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.

Hide-and--Go Where?

Our friend Necole is pretty much the coolest grown-up a little kid is ever gonna meet. I know a lot of really cool people so don't be offended, haha! My kids like all of my friends! But she's different with them from anyone I know. It's like she sees them with her heart instead of her eyes. Maybe she just has a young soul. I first met her as one of my students in Comp. 1. I don't normally form personal relationships with my students, but Necole was also a student worker and spent a lot of time on campus. She'd come in and chat. You know how they say some people have an old soul? I'd normally want to say that about her because although she is almost ten years younger, she's had more of life's experiences and challenges than I have. It's like she has an old soul and a young soul, a timeless soul.

She crouches down to Emma and Ethan's eye-level and shines brightly into their faces. They can't help but like her. Their walls come right down and they are best friends. I'm not really sure what it is. Some people just seem to be tuned-in to that child frequency more clearly.

Necole and I became friends on a more personal level after she offered to help me take the kids to the park. I'd mentioned that I really couldn't take 2 barely walking one-year-olds to the park by myself. I'd have to carry one, follow one. She kept insisting on helping me. Very enthusiastically. It wasn't like when most people offer, sort of politely and dutifully.... I am not offended and I reciprocate the social grace. But in the back of my mind, I know that I would never call this person out of the blue and ask her to babysit. And I also know that she probably won't...oh, just one day up and decide to call me for the first time ever just to see if I feel like going out with my husband tonight, so she can watch (and meet) our kids for the first time ever. Haha! We might not even really have each other's phone numbers! "Call me sometime. Okay! Let's have lunch or something...yeah.... Well, good seein' you!" :)  But not this time. I could tell she really meant it.  Necole said, "Do you want to go today later after work?? Colton and I just love babies." So I took her up on it. And she wasn't kidding. They love babies. And babies love them. Necole doesn't just look at them or watch them; she sees them. And she plays with them. She runs around at the park and slides down the slide right along with all the kids, laughs and has a good time. It's not a cheesy fake laugh or baby talk, no exaggerated movements or facial expressions; it's real engagement and enthusiasm with children. And she has this twinkle in her eyes the whole time, a big smile...a genuine friend to adults and kids.

We had been missing them so much. Finally, she and Colton came over for a visit the other evening. Our kids were so happy to see her...and Colton, Emma is especially happy to see him. She and Ethan both think he is such a cool, big kid. He even stands up for them just like a big brother at the playground if a bigger kid isn't being nice.  Emma acts like Colton is her hero, the way she looks up at him with such awe and admiration. She says his name over and over. She sometimes runs right up to him immediately when he comes over, not needing any time to get over awkward shyness, just walking right up to him with a big smile. She hugs him and says, "Hi, Colton!" It's so sweet.

On this night, not too long after they walked in the door, a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek had somehow broken out. Colton hid and Emma and Ethan went to look for him. It was so much fun, counting and covering our eyes. Emma wasn't exactly feeling the suspense of the hunt; the fun part for her was counting and hiding her eyes. It was enough just to "hide" behind her hands while she counted and then "seek" when she uncovered her eyes: instant gratification, none of this wandering around nonsense. "Waun, tuu, free, four, fiye, siix, se'ven, eeiiight, niine, ten, e-wev'-en...BOO! [hysterical laughter]"  Peek-a-boo style hide-and-seek is the greatest according to Emma.

Ethan loves the counting and face-covering part, too: "One, free, five, nine, free, four, free...ten! Ready or not, here I come! [scampering, squealing, giggling]" And when he found Colton, he was so proud. "WE FOUND HIM! WE FOUND COLTON, MOM!" he said...every single time.

When it was his turn to hide, he was intense and ready. Necole said, "Okay, Ethan, hide!" and he snapped into serious. He looked down for a split second, as if he was thinking, "Where is the perfect hiding place?" All of a sudden--he dropped to the floor, face down, hiding his eyes from the light. He stayed very still. Necole and I looked at each other and laughed silently. Necole said, just above a whisper, "Are you hiding, Ethan?"

"Yes," Ethan answered, more rasp than whisper. He lifted his face from the carpet to answer and then gave the area a quick scan for the seeker. Quick--hide! He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face back into the carpet.

Colton came in and chuckled when he saw Ethan's hiding place but pretended for a few seconds before calling out, "Found Ethan!" and then a few beats later, "Found Mom and Emma behind the chair!"

I was just sitting there on the couch smiling, laughing, watching this game take place, taking pictures, and thinking to myself, when was the last time I had this much fun so spontaneously, so wholesomely...stepped out of the routine, out of the norm and played a make-believe or abstract game from childhood with my kids? When was the last time we turned off the tv and played...without any toys, just our imaginations and each other? 

That night was a classic night, a cherry coke and apple-pie kind of night.

Twindependence

The kids decided on the very night of their third birthday that they would sleep in separate toddler beds for the first time ever. I couldn't believe it. But it wasn't complete magic. Here's how it happened: They had been put to bed by my friend Lindsey the night before. We had been out shopping for their birthday, and I guess she didn't know which bed they normally sleep in because they were in the other one. The next night after I rocked them for a few of our songs, Ethan seemed excited about sleeping in the other bed again. It was new and different. "I wanna sleep in this bed!" he beamed. He happily skipped to the other bed, and Emma sleepily walked to the other as usual, and she didn't protest or even seem to notice at all. They'd had a long, fun-filled day with all of their friends and the big inflatable bouncy house with water slide. It's no wonder that she didn't seem to notice or was too tired to care. I went right along with it and tucked them both in. I walked out of their bedroom stunned. The night after that, they went back to their regular bed together. I felt a little happy inside when they did. That part of it can't be over yet, can it? My little twins snuggling together.... Then I felt a little twinge of guilt for feeling sad when I should be only happy about their milestone, their progress and step toward independence. So the next night, I decided to throw out a subtle prompt: "Okay, which bed do you want to sleep in?"

"This one!" Ethan said and he happily went to his very own bed. They're finally making use of both beds. One bed had previously been just a decoration or a place to throw stuffed animals and to play on during the day.

And then there were two little separate sleepers. Two big kid beds. Two big kids....

....................................................................................

Tonight, after we rocked for a few of our favorite lullabies, they got in their own beds and I tucked them in. Emma was singing, but I didn't let it stop me from getting a "Good night, Mommy" and an "I love you, too," out of her. Ethan was talking and talking about his new lincoln logs he got for his birthday. They were strewn about in the floor and oh-so-tempting for a busy little boy. "Tomorrow, you can...when you wake up. It's not time to play now. It's time for bed."
"It's not time to play?"
"No, time to go to sleep. Nite-nite, Ethan."
"Nite-nite."

Emma was still singing so sweetly, so I decided to act like I was leaving, but secretly stay behind in the complete darkness and they wouldn't see me. I wanted to hear more of Emma's singing:

"Where is pointer?
Where is pointer?
Here I am!
Here I am!
Howayou aday, sir?
Aireeyan a thank you.
Run away,
Run away."

Ethan decided to sing a spell afterwards and echoed Emma Lynn's sweet song. He's just learning to carry a tune and remember lyrics, something Emma is getting very good at by now.

Ethan sang:

"Very fine, I thank you.
Run and hide,
Run and hide."

Then he must've decided to make up his own song since his memory doesn't quite serve him yet:

"It's nice to meet you.
It's nice to meet you.
Mommy said no.
Mommy said no."

Then he paused a few beats and shifted back into his comfort zone: the monologue:

"We don't want that grasshopper. We don't want that grasshopper. Mommy said....  Mommy, I see you sitting in the floor."           (grasshopper story)

"You do?" I said, laughing and getting up now. I went over to his bed and rested my hand on his back. "What was I doing?"

"You were sitting in the floor," he said, looking in the direction of where I had been actually laying in the floor in the doorway.

"Was I watchin' you?"

"Yes."

"Because I love you?"

"Yes," he said, a smile in his voice.

"Oh.... Give me one more kiss, please." He raised his head and shoulders and gave me a sweet sugar on the lips. "Nite-nite, Brother."

"Nite-nite."

"Give me one more kissy from Em-lynn, too...." Emma didn't move, but I knew she was awake. She had her jumbo sized bunny squeezed tightly in her arms with its head covering half of her face. I gave her kisses and she laid very still but with her eyes open. "Nite-nite, Em-Lynn."

"Nite-nite," she said softly.

"Tell brother goodnight," I pressed. I have been working harder at getting words and sentences out of her. She can do it and she is getting better and better, but she just doesn't seem to have much to say most times. She prefers to play the passive role. She plays it safe; less is more. And sneak attacks are much more effective that way.

"Goo'night,...Essan," she said.

"Now, you say 'Goodnight, Emma," I said.

"Goodnight, Emma," said Emma.

"No, not you Emma. Now it's Ethan's turn. Ethan, tell sister goodnight."

"Good night, Emma," said Brother.

Amy's Story: "Swimming with the Ashing Family"

This post was written by Amy Ashing.

Kacie and Karli were so excited for Emma and Ethan to come over and spend the night again. This time they get to swim! The first time they swam, they were in life jackets and wanted to be held the whole time. They loved it. My girls were teaching them how to blow bubbles. Ethan became pretty good at it. Emma wasn't showing much interest. Ethan liked to jump off the ladder, the high step. Emma liked the lower step. She just kinda scooted into the water. So cute. She was excited about that.

The next day, we put the floaty bathing suits on instead of life jackets. We were holding them and having fun. I decided to put arm floaties on them, so if we let go of them, their mouths wouldn't go under water. I thought maybe they would float on their own. At first, they wouldn't let go. They would latch on with their legs, like--don't you even think about it. Ethan finally realized it was okay as we assured him that we were right here; we wouldn't let him go under. The look on his face was priceless. He was floating by himself. He got so excited! He was repeating over and over, "I'M SWIMMING BY MYSELF!"  Yes, Ethan...GOOD JOB...BIG BOY! After he realized he didn't need us, we couldn't hold him if we wanted to. Now we needed to work on Emma. It didn't take her as long to let us release her. I'm sure because brother was doing it, by gosh she wants to do it too. She was very serious and insecure at first. Then here she is...floating ALL BY HERSELF! She smiled so big and was so excited also. Okay, twins! Let's kick our feet and move our arms. There is a tv show I remember LeeAnn repeating that says, "Reach and pull and kick, kick, kick!!" That's what we kept repeating and they would repeat too. Emma's expression as she repeated was hilarious! Using every muscle in her body, very serious and repeating, "RREACHH...AND PPULLL...AND KKIICKK, KKIICKK, KICK!! RRREACHH AND PPPULLLL AND KKKKKICK, KKKKICKK, KKKICK!" Priceless. Wish everyone could've heard her expression and voice! Ethan, of course, is saying it too, but not near as dramatic as Emma! They would say, "Look...I'm swimming all by myself." We would say, "We are so proud of you! Big boy, big girl!"

I'm so glad we got to experience their first time floating on their own. We love you, Ethan and Emma!

Uncle Michael,
Aunt Amy,
Kacie & Karli

Hopper At Large

I was looking forward to a peaceful night of "me time" one evening when my husband was out with a friend. I was going to listen to my iPod and bake a pie for his pot luck lunch the next day. After I put the kids to bed, I put the dog out. As I closed the door behind her, a huge grasshopper buzzed and sputtered through the closing door at the very last moment in a plane crash landing. He disappeared into the curtains. This thing had to be four inches long. I cannot stand bugs, especially grasshoppers and crickets. It's a very intense phobia. I have nightmares and I get the creeps just thinking about them. The really small ones don't bother me so much. It's the ones that are too big to smack and kill without a big crunch and guts everywhere...the ones that jump or fly and are big enough so that you can make out their faces. You can see their shiny eyes, their coarse body hair and antennae. Shudder. If a nasty one gets on me, a scream bursts from my lungs and my body thrashes until I'm free. I could cry.... I'm filled with so much adrenaline that I could probably even fly.

I felt myself panic as I tried to block his entry a moment too late. It was like that slow-motion moment right after you trip and you realize that you're not going to pull out of it. You're going down. I felt like that. Mayday. The enemy had invaded, and I was going down.

I have to get him out fast.... I'll have to trap him. I went to get a towel that I could throw over him. I was anxious. I was on my own, no one to help me. I knew I wouldn't be able to relax in the living room until he was out. At least I know he is in this room. Now, I've got to stay on him.... I can't let him migrate to another room and sneak up on me later. I thought seriously about waking up Emma and Ethan and having them get it. I've been trying not to pass on any of my neuroses to them. I try not to use fearful language or freak out over a bug when the kids are around. It's really tough in the moment. I usually just end up explaining after I have freaked out that Mommy just doesn't like bugs. Why? Because they're ugly. There goes my kind-to-nature lesson.

"Kills bugs DEAD," Ethan often repeats from the commercial. "That's not very nice for the bugs..." he adds.

I can't focus or relax at all knowing that there is a huge, meaty, muscly, bony, googly-eyed grasshopper in my living room. He shouldn't be too hard to find since he is so big. But I was petrified. Disgusted. He was one of the brown ones; he couldn't at least be one of the pretty bright green ones. I called my neighbor and friend, Katie. She was in bed. Get out of bed. This is serious, I thought. She wouldn't come over, but she offered some moral support. I begged a few other friends to come over and hunt it down, even offered to pay someone twenty bucks. No one seemed to grasp the urgency of the situation. My neighbor had suggested I get my dog, Daisy, after it. Not a bad idea. Daisy loves the kids' big, inflated, bouncy-balls. She chases them all over the house. They now belong to her. I thought maybe I could stir the grasshopper out of hiding with the ball, and then Daisy would see it and be all over it. So I threw the ball over and over at the curtains and Daisy was having a good ol' time, but the bug was still at large.

I had no choice but to wait until my husband came home. I went to the kitchen and tried to put it out of my mind enough to bake his pot luck pie.

When Rodney came home, he didn't seem as concerned as I was with finding and extracting this brown, creepy, crawly, erratically flying and jumping intruder. Rodney casually looked under the chairs, behind the curtains--no bug. He's moving on. He even expressed his doubt as to whether the bug was even in the house.

"Oh, it's in the house. I assure you."      

www.gofitstudio.com

I felt a little braver now that he was home and suddenly motivated to prove to him just how big and nasty this bad boy was. So I got down on my hands and knees and searched.
"Ohmygod, there he is! There his nasty self is, right under this chair. Ew!" Thank God.

Rodney came over and lifted the chair.... But it was just one of the kids' little action figures. Dang.

So Rodney gave up. And I gave up too.

The next morning, I told Ethan and Emma: "There is a big grasshopper in the house somewhere...in this room. A Big. Huge. Brown. Grasshopper. Is in this room somewhere. He's lost." Their faces told me that they did understand that this was not okay.

"A big, huge grasshopper?" Ethan repeated as his eyes scanned the room.

"If you see him, let me know right away so we can get him back outside," I said.

"Okay," said Ethan. He mentioned it now and then from time to time.

My neighbor called to check on me the next day. She asked if it had been found and if she needed to come over today. "He's dead," she said with certainty. "Daisy got him." She sort of...gets me.
I hoped she was right.

Days went by. There were moments that I'd forget all about him. And then I'd remember and stand up from the couch. What's that tickle on my neck?! I was jumpy. I know you're in here, you nasty, nasty thing.

It had been five days since the invasion. I had pretty much resigned to the fact that he was dead. We were eating breakfast in the living room when Ethan said very calmly, "There's a big, huge grasshopper in the living room." I looked at Rodney. I smiled. He remembers things so well. "There's a big. huge. grasshopper in the house," he said again matter-of-fact-ly. He just looked at us. I laughed at his Mommy impression. It's funny hearing your own ridiculous words on the lips of a three year old. He always likes to get confirmation, acknowledgement. He repeated it again. He always repeats things again and again until you repeat him and confirm without a doubt that he is correct, and he is being heard.

"Yes, there is," I confirmed. "Let's not talk about it while we're--"  I saw it from the corner of my eye, easing forward with his disgusting stick, jointed legs. It looked like he was about to take sputtering flight--leap in an unpredictable direction--

I threw myself from the side of my chair and stumbled into the floor. I screamed in horror. I got to my feet as I pushed myself further from "it."  The kids were screaming too, and they clambered all over me with looks of terror on their faces. This sent the grasshopper into frenzied flight. Poor Ethan's eyes were tightly shut, his wide-open crying mouth. Emma looked over her shoulder with absolute terror as she climbed up my arm. Mommy, mommy, mommy! Rodney was yelling at me: "Chill out! Calm down!"

Chaos.

I ran out of the room with the kids strapped onto my body. I laughed and laughed. I couldn't stop. I tried to calm the kids and undo the damage that I had just done to their psyches.

"Mommy is so silly! She shouldn't be afraid of a little hopper!"

Their looks of terror faded into looks of confusion.

Rodney got the hopper out and showed us through the window that it was in fact out of the house and all could return to normal.

Whew!


*When the kids were 2, they called grasshoppers "hoppers" because of the movie they love, A Bug's Life, where the bad guy is a grasshopper named Hopper.