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We went on an outing to The Butterfly Pavilion yesterday afternoon. I had serious doubts about whether or not it would end up as an enjoyable experience. But, very fortunately, I was wrong. The kids were great, and really enjoyed themselves.
It's a really neat place, but, while the butterflies were stunning, I preferred the bug and fish exhibits. The butterfly habitat mimics a rain-forest. I thought I was going to pass out from the heat and humidity!
They are gorgeous though, aren't they? And so big, this one in the top picture was about ten inches wide!
Maddie was excited to meet Dori, and Nemo was in the next tank over!
We had to drag the girls away from the starfish. They loved having something to interact with.
"Do you want to hold Rosie?" The spider lady asked the girls. Neither one spoke, but Sophie climbed up in the chair, and shyly nodded "yes".
And she did! How brave!
The babes weren't thrilled with much, but they did enjoy their day out. Here they are, snacking away!
I'm not sure I will ever be the best Mama I can be, until I decide what kind of mama I want to me. While I love to cook and bake, read stories to my kids, give and receive "raspberries" and "zerberts", etc. I'm not sure I'm mature enough to receive complete "fulfillment" from that (especially considering the involution of laundry, and my inability to put it away before it has been folded, knocked over, and refolded at least three times). I think it takes an amazing woman to "just" be "Mom". I know that I turn to my tutoring and writing to ESCAPE from my children. Now that Brian has gone back to a fifty hour work week, I find myself more physically and emotional exhausted than ever before.
Tonight Brian and I were sitting and discussing our weekend plans, and tears just began tumbling from my eyes. I wasn't even crying, in the traditional sense, but I could not stop them from flowing. Graham is already trying to walk (he low-crawls, but seems to want to skip actually crawling altogether), and I can't stop the frantic little voice in my head that screams, "Good grief, it's going to get even harder than this!"
But, yesterday I took a deep breath, and was "just" a mama. I baked bread for the second time in one week. The unparalleled aroma filled every space in the house, and while it lingered, life seemed a little better, and slightly less complicated. 
I've started to think frequently about modern conveniences, and whether or not we should call them that. First of all, someone has to pay for them, which means having to work more hours, and spend more time away from loved ones. Second, if the smell (and then later the taste) of baking bread could bring me peace, what would my day be like if I spent part of it placing and removing clothes from the line? OK, this actually sounds awful to me, but it would help to snap me out of my "folding problem".
Back to yesterday, it was much too windy for the girls to play outside. Actually, the wind blew so loudly that Maddie was convinced a dog was growling in the garage. She wouldn't stop pointing at the door, making her meanest growl face, and saying, "Rrrrr, doggie!" So, we sat around inside, ate a lot of popcorn, and read about a dozen books.
They are just starting to get into the whole "video" thing. This poses a tremendous conundrum for me. If I were to let them veg-out and watch back to back movies (or, more likely, the same movie over and over again), my life would be much breezier. But, would I still qualify as their mother, or could I easily be replaced with a baby-sitter? So, I did let them watch a video when they woke up early from nap-time, but when the credits began to roll, and Sophie pointed at the t.v. and demanded, "A-gin, a-gin!" I put their sing-a-long video on instead, and we danced around the living room for about half an hour. Oh (revelatory moment), that's the kind of mama I want to be!
Also, it was my second full day of potty-training. OK, I guess I've recovered enough to "talk" about it without crying. Our first try went something like this:
It was a gorgeous morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the potty-seats were cleaned-up and ready for use. I sat them both (the potty-seats) in the shade on the back patio. Then I took off the girls diapers, and let them splash around in the kiddie pool until I thought it might be "pee pee time". I then called them both over, sat them down, and started energetically asking them to potty. After only about ten minutes, my voice began to droop, and my encouragement waned. Sophie acted as if she could not hold up under the pressure, and while still keeping her bottom on the seat, she leaned forward toward me, stretched out her arms, desperately grasped my neck, and held on tight. Then, she began to sob. This started Maddie to sobbing. I can't even express the gratitude I felt when my mother-in-law fired up the lawn mower. She was actually mowing the lawn, not simply drowning out the vulgar noises of my children, but I was grateful none-the-less.
About forty minutes into the process, Sophie did potty. The problem is that she wasn't trying to, and wasn't happy about it. She was in the middle a massive fit at this point, and in her flopping on and off of the chair, she started to pee (while she was in the off-flop). I quickly sat her back on the seat, and began to praise her profusely. I clapped and whooped, Maddie clapped and hollered...but Sophie continued to wail. I gave her a little candy reward, and she ate it through sobs, chocolate running down her face. "Well, that didn't work!" I thought. But I was ready for Maddie to go right away, since she had just seen the process demonstrated so brilliantly.
About an hour into our now hellish morning, Sophie was lying across my lap, Graham was crying (feeling completely neglected in his activity seat), Cammie was still (thankfully) bouncing happily, Maddie was distraught, and I was crying. It was time for the babies to eat, so I grabbed Graham and the Boppie, sat back down by Maddie, and nursed him while Sophie lay across my legs.
Right about the time Graham finished eating, Camille reached her boiling point. I switched them out, and in the same (extremely uncomfortable) position as before, nursed Camille. When Camille was done, about an hour and a half into my unraveling nightmare, Maddie's potty-seat was still dry as a bone.
This was clearly not going to work, and it was now nap-time. I carried the girls to their room, and laid them in their beds. They fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow (the only plus side I can see in this potty-training approach). We tried again, for a much shorted stint, later in the day. The results of day one were: Sophie, 2 number 1, 0 number 2; Maddie, 0, 0
Day two was the windy day, so we set up inside on the laundry room floor. This bought went much more smoothly (it would basically have to!) but was still pretty unprofitable. I spent an hour blowing bubbles, reading stories, and putting on a puppet show; then, as soon as I got up to get Maddie's blankie, she peed. As I sprinted back into the room, I could see her pointing into the potty-seat and saying, "Yucky, yea!" She gets it, and I'm excited about that, but it took us an hour to get there again. So, after reading horror stories of kids becoming dangerously constipated because they were unwilling to go on the potty-seat, I've decided to move on to plan B.
What is plan B? Well, it basically consists of big girl underwear, and A LOT of plastic pants! I'll let you know how it goes.
Want to share your potty-training stories or advice? Please use the comment section on this post. Write away!
After entertaining Brian for about a half-hour last night, hyper-actively acting out the events of the day, he asked if I'd blogged about the kids' antics recently. I guess I haven't said much at all lately...
So...
Sophie is a very opinionated two-year old. She likes the red chair, the green bowl, the brown spoon, the red coat, the ABC bottle, the blue shoes, the blue sippie cup, and the pink hat. IF, for any reason, and under any circumstances, Maddie decides to use one of these protected items, Sophie let's us know it. Sophie screams! Sophie goes to time-out. Maddie gets a look from Mama. Should children be taught that they have to share everything? It's alright, even good, to have a few things all to ourselves. So how do you teach this to children without creating selfish little hoarders? I'm stumped. For now I'm usually able to let Sophie claim things for herself, because Maddie doesn't interfere. When Maddie does decide that she has the same taste as her sister, I make them share.
Yesterday was especially easy material for my nightly show. The kids were hideous, and hilarious. Graham is a proficient low-crawler, and keeps attacking Camille while they are playing together on the floor. I was busy with the laundry and couldn't keep rescuing her, so I moved Camille to a bouncy seat, safe off the floor. Well, next thing I knew Graham had climbed up into the seat with her. I walked in just in time to see him grab her face with both hands, and give her a big slobbery "kiss". I burst out laughing, and he turned to face me with his fun goofy smile, and what I call his half cough/half laugh. I wish I had it all on video! There's $10,000 right there!
The evening went something like this: The kids were all behaving better than they had all day, so I decided that it was safe to start dinner. Mom (Mother-in-law) has been redoing the kitchen, so I'm limited to an electric skillet. I decided to try my Rosemary Chicken Pasta with Red Peppers in a Parmesan Bechamel. It's one of my favorite original recipes, but I'd never made it without being able to pre-boil the pasta. Anyway, I sneaked out into the garden to pick some rosemary; unfortunately, I'm not that sneaky. Sophie and Maddie caught on, and quickly scampered outside. "Fine!" I snapped. "Just play nicely for a few minutes while I make dinner." So there I was, prisoner to my sauce, whisking frantically, tippie-toed, peering out the kitchen window, yelling at my poor children. "Would you get away from that bucket?!" Wisk, wisk, wisk. "Get out of that bucket!!" Wisk, wisk, wisk. Get out of that bucket right now! Stop it. Stop it! Stop it!!"
Just then my mother-in-law came down the stairs. "Do you want them to come inside?"
"I don't care what they do. I just want them to get out of that danged bucket!"
"What bucket?"
"The cement bucket from the kitchen floor"
"What!? Girls, get out of that bucket! Oh my gosh! You are soaking wet! They are SOAKING wet!"
OK, so here's where I turned off the skillet, and put dinner on pause. Oh, don't worry so much, the cement bucket was filled with water and old dry cement, not actual cement;)
