I'm Scared I'll Forget to Remember...

...what you are like right this moment.

You are newly six. Your hair is past your shoulders and your smile is contagious. Snaggle-toothed, but definitely contagious. You lost your first two bottom baby teeth and like to tell everyone you meet. Your baby sister knocked you the other morning and now you swear that the top one is loose, too. You were thrilled with the tooth fairy and want her to come back again soon.

You are smarter than you should be allowed and finished kindergarten with flying colors. You adored your teacher, and the feeling was mutual. You quickly made friends and are an equal opportunity comrade. Your teacher commented to me many times how you are never tied down to one group, and are always looking for ways to make everyone feel included. You are becoming a viracious reader and just today received your first library card. You are so proud and feel so big because of it.

You are a worrier. You think things over and through and under and behind. Whether it is bees, dogs, wind or splinters, you always have something on your mind. You often miss out on some new things because you are so cautious. Sometimes you talk to us about these things and sometimes you hold it all in, but you are almost always processing something and weighing the pros and cons. You always look before you leap.

While you most certainly aim to please, you have your moments where your attitude leads me to wonder whether you are six or sixteen. You like to be in charge and don't always agree with my decisions or directives. You are stubborn but sensitive. You don't like to be wrong.
You are a wonderful big sister. You step into the mommy role as easily as you step into your flip flops. You love to give orders, threats, and hugs. The little girls look up to you and do most anything you say without question. You are beginning to dish out sage kindergarten advice to your next step down - "they do not allow bathroom breaks during nap time. If they do, everyone thinks they have to go. Make sure you go at the end of lunch" - and sister is soaking it all in.

You are a charmer, a pleaser, a pouter, a reasoner, a thinker, a friend. You are sweet and sassy, sugar and spice. You are and will forever be - my first baby.

Wonders Never Cease To Amaze...

Earlier today, Tater needed my help. She brought me two pieces of the tool set that PaTato had bought for his girls, which were tightly screwed together with the big plastic screws. She had tried and tried to unscrew them with her hands, but they were stuck. She asked for my help, but they wouldn't budge. She asked if I wanted her to bring a screwdriver from the set to help get them apart, and I told her yes.

"Do you need a Feel-up or a straight?"

She's 5. She's her Daddy's girl. And she blows my mind every single day.

The Best Purchase Ever Made...

When you buy something similar to these...

And then hear Tater say this:

"Tot - don't clean up all the dirt. Save some for me!!"

You realize that $1.68 (x2) buys a lot more than you ever expected.

Yes, We Have No Bananas.

So, today is the day that I have to make a confession. Well, two confessions. Everyone here knows that I have a 2 year old and a 3 year old, right? That's not the confession.

No, wait. I have an almost 3 year old and an almost 4 year old. That's better. Still, not the confession.

So, I have an almost 3 year old and an almost 4 year old - and neither of them are potty trained. There. Those are the two confessions.

Oh, yes ma'am, you heard me right. They are both in "training pants." But that is a lie. There is no "training" in "training pants." They are actually just diapers that go on a different way.

So, both girls are in diapers and I am pregnant with a 3rd little sprout and I guess it hit me about 2 weeks ago that if nothing changes that come early September I will have three, count them 1, 2, 3, in diapers. That is the hugest run-on if ever there was one. But again, 3 in diapers.

And, well, I kind of freaked.

Not the traditional "well, let's get this show on the road and get these kids trained" freaked. But more the "I'm a horrible mother and I've lost all control and I've missed my chance and I wonder if I can at least have them not wearing adult diapers by the time they start having to change into gym clothes in front of their classmates in junior high" freaked.

Now, I could go into a lengthy essay full of excuses as to why the Tater is almost 4 and not trained. But, basically, mommy guilt tells me it's all my fault. And the problem wasn't the peeing in the potty, but the poop. Oh.my.good.grief. the poop.

Sooo, the PaTato and I decided that it was time to take this thing head on. A smorgasbord of pretty underthings were laid out in plain sight in the living room. Threats were commanded. Promises were made. Praises were lavished.

No poop.

The girl would hold it for two days and then sneak, hide, and poop. In the two seconds that I would turn my head or the five minutes that I wouldn't remind her that she had to poop in the potty she would find a way to trick me. She obviously had a well laid plan.

So, fast forward to yesterday. Oh my good grief, you all are saying, please for the love of all things fast forward.

Tater hadn't "gone" for a day and a half, and we had pretty much beaten into her head that if she "went" on herself, there was big trouble. At lunch time yesterday, I decided to gorge her with food. The afternoon consisted of Spaghetti-O's with cheese, chips, juice, milk, pineapple, and apples, not to mention it had been a day and a half. No one little body can hold that much. Something was coming out one way or another.

It played out like this: she had to pee, she went to pee, she accidentally let loose of one little "poop ball." (her words, not mine) We celebrated. We yelled. We screamed. We called family. We ate M&M's. We ate a cookie with M&M's. We were excited. She went to play.

Then it hit her. She really had to poop. She ran to the potty. She sat. She pooped. She yelled for me. Then she said them - what have to be some of the funniest words I have ever heard come out of such a little mouth.

"MOMMY! I! POOPED! I! POOPED! IN! THE! POTTY! AND! IT'S! A! BANANA! POOP! A! BIG! BANANA! POOP! A! TEN! DOLLAR! BANANA! POOP!"

And it was. And, just so you know, I want to share with you what this Tater scored for a poop ball and a banana poop in the potty.

• M&M's
• M&M cookie
• a promise of underthing shopping with Mommy
• a promise of underthing shopping with Nana
• a one night slumber party in Mommy & Daddy's bed (can you tell we're selfish sleepers? this has never happened before!)
• a new book
• a promise of at least $2 from Nana
• a prize from Papaw
• ten crisp one dollar bills from Daddy

So, I'm proud, PaTato is proud, but most of all, Tater's proud. And I guess that is a step in the right direction.

One down, one to go.

Confessions are good for the soul, right?

An Eavesdrop.

Overheard in the kitchen during hot dog dinner preparation:


Dad: Tater, do you want sauerkraut?

Tater: No, I don't like salad crap!


You can't make this stuff up. Seriously.

A True Story.

This is a true story.

I am sick. Sick, sick, sick. I am so sick, in fact, that I can't talk. I can only squeak and whisper. This is not fun. It hurts to talk, and no one can hear me.

The girls are sick. Sick, sick, sick. I took them to the doctor this morning and they were both diagnosed with bronchitis and prescribed an antibiotic. This is not fun. They are dazed and confused, and no one can hold their attention.

On the way from the doctor's office to a drive thru to grab some lunch, I had this conversation with Tater. Remember, we're sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Me: What would you like for lunch?

Tater: Huh?

Me: What would you like for lunch?

Tater: Huh?

Me: What would you like for lunch?

Tater: Chicky Nuggets and French Fries. And a toy.

Me: Well, you have to eat all of your food in order to get a toy.

Tater: Huh?

Me: Well, you have to eat all of your food in order to get a toy.

Tater: Huh?

Me: Well, you have to eat all of your food in order to get a toy.

Tater (clearly irritated): Just say "never mind."

Me (relieved): Okay then, never mind.

Tater: Huh?

If you find my voice, please bring it back.

Time Flies.

Well, tomorrow is the big day. My Tater is turning 3. Do you remember when you were a little kid, and it took three forevers for your birthday to come? How it seemed like no matter how hard you tried or how early you went to bed each night, tomorrow just never came quickly enough? I do. I remember how I just couldn’t wait for the expiration date on the milk jug to be a day or two after my birthdate. That meant that the time was drawing near. Slowly, but near.
Well, I have discovered that those days are completely and totally over. Gone. Done away with. Vanished. Disappeared. Because nowadays, it seems as though there are only two blinks between this birthday and the last.
It seems like just yesterday that I found out there was even a little root of a Tater in my tummy. My husband and I were on vacation. I took two tests. Or was it three? I called my parents at around 1:00 in the morning and asked them to “guess what?” I remember that first ultrasound where I saw a lima bean and a beating heart. And I cried. At twenty weeks when we knew that the “baby” was now a “baby girl.” I’ll never forget the Saturday morning induction when I knew I didn’t want to be pregnant any more, but wasn’t really sure that I was ready to have a baby. The next day was my birthday and mother’s day. And I didn’t really feel like I should celebrate either.
I think about that first week home and a spit up of blood, and my stomach still clenches in knots. Thank goodness my mama was here. If I didn’t have her to talk me down, I very well could have contemplated sending that Tater baby back. Oh, the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding.
It seems like only last week that I was just getting comfortable taking care of one baby, when I realized that I was going to have another. Tears still well up in my eyes when I think of the month that I was away from Tater while in the hospital with Tot. Tater needed me so much, but Tot needed me more. And I needed them both. Those same tears spill when I remember my much needed hospital visits from Tater and the sobs that would erupt from my throat when they were over. I had two babies and couldn’t take care of either. Then when I finally could take care of both, I felt as though I didn’t know either of them. A month is a long time for a mother of two who is without her two children.
I remember the second birthday party and a very excited Tater who got to dance to her favorite Wiggles songs. Two healthy babies made me want to dance, too. I think about the vacation to the beach and how excited we all were to put on our “baby” suits. Christmas trees and lights, presents and paper, carols and giggles. It came and went entirely too fast. It seems like as soon as we started hauling them up, it was time to pack up the decorations and take them back down. “It’s EASTER SUNDAY!” on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. As long as we can have chocolate candy eggs for desert, it’s Easter Sunday.
And today. Today is the eve of your third birthday . Tomorrow will come and go as fast as all of the other days of the past three years. We will have spaghetti and cupcakes, and you will be excited to give me three-year-old kisses instead of two. We will spend the day talking about all of the three year old stuff you can do, giggling about your butterfly birthday party on Saturday, going over for the fiftieth time who all will be coming to celebrate, and trying to teach your little sister the happy birthday song.
And then I will blink. And 365 more days will have gone by. I will wonder where the time went, be thankful that we had it, and cry for it to come back. Not because I don’t want you to grow, but because I will want to take back all of the moments that I regretfully let slip away.
But for tonight, you are my favorite two year old in the whole world. And tomorrow, that will change. For tomorrow, you will be my favorite three year old in the whole world, standing alongside my favorite one year old in the whole world and I will be the luckiest mom alive.

The Word According To...

The following is brought to you by our resident theologian, Tater, who is dressed in the traditional scholar attire: a princess Pull-Up, Sunday sandals on the wrong feet, a plastic fireman's hat, and a pink passie. She is curled in a ball on the bottom shelf of my end table telling me that she is a puppy, and she is "twying to sweep." I'm not sure, but this may be a part of the studying process. These are things that are beyond my understanding, but I do not question them. Accoring to Tater, the first four books of the New Testament in the Bible are as follows:

Maffew
Elmo
Warry and
Bob

I also believe that somewhere towards the back of the Bible there is a First and Second Larry Boy and the Book of June-er. Please let me know if you have any questions that I can present to the Professor of New Testament studies. She will be happy to answer, but not until after nap.

Have you heard the one about....

...not being able to keep anything on your kitchen counters? You know, crazy things like pieces of fruit or packs of gum. Although I'm sure that somewhere along the way a clever mom thought "Gee, a flat, raised, mostly clean surface....maybe I could place some of the kitchen items I use on a regular basis on them, or perhaps even eating goods that do not need refrigeration."
What a novel idea.
Too bad it doesn't work.
As I have mentioned in the past, Tater and Tot both love to steal things. Lots of things.
Drinks from my cup, lipstick from my purse, and an almost finished scarf off of my knitting needles. I still haven't had the class where they teach you how to put it back on. But it seems that lately, they are scoping out my kitchen.
I have a strange feeling that they are planning a heist, a hostile take over, a "job." Anything they can get their hands on is fair game. I walked into the kitchen yesterday to find Tater eating a pack of gum. No, no, listen carefully, not chewing a pack of gum. Eating a pack of gum. Chewing and swallowing. She had even gotten a paper plate to display it on. You know what they say, presentation is everything. Remind me when she's 10 and pooping unknown things, and I'm frantic trying to find out what on earth it could be. Help me remember the Great Gum Ingestion of 2006. I'm sure I will forget by then.
And then there is the Fruit Fiasco. It started out as bananas grabbed from the basket while standing on tip-toes. Then it moved on to grapes being snuck from the fridge (which by the way takes four hands and four feet to open.) Well, today it escalated to the strawberries. I wouldn't care much about the strawberries, except that they are my favorite. And I'm not real keen on sharing. I was in the living room minding my own business when Tot, the smaller of the two perps, came to me with half of a strawberry. It was like she was showing it off, daring me to apprehend her. It was then that I realized that it was the end with the green leaves that was missing. Maybe she had come to me wanting an explanation as to why something that smelled so good could taste so much like a cow pasture. I'll never know.
But I did know that these particular thieves worked in pairs. A Thelma and Louise, if you will. There was no time to radio in for backup, so I had to face this situation on my own. I went into the kitchen to find Tater standing on a chair digging through the container, looking for the best ones. She looked at me innocently with those big brown eyes and told me "Mom-my, Sissy wanted stwawbewwies." How could I protest?
Now I know how the best in the force can go corrupt. You know, let the little things slide, maybe even take a little for themselves.

Forget about lunch.

We ate strawberries.

Now I have to go and finish my report on the incident. My paperwork will reflect that it was a false alarm. That is, if I can hide the strawberry stains.

Until next time and if anyone read this far,
Tater and Tot's Mommy

Worn Out!

Just a quick update...we just got back Monday night from a long weekend near D.C. We spent Sunday at the National Zoo, and had a great time. Tater and Tot loved all of the animals - and the popcorn! Tater was so excited, and made a cute list of what she wanted to see. She used her little fingers to make sure I knew she wanted to see the "monkeys and wions." I made sure we got to those or I would have never been forgiven! Tot was excited to try and call to the "cheeeetaaaaz" and have them come over. She was, however, scared of one very active orangutan! She hasn't quite grasped the concept of protective glass. We were with older cousins this weekend (3 and 5) and Tater and Tot both thought that they were big girls! Their aunt had everything so nice and had some fun things planned for all of the girls. They got to hunt candy Easter eggs in their egg bags and had thier picture made in their P.J.s and pink bunny ears! She even had each girl a chocolate bunny! Too cute! It was a great weekend with my girls!

Until next time,
Tater and Tot's Mommy

Today is...

I need a break. Just in case you were wondering, today is a Scenerio 1 day. Say a prayer and wish me luck. I'm going to go try to potty in peace. We'll see.

Until next time,

Tater's (who has on no clothes and who continues to steal grapes from the refrigerator) and Tot's (who has cried more than anything and keeps getting hurt) Mommy

Here goes nothing...

Well, after much pondering, I have decided to blog. B-L-O-G...it seems as though everyone's doing it. I just Googled mom blogs, and can not believe how many mom's are out there putting their stories on line. Worth a shot I guess. I'm sure that there has been research done, and probably a very intelligent reason why mothers are attracted to blogging their daily lives. Perhaps it is because parenting is the most difficult job on the face of the earth. A job that is entered into with virtually little or no training. Imagine a NASA engineer committing to work on the next shuttle to launch into space with no one telling them which part of the process is theirs to manage. Get the picture? Perhaps it is because being a mother is the type of position that no one on the face of the earth can relate to except another mother. And usually another mother who is the same situation as you are. Not a mother of 20 or 30 years ago. Although full of very knowledgeable and insightful information, grandmothers and great-grandmothers seem to take to the notion that their experience parenting was quite harder that yours. Maybe it was - but that's not what I need to hear. I need comfort that you are as scared as me that we might possibly be scarring our children for life. And I will comfort you when you say that your baby pulled a TV off of its stand yesterday by telling you that mine fell off of a couch and has carpet burn on her face. See, it happens to everybody.
So, enough about that - more about me...
I am a stay-at-home mom of two gorgeous, smart, funny, and trouble-making little girls. For the sake of not being sure how much specific information I am going to share about my family (names and such), I am going to refer to my girls as Tater and Tot. Tater will be 3 in May and Tot will be 2 in July. "Wow, that's really close," you say. My response? Yes it is. "Did you plan it that way?" you ask. Me: I always say that if you are not preventing then you are planning...so I suppose we were planning. We were surprised, but extremely excited! Normally, you say, "So, how is it? Two babies just fourteen months apart..." My response to this question can vary...
scenario 1: I wake up to Tater in my face screaming for grain bars and milk. Maybe demanding instead of screaming, but I can't hear her for the screech in her voice not to mention that her mouth is exactly 2 inches from my right ear. In the background, Tot is crying a constant scream of "Momeeeeee, Momeeeee." I groggily take the baby from the crib and, after wiping the tears and the snot, attempt to take her downstairs. It is at this time that Tater has decided that she needs to revert back to infancy and declare that she cannot walk down the stairs, and must be carried. I explain that it is not possible for Mommy to carry both down the stairs and she is big enough to walk on her own. A full-blown on-the-floor-kicking-and-screaming tantrum begins. I then proceed down the stairs only to find that Tater indeed can, and has, walked down the stairs before waking me. It seems as though she decided that her morning project is redecorating the living room and kitchen. I'm not sure if redecorating is the word I'm looking for....more like a magic marker mural on the walls, counter, table, and trash cans. And that was just the kitchen. Serve that up with evidence of a chair climbing banana stealing heist, a hearty snack of cereal, most of which is on the floor, and wrappers from my if-I-hide-it-here-she's-just-two 1/2- and-will-never-see-it-candy, and you have Tater at her finest. I could go on, but surely you would be bored. And so our day begins...
Response to scenario 1: I don't know, see if you can guess. I'm always busy, never have a moment to myself, can't remember the last time I have pottied in peace (yes, have a two year old and it suddenly becomes "pottied") and spent at least 98.2% of my waking hours cleaning up after a husband, two kids, and two cats. If I make it through the next 3 years without being committed, it will be an absolute miracle.
scenario 2: After a morning of quiet and sleeping in (okay, maybe no sleeping in, but everyone can dream), Tater comes to me and asks "Mommy, I need breakfast, please. And some milk." I hear Tot from her crib asking sweetly "Mommy? Mommy?" I go to retrieve her and she looks at me with the most adorable smile I've ever seen and says "Mommy, I a good girl?" Of course you are, my angel baby. Breakfast is full of giggles and jokes, questions and answers, singing and rhyming. I am rewarded with kisses and hugs and the brightest smiles in the world. And so our day begins....
Response to scenario 2: I don't know, see if you can guess. I'm always busy, never have a moment to myself, can't remember the last time I've pottied in peace and spend at least 98.2% of my waking hours cleaning up after a husband, two kids, and two cats. If the next three years go by as quickly as the past three years have, and if my girls keep growing this fast right before my eyes, I'll have to be committed. If ever I forget how blessed I am to have such a wonderful, precious, and unbelievably overwhelming life, I deserve to be committed.

Until next time,
Tater and Tot's Mommy