Tuesday, July 20, 2010

There Aint Enough Calgon In The World...

Someone tell me, remind me it gets easier? There are days I cringe at the word "MOMMY!" I literally have to barricade myself in the bathroom and throw myself down on the floor, rocking in a fetal position for a few minutes before I have the courage to venture back out and become "MOMMY!" again!

Lola is into raging fits and blaming everything that goes wrong on me. She gets out of the tub and she's wet and cold, it's my fault. We go to the playground and she gets sand in her shoes, it's my fault. She gets marched up to her room for a well deserved time out, YEP, it's my fault. The other day she screamed and called me a "stupid loser!" That vitroil rant earned her another 15 minutes and no TV that night. She fights with me when I brush her hair. She didn't want a ponytail and got syrup in her hair at breakfast....AGAIN, my fault.

The best way to handle these is to also give myself a time out. Gibson has resorted to throwing everything and anything her can get his hands on. He throws his heavy Tonka trucks at Lola. He lobs his sippy cups at Lola's head. He hurtles his plates and bowls to the floor, usually with food still in them. He's taken to spitting his milk out and allowing it to waterfall down his chest and belly onto the floor. He's reverted back to using his fingers in his applesauce and creating his own hair elixir with mashed fruits and cracker crumbs. And I thought sand was hard to get out of his hair!

He loves to play Sean's drums in the attic and will scream "Dums, Dums" until hes's almost passed out. He screams "bathy" at the top of his lungs and rams his head into the bathroom door if we don't open it. Best of all, he takes off his diaper and flings it anywhere he likes. This is most often followed by peeing on the floor or rugs. We've started potty training, silver lining I guess. He found a Coco Puff wedged in the sofa cushion, pointed and said "poop!"

He's insists on clinging to me at every chance. He pinches and hits Lola when they're in the convertible back seat. The car is fairly small and there is less than six inches between their car seats. On the way to the grocery store today I had to pull over and referee their hitting, squabbling, bare knuckle brawl fest.

While Gibby finally took his nap, I thought I'd put off vacuuming and bake banana bread with Lola, some quality mom/daughter stuff. That Betty Crocker moment resulted in a time out for Lola, in her room with no DVD privileges for the rest of the night. The banana bread smells great though. Maybe I'll lock myself in the bathroom with a book and a loaf of that!!!!!!!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Big Thoughts About Babies.

"But how do the babies get in the tummy anyway?" Lola asked this again today. Last month she wanted to know why I wanted children and why we chose to adopt Gibson. Not an easy question to answer. Why did I want children? I was never one of those girls who dreamed of growing up, getting married and having children. I never really thought about it.....until I met Sean and he was eager to have a family far sooner than I was. I felt I had worked hard to become who I was, I was finally comfortable with myself and had quelled all my demons (at least summoned them far, far below for another time.) Having children would change everything. Most selfishly it would change ME!

Two kids and a few years later.....THANK GOD it changed me!!!! So, back to the birds and the bees with Lola. She then asks "Will I ever have babies?" We're driving home from Gibson's first hair cut. "Sure, If you want to have babies..." She's quiet, I study her in the rear view mirror. I know she's really mulling this one over. "I could have two, one for me to take care of and one for Jakey to take care of." Jake is her neighbor, partner in crime, shorter sidekick, preschool buddie, and like Burton and Taylor; they've been stormily married and divorced several times.

"But how do babies get in the tummy anyway?" I told her once before, as simple as possible about anatomy and how the two are needed to make a baby. She knows the correct terms for both sets of anatomy but proclaims loudly she owns a "Pagina!" She doesn't believe it's fair to only have one name and likes the combined sound of both!

Lola has a simpler explaination about babies. She likes to imagine everyone is born with a small, wee baby in their tummies and when you are a grown up, and you decide to have babies; you simply let it grow!

Shave and A Haircut.

I thought summer was supposed to be lazy, spending tranquil days in the shade, cocooned in a hammock, sipping a Mojito, great book in hand? Oh, wait....I have two kids......

Gibson had his first REAL HAIRCUT today!!!! He has the greatest, and I mean the greatest hair! Super curly and it just springs out of his head, these perfect corkscrews of follicle joy!!! Picture Tigger bouncing on his tail in The Hundred Acre Woods....you get the idea.

Ethnic hair is a bit labor intensive. It needs conditioning and picked out several times a day and nightly. I use all natural hair products without parabens and all those nasty laurel sulfates that strip hair of natural oils. I'm on top of this one! Then I noticed the back becoming matted, the curls were turning into dreads in the back, no matter how much I picked or conditioned.

I phoned a place nearby, Global Cuts, who specialize in ethnic hair. I was assured by Leslie that Gibson was in the best of care. We walked into what appeared to be a classic men's barber shop but with a funky edge. Framed posters of Jimi Hendrix covered the walls, black and white photos of 60's and 70's jazz greats shared space with a large map of Africa, mini flags from all over the world framed the mirrors.

Gibson sat on my lap as the cutting began. I had hoped a few matted strands could be dealt with easily. Leslie suggested a decent trim and said the regrowth would be even healthier. I expected Gibby to be squirming and fussing as she picked through his hair. He did great, I was the one sweating as his black curly locks cascaded to the worn tile floor. Lola said he didn't look like Gibby, that he didn't look like Baby Gibby anymore. I took photos of his abandoned tresses covering the floor and photos of him with his new look. He kept patting his head saying "hair cut!" and then clapping for himself.

He looks older to me now, and I have to say I miss the curls. They will come back and I'll know to be more vigilant with his styling. He's growing up and it makes me a bit sad. I'm not sure what I'm longing for; his curls or that precious time before his trim today. I look at him and my heart breaks, my little Gibby is changing, morphing, growing into a little boy who is becoming so sure of himself at only the age of 2. Lola says Daddy will definitely like Gibby's "new do."