every time I have to go to work, I leave them with Mimi (or their Nannie), I say, "Be good for Mimi, ok?" So now she loves saying she'll be good for everyone.

"Uh-guffa Mimi--okay? Uh-guffa Nannie--okay? Uh-guffa Uncuh JAmes. Uh-guffa Ant Jare-wun. Uh-guffa Bren-ten. Uh-guffa Cway. Uh-guffa Uhh-Umy.['Aunt Amy' is a hard one] Uh-guffa Uncuh MIchael. Uh-guffa Kacie. Uh-guffa Karwie."

"Ha good day!"

Pick-it-up-now-pick-it-up-now!

Motherhood. Ahhhh....motherhood. Its blessings outweigh its headaches. Thank God. Because those headaches can be pretty mean. Don't get me wrong. I love those little tiny people. They're my sweet angels, my sugar babies. They make me laugh and love like I never knew possible. So please, keep that in mind when I say that they also push me to the brink of insanity regularly.

They're little terrorists. Point blank. They are trying to strategically drive me crazy using varying stages of torturous methods. Stage One: They destroy the house. Destroy. It's their mission from moment to moment and day to day. So don't try to pick up, Mom. "NO! Not my...[random fragment of a toy that I don't even recognize]!" Haha! I have been sneaking UFTs (Unidentified Fragmented Toys) into the trash for over a year now. Casually and cheerfully, I'm picking up the clutter and, right under their noses, I am picking off toys. One junkie piece at a time. McDonald's toy football men, tiny accessories for tiny plastic kingdoms and tiny spare hardware for tiny hero headquarters. Picked off. Gone forever. But it's just a drop out of the bucket...out of the ocean of toys and further UFTs.

Emma is forewoman of the destruction phase. It's as if she sees a state of disarray as her personal duty. When she walks into an orderly living room, she calmly but purposefully begins systematically breaking it down. First on her list of obvious problems is the couch arm covers, fling, the chair arm covers, fling! The couch cushions require hardly more effort--KNOCK those off in the floor where they belong. Oh, the books. What are they doing on the bookshelf? They go in the floor. Dusting off her hands, she scans the room for other eyesores. Seeing none, she makes her way to the snack bowl. She has a few Cheese-Its, and if one should fall in the floor, all the better for Em-Lynny-Lou. When they're all gone, she just dumps the crumbs right on the coffee table...for good measure. Time for a drink. Ahhhhh, refreshing. Fling! Ker plunk--sippy cup nose-dive into the carpet. Score! And it's standing upside down! Bonus!

She is practically begging me to have a nervous breakdown. I teeter on the edge now and then, but I have thought my strategy through a few times in my brief moments of clarity, and I think this kind of extreme recklessness calls for an extreme and perhaps radical approach. I try to catch her in the act and then I immediately sound off: PICKITUPNOW. PICKITUPNOW. PICKITUPNOW. It usually works. She is startled into action. My theory is that this alarm-like response will trigger a negative association with this destructiveness that she loves. When she is feeling extra stubborn, I stay fiercely committed to the auto-repeat strategy in my most serious and forceful tone. I combine this with a severe and dramatic pointing gesture. PICKITUPNOW, PICKITUPNOW, PICKITUPNOW! EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. And though she is a very determined little girl, she frequently gives up halfway through the task, testing my level of commitment. In order to get her to actually re-construct, I must repeat, repeat, repeat, never faltering even for a moment or she will sense my weakness and move right on from her consequence.

When this happens, it seems as if it may be too late.... It's over. We lost? Wreck it Ralph would be so proud. Auto-repeat couldn't penetrate the steel wall that is Emma's will.

Auto-repeat can actually be counter-productive because using it can weaken your senses, cause fatigue, and possibly even cause you to auto-pilot yourself right into delirium.... This is Stage 2. Your grip on reality begins to slip through your automated mind. I have caught myself repetitively and blindly participating in a three-line Q and A session with Ethan, answering the exact same question 100 times on auto-pilot, or saying, "You did?? That's awesome!" over and over to the same thing, or pretending to argue the same hard fact over and over, purely for his entertainment and unending joy. Ethan is foreman of Stage 2, mental fatigue.

I find myself caught in a mental loop, and I fall into the "Pete and Re-Pete" trap. You remember how it goes, right?

"Pete and Re-Pete were sittin' on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left? 
'Re-Pete.' 
Pete and Re-Pete were sittin' on a fence. Pete fell off...." etc.

That's exactly how I feel sometimes. I'm livin' in a Pete and Re-Pete world. Yes, my experience of motherhood sometimes causes...brief breaks from reality...moments when I think...this is not normal. I mean--I have obviously fallen way off the fence, Pete.

But, when I return from insanity and realize she still isn't pickingitupnow... I have even resorted to physically making her pickitupnow. I refuse to just throw my hands up when my child has just pulled all of the clothes out of the dresser and then said, "No," after I've clearly told her to put them back. I calmly walk over to her, explaining all the while that, yes, she will in fact pickitupnow. I stand directly behind her like a shadow and take actual physical control of her body. Her hand cupped in my hand, I bend her at the waist. Like a puppeteer, I direct her body to submit to my will, clasping her hand with my hand onto the object, and by gosh, we pickitupnow. One way or another, she WILL pickitupnow, pickitupnow--pickitUP, pickitUP, pickitUPnow. [Insert break from reality and The Red Hot Chili Peppers] Eventually, my hope is that this will become a learned sequence of events. You might even say "automatic." Destroy--AndPickitupnow. Good luck with that, huh? Thanks.

I'm sure some of you may think this form of "physical possession" is harsh. I personally think that different learning styles call for different approaches. She's just a hands-on learner. I can be hands-on.... She needs muscle memory. I can help her with that. I will go with her through the "pickitupnow" motions just as I directed her hands to reach out for her rattle when she was a newborn baby, when I steadied her first balance as she stood, held her hands and walked alongside when she learned to walk.... You see? Just as I directed her first crayola marks and guided her first tricycle ride, I feel called to guide her in the righting of her wrongs. PICKITUPNOW.

Her preference for disarray is admittedly something she came to very naturally. I have always been the queen of clutter. Things are here and there and everywhere, and I know each and every where.

However, although we both have a tendency toward chaos and clutter, we both will have to succumb to the hard, cold fact that in life when we pitch a fit, fling that thing, or dump that whole bowl of crumbs...the universe will insist that we PICKITUPNOW.