Pajama Drive

After dinner we put the kids in their PJs and loaded them into the van for some Christmas light viewing delight. The kids were hyped, and, though we didn't see too many especially dazzling houses, they reveled in each twinkling bush and gaudy reindeer.

"Oh, beautiful beauties!" Hannah exclaimed.

"Oh, look at those blue icicle lights," Naomi narrated, "it looks as if they're dancing."

"Wuh goes bwoo wigh! Gay ga-ee! (Look those blue lights! They dancing!)" Emma echoed.

"Yights!" Toby added.

We sang a few songs, marveled over tall lighted trees, and tucked some slightly cranky and overtired children in bed--slightly cranky, but fulfilled. Hopefully we created some happy memories.

Toby's To-Do List 12/6/10

For those of you who feel overwhelmed by the pressures of the season, I present to you the accomplishments of a 21 month old overachiever. Read on and feel inspired to do more than is humanly possible in one day.

Toby's To-Do:

1.) Wake the household by repeating "Mo-mmy! Da-ddy! Mo-mmy! DAAAA-DDDDYYY!" for at least five minutes or until my presence is acknowledged, and I am removed from this cage. (Tried removing myself from it once--didn't go so well--sticking to parent removal on demand for now)

2.) Demand to accompany Mom to bus stop with Naomi in middle of blizzard. Throw enormous tantrum and refuse to eat cereal set before me when strapped to booster seat instead. Let Mom come in to find cereal all over the floor as payment for her insensitivity. Pay no attention to discipline.

3.) Follow Mom around as she attempts to do laundry, clean the kitchen, or plan meals. Demand to read "Book!" over and over again. (Preferably the same book, 15 times in a row.)

4.) Settle for reading book with Daddy. Point to pictures of rocks, ladders, TVs, computers, tables, and chairs, naming them all as, "NO, NO!" Repeat solemnly the new name that Daddy gives the computer, "Spank."

5.) Observe Emma's frustration when trying to build a block tower. Observe quietly as Mom comforts her and helps her to succeed. Knock tower down! Observe innocently as Emma cries.

6.) Climb onto kitchen chair, slip, fall backwards and knock head against counter on the way down to the floor. Scream like I have a concussion so Mom will take me under the bright lights in the bathroom and sit me on the counter to look me over. Recover completely from head trauma and dive to grab as many toothbrushes as I can while they're in my reach.

7.) Climb onto kitchen chair and pick up each item Mom is attempting to use to prepare lunch. Repeat, "Yunch! Mmmmm!" over and over as I steal the ham, the cheese, and the butter knife out from under her. Drag kitchen chair over to stove so I can place my hand as close to fire as possible while Mom attempts to grill the sandwiches. Scream, kick, and pout when she straps me into my booster seat and sets the booster seat in the middle of the living room, entirely out of reach of anything.

8.) Participate with enthusiasm in lunch conversation, even though I have no clue what they're talking about.

9.) Wake up from nap to find Mom making meatloaf. Hand each egg to Mom, announcing, "Ball!"

10.) Demand to accompany Mom to bus stop to pick-up Naomi. Scream and refuse to eat a snack when strapped to booster seat instead. This is sooo infuriating, how do these strap things work, anyway?!

11.) Insist on going outside in blizzard with sisters. Force Mom to suspend the meatloaf recipe and spend 15 minutes cramming my feet into boots and my fingers into mittens. Wail in horror when first snowflake touches my face. What the heck?!?! That stuff is cold! And wet! And it's on all my toys! OK, it is really cool when Mom makes a snowball. Hey, this stuff has potential...another day. Demand to be taken back inside immediately.

12.) Refuse to put any of that brownish lumpy stuff in my mouth at dinner, even though it's covered in ketchup. Throw head back, cough and gag when Mom sneaks some in my mouth. Throw the poisonous garbage to the floor in protest. Watch Mom carefully until she looks away. Shove handfuls of meatloaf in my mouth while she's not paying attention. It isn't half-bad after all.

13.) Remark, "Eww! Gohhhsss!" while Mom changes my diaper. Listen intently while Mom and Emma discuss how big Emma is since she uses the potty. Announce, "Nee pah-ee! Have pee!" Run to bathroom. Repeat, "Nee pah-ee! Have pee!" with enthusiasm until Mom removes my diaper and places me on the toilet. Sense chasm of watery death beneath me. Scream, throw arms around Mom's neck, and plead for rescue. Reconsider and repeat, "Nee pah-ee! Have pee!" Repeat dance of death when placed back on toilet. Pick up diaper and hand it to mom. Pee in diaper less than one minute later.

14.) Give flight and run ragged through the house while Mom attempts to put my pajamas on.

15.) Climb onto bathroom counter via bathroom stool. Put each adult's toothbrush in my mouth and point to night-light announcing, "HOT!" when Mom comes in to retrieve me.

16.) Stand in crib jabbering, giggling, and generally yucking it up long after sisters have fallen asleep. But I should get some rest, it's going to be a big day tomorrow.

Blankie, Boo, Sheepy too

Hannah's been a blanket dragger since she was ten months old. It was a fuzzy pink blanket with a picture of Piglet sewn on the bottom. Piglet is still there, but the blankie is more of a dingy grey now. Surprisingly, it is not missing any pieces. Considering the number of places that blanket has been dragged and the number of nights it's been cuddled, it's amazingly durable. I have been pushing Hannah toward daytime separation from her most prized possession--just baby steps, like leaving it in the car instead of dragging it into the store with us, then leaving it at home all together--but it has been a rough separation.

My gradual weaning plan may have backfired on me. Recently I overheard Hannah whispering, "I love you, Blankie. I love you so much. I love you more than anyone else. You'll never leave me." And worse, two new friends joined Blankie this fall to form an inseparable foursome. First came the doggie pillow Hannah was rewarded with after her biopsy. On the way home she informed me, "His name is Boo. It's short for Boot. I love him so much!" Then came the adorable sheep-headed, silk-lined fleece blanket that Prenatal Partners for Life sent for each of my children. Naomi, Emma, and Toby like their sheep, but Hannah's has become entwined as the newest member of the love quartet.

"Hey, Mama," she announced, "It rhymes: I love Blankie, Boo, and Sheepy too!" And so it remains. If she discovers one to be absent during the bedtime story, the story must wait while a state of emergency is declared and all parties are consumed with the search. If one is pushed under the depths of the covers by a careless, sleeping foot, and Hannah should awaken to take roll and find him missing, Mama must be awoken and a flashlight brought in to retrieve the lost friend. Toby has caught on, and if he should find one lying around the house, he will yell, "a-nana!" and run the helpless fellow to his owner as if there's not a moment to loose. So when I enroll her in kindergarten next summer do you suppose I'll be allowed to enroll Blankie, Boo, and Sheepy too?

Sipping the Past to Savor the Present

Our church offered free childcare today to give busy parents a chance to cross a few things off of their December "to-do" lists. My kids were ecstatic when I announced this morning that they would be heading to the church for a kids' activity day. Toby had no idea what I said, but hey, excitement is catching. With a small church, the place and faces were familiar to the kids, so Matt and I were at ease dropping them off and enjoying some time to ourselves--that's high on my "to-do" list.

We had a quiet, leisurely lunch at home, then sat at Starbucks where I enjoyed a warm peppermint Mocha. The Starbucks atmosphere took me right back to downtown Chicago ten years ago, when my roommate and I would study for hours at there. And to the few times that Matt flew back in from Seminary and joined me at a Starbucks to help me with my Greek homework. It will be ten years ago this coming New Years Day that Matt and I were engaged, and our ninth wedding anniversary on January 5th. Today helped me to "zoom out" from the daily details of diaper duty and job hunting. It was fresher air and a much prettier view looking at the whole of the last ten years. It gave me a bit more energy to tackle the tasks at hand when we crashed back into kid-world a few hours later.

Our life was beautiful ten years ago, and it is beautiful now, just very different. It was a pleasant dip into the past, but returning to the present to hear Toby squealing, "Mom-my!" and see the button-decorated ornaments the girls made was far better.

The Frown that Looked Like a Smile

Around four this morning (yes, that seems to be the witching hour) Hannah joined me in bed. "I'm just having a rough night," she explained. "I got up to go potty, and my knee started hurting." I let her snuggle for a while, but she voluntarily returned to bed.

The morning was off with a bang, which is usually how it goes when I opt to hit snooze, especially on Fridays. Emma goes to speech preschool on Friday mornings, which happens to coincide exactly with the time Naomi's bus arrives. Naomi was in a funk because her jeans wouldn't fit inside her snow boots. I left Matt to deal with her and dashed out the door with Emma at 8:25. She arrived at preschool just as they were opening the door at 8:30, but was upset to discover that we had left her backpack at home. I promised to bring it back for her. At 8:34 I pulled back in our driveway just as Naomi's bus was coming down the street. I jumped from the van, ran inside and nearly dragged her out to the bus as it pulled up in front of our house. As she climbed on the bus I realized she wasn't wearing a hat. "Just get on the bus," I urged, "I'll bring your hat to school." At least I had two good reasons to go back to the school now. Emma's teacher was relieved when I arrived with the backpack. "Oh good," she sighed, "That'll make her happy." Naomi was equally relieved to see her hat.

When I flopped back on the couch after my one-hour dash, Hannah strolled up beside me with her pajamas still on and tussled hair. "Mommy," she frowned, "my knee still hurts." (Actually, she has trouble with 'r' so it sounded more like "huwts".)

"Does it really?" I probed, scrutinizing her body language for any real sign of pain--none was detected.

"Yes! It really does. It really hurts a lot!" she insisted. I gave her knee a kiss and gave her a pep-talk about not making big deals out of little ones, but she wasn't giving up this opportunity for attention.

"Don't worry about it, Hannah, it will heal up," I assured her. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Well...," she thought, "I'm just gonna eat breakfast and worry about my knee."

One bowl of cereal later she called from the kitchen, "Mommy, I want more...or maybe my knee is my tummy and I shouldn't eat because my knee hurts." When I asked her to get dressed later she replied, "No! I need to worry about my knee!" Lying down on the floor she remarked, "I obeyed myself, and now I'm worrying about it." When I refused her further attention and left to take care of work, she shadowed me saying, "I have to follow my mommy wherever she goes because my knee hurts."

I turned to her in cynicism, "Honey, if your knee hurts so much, why are you smiling?"

"Well, I just had a frown that you thought was a smile," came the innocent response.

She noticed that the envelope that I was jotting her phrases down on was filling up. "I'll get you another paper," she offered, "in case I be more funny." When I laughed openly at that she grinned and danced about the room for a moment, then stopped. "Oh! I forgot I'm sad!" she quipped as she fell to the floor in mock pain, kissing her knee. "Oh! Twenty kisses won't help this time! Oh!"

You'll be happy to know she made a full recovery shortly after I announced we would be cleaning out the minivan together. Stranger things have happened in the Eby household.

The Snow Show

I loaded three children into the minivan first thing this morning to take them for their annual flu shots. Emma vomited herself out of her flu shot last night and won the envied spot on the couch watching movies with Daddy. Jealous of Emma though they were, Naomi, Toby, and Hannah were herded out the door while Emma grinned.

The frigid white wind that met me outside was nearly as welcome to me as another vomit covered child, but it instantly brightened Hannah's mood. "It's snowing!" she announced, and she heralded the glad tidings all the way to the doctor's office. "I can't believe it's actually snowing! Finally, finally! I love the snow! It's not quite covering the grass yet, Mama, but it will 'cause it just keeps snowing and snowing!"

"It's still snowing!" Hannah discovered as we emerged from the office after the shots. At home she pulled back the curtains on the patio doors and planted a chair in front of the wide-screen snow show. "Look, Mama, it's all white outside!" she reminded me. "The grass is white and the chairs are white, and the toys are white, and... Hey, there's a man who sings about a white Christmas, and he's sad. He sings sad 'cause he lives so far north that he doesn't have any snow. I'd be sad too if I didn't have any snow. Oh, who says it's not Christmas? It is Christmas! Be...cause...it's...snowing! It really is, Mama."

"Is it really?" I asked dryly, chopping some celery for our crock-pot dinner. "Toby, get your fingers back!"

"I just like the snow so much that I'm going to stay here all day," Hannah sighed. "No matter how long, I'll still, still, still look out this window. I'll look out for the whole Christmas until the snow stops snowing and it's spring again. And at bedtime I'll refuse to go to bed! I just like snow, you know? That rhymes. Are you writing down what I say, Mama?"

"No, sweetie, this is a recipe," I lied.

Hannah was disappointed, "You should write it down. It would be sad if you don't remember how cute I am."

Toby pulled a kitchen chair up by the hot crockpot on the counter to inspect the contents. "No, Toby!" I yelled. He startled and fell backwards off the chair onto the kitchen floor. I scolded him, "That's HOT! Toby, it will BURN you!" Ah, yes, burn. He seemed to remember that and opted to relocate his chair to beneath a shelf of breakable Christmas decorations.

"Toby's so naughty," Hannah commented, "but he got a sticker from the doctor today even though he wasn't brave."

"No, Toby!" I yelled again as he stretched to reach a dangling evergreen swag, but he didn't heed my warning. His little toes lost their grip on the edge of the seat and he toppled off the chair. I showed no sympathy.

"Next time we go back outside to play I'll be wearing snow pants!" Hannah continued unfazed. I did my best to tune her out as I fried a pan of bacon. A moment later the living room lights dimmed, then glowed bright again, then dimmed. I left the bacon to find Toby teetering on the arm of the recliner and running the light dimmer up and down. "Bright!" he announced cheerily. "I think it's about time for lunch," I lied again, strapping Toby into his booster seat.

"Mommy," Hannah chided, reading my emotions, "you're supposed to love your enemies."

I love him. I just love him better in his booster seat. And I love Hannah, but sometimes a small piece of duct tape is tempting, just until it stops snowing.

Things that go "blurp" in the night

Emma volunteered to put herself to bed last night. She slept restlessly, tossing and turning, and occasionally moaning. Around 4:00am I was startled awake by a sudden blurping sound. "Mommy, come!" Emma croaked. More blurping followed as I lept out of bed. By the time I reached Emma she and her bed were covered in gluten-free Hawaiian pizza vomit. "Oh, honey, it's OK," I assured her as she sat shaking, "wait here, don't move."

I jerked Matt from bed, wrapped Emma in her comforter and handed her over to Matt, "You bathe her, I'll clean up the bed." I turned on a lamp in the corner, which pleased Toby very much, "Bright!" he chirped. Unfortunately, Emma likes to sleep with a menagerie of coverings and furry friends. A sheet, a mattress pad, a fuzzy blanket, a handmade quilt, a silk "lovey," and a couple furry friends went into plastic bags for cleaning.

"Mommy," Naomi whined, "can you turn that light off? It's bothering me."

"Sorry, Naomi," I apologized, "I can't clean throw-up in the dark."

"Bright!" Toby added helpfully.

I remade Emma's bed with fresh bedding, and brought some clean pajamas up for Emma. Matt was gagging as he rinsed Emma off in the bath tub. After an hour of bathing, rinsing, stain removing, laundry washing, and bathroom disinfecting we finally all found our way back to bed around 5:30am. Toby did his best to talk himself to the sunrise, but he eventually succumbed to sleep as well.

Today Emma is perky as usual, though she didn't object to being treated to a special bed on the couch and a movie this morning. She's drinking and eating and acting as if nothing had happened at all. I, on the other hand, am a bit sleepy. Want to place bets for who will throw up tonight?