Two

Two has been a remarkable time in our lives with Tolkien. "Remarkable" is a word that a family friend who happens to be a priest likes to use when "many remarks could be made." I wouldn't go so far as to say that Tolkien's experience with the age of Two is "terrible", but given that this journey began in the late second trimester while expected Montgomery, it could be argued that it has been remarkable. 

I remember quite vividly at his 2-year-old check-up, his pediatrician asked if we had stayed to teach him his ABC's. Ever the performer, he sat there and sang them all, then pulled out his new birthday book and pointed out all the letters. And then tried to tell her all the animals he recognized in aforementioned book. 

For young Tolkien's 2.5 year birthday, we gave him, arguably, the best and worst present: a sister. We were expecting all manner of normal sibling reactions to a new baby. I blush to say, few of our expectations were favorable and we really thought he would be, for lack of a better term, jealous. In that regard, we may have been correct, excepting the small detail of what he was jealous. Tolkien was very jealous that he couldn't hold his sister. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. I think he would have tried to nurse her, if given the opportunity. When people came to see the new baby, he'd escort them to her, happily chatting about how great she is in his eyes.  We were... Perplexed. In short, many remarks could be made.

Things in Tolkien's muffin

This morning Tolkien was eating a muffin. While he ate, he listed off what was in it: "grapes, carrots, crayons..." Technically it did have raisins, but I don't know where he got crayons...

Rules #222

Stolen from a friend.

Very few things are better burnt.

Beware of Over Confidence.

I am the mother of a wonderfully creative 2.5 year-old little boy whom I call Tolkien.  He, like many toddlers, has an impressive desire to learn about the world around him through play, imitation, exploration, and through observation.  Also like many other toddlers, his learning sometimes takes on the role of household mischief maker.  He is willingly aided in this through the family dog, Molly.  

When we got the dog (which is its own long story) my thought process was that every child should have a pet growing up.  We also happen to live in an area that has a healthy population of wildlife; including snakes; including venomous snakes. Therefore, as Tolkien grows (and Montgomery as well), I have taken pains to ensure that Molly-dog fully embraces the children as her pack, and therefore, her puppies.  This includes giving them both opportunities to play with the other, spoil the other, and snuggle.  Mr. Gabrielle is on board with the bonding, but I'm not sure he likes the snuggling part.  Part of this bonding experiment includes Tolkien feeding Molly-dog her favorite treats.  As you might imagine, this makes all toddlers VERY popular with Molly. 

We are having a soggy, cold fall here in Texas. As part of my attempts to placate the toddler who hasn't been able to play outside much in the previous few months because we had a hot summer that my pregnant self couldn't stand, the month or so of mild weather was spent in recovery from the birth of Montgomery, and then we had cold and rain, I've been trying to find indoor activities that are not hazardous to anyone's health or my sanity.  This includes play-dough, an assortment of cars and other toys, and crayons on long rolls of butcher paper. 

Now that I've set the stage, I'd like to present my morning. I'm still trying to help the house recover from the birth of Montgomery, so any time I can work on this while she (Montgomery) is sleeping and Tolkien and Molly-dog are distracted, is welcome indeed.  While I was tidying to the kitchen, mentally congratulating myself for being so on top of things in the house, mentally stimulating my toddler, getting Montgomery into a schedule, and keeping all of us (Mr. Gabrielle, Tolkien, Montgomery, Molly-dog, Bash-turtle, and myself) fed, clothed where necessary, and clean, I noticed that Tolkien was doing something with Molly.  I didn't think much of it: this was a mistake.  

You may recall the scene in Peter and the Wolf where Sasha the bird gets cocky while flying circles around the wolf and then flies into a tree, just after the narrator states, "Beware of over confidence."  That's what it felt like when I looked over and realized that Tolkien gleefully fed his 24 count box of crayons, one by one, to Molly-dog.  Molly-dog gobbled them up.  And now I have an empty cardboard box of crayons, a long wet, cold day ahead with a bored toddler, a full dog, and an order to Amazon for more crayons that I am planning to coat in cayenne pepper and Tabasco sauce.  Beware of over confidence.

Breakfast

Now there are two: Tolkien and Montgomery, both sharing the initials of two of my favorite authors. However having a 2.5-year-old and a 3-week-old means a lot of big changes. High on the list including, 45 minutes intervals between night feedings for Montgomery, crack of dawn wake up calls from Tolkien, constant battles with household chores in spite of helpful toddlers restarting just finished loading of laundry so the clothes are soaked and have to go through another spin cycle only for the toddler to do it again, and Montgomery projectile vomiting on a freshly laundered basket as well. I just can't win. And then my offspring have a significant aversion to letting me eat. Or have coffee. It's enough to make one rethink IVs just to get enough caffeine to function.

Last night Montgomery didn't sleep well and Tolkien didn't want to hold still. And of course, my beloved husband had to work. I looked at the easy breakfast I had thrown together for myself, including coffee, and thought "it's lovely but there is no way my children will let me eat it. Lord, do you think you could help me?" And just like that, Montgomery fell asleep and stayed asleep for ten minutes. And Tolkien played quietly at the same time. It was a miracle!!! And just as I finished my coffee, Montgomery woke back up and Tolkien needed attention. But it was enough, to remind me that even on a bad day, I'm not done this alone.

Rules #221

This one comes from my beloved husband. 

Don't either over ten cents and buy the onions your actually want.

Tolkien

My son, Tolkien, has recently mastered the ability to stand. This had opened up whole new avenues of destruction. Keep in mind that at ten months he trained the dog to lay down adjacent to things he wanted to climb, at eleven months he opened the baby gate, and at twelve months he discovered how to eat Mama's carefully written thank you notes that were supposed to be sent to people who gave him birthday presents. I am, of course, very proud of his mischievous side as it is proof that he is indeed related to me and is not just a clone of his father, as so many have hypothesized. He has the hair and vocabulary of a two-year-old and all the charm of a politician. And yet I am frequently shocked that he is still a baby.

Rule #220

There is nothing quite like having a child to open up while new universes of fear.

Lots of time

One of those things that nobody tells you prior to having a baby is that if you choose to breastfeed you have a lot of time on your hands in which you can do almost nothing because your hands are full. There's only so much Facebook a person's sanity can handle, only so much television a person can tolerate, and only so much online shopping a budget will allow. Therefore I have returned to a favorite hobby of my childhood... Reading.

I recently discovered that my library allows me to download books temporarily to my phone and I've read about a dozen since I realized this. An added bonus that I need a finger free to operate it.

What have I been reading? A little of this, a little of that. Some history, some fantasy, some historical fiction. Best books: Jerrod Packard's Victoria's Daughters, Debbie Macomber's Inn at Rose Harbor series, Georgette Heyer's The Incredible Sophie, and Jim butcher's Changes. You'll forgive my typos here; I'm still typing with I one finger. Worst books: Marissa Meyer's Heartless and The Regency Rakes, which is nothing like Georgette Heyer's books no matter what suggestions the website suggests. It takes a lot to make my list of bad books... and remember it.

The cry room

Ever have one of those days where morning goes according to plan? Where you realize that for the second day in a row, you are missing one crucial ingredient to make dinner.  Therefor, you have to prepare for an elaborate trip out, which you desperately try to plan around daily Mass and a desperately needed free coffee day at Starbucks.  (Don't judge me; I still haven't gotten my French press back from ServPro.)  This involves repacking the diaper bag to ensure you have plenty of spare diapers, wipes, pacifiers, blankets, and at least two changes of clothes for your bundle of joy who usually loves Mass, has been known to blow threw the outfits in less than a half hour.

After much preparation and fanfare, you get to Mass, where you must choose your seat with care. Not too close to the well meaning little old ladies who think it's acceptable to pat my baby on the head/back/tushy and wake him up, not too far from the exit should the need arise to make a hasty get away, not too far from a visible spot to the front because we actually want to see Mass.  And then, he woke up.  As a rule, Tolkien likes Mass but if he gets hungry and if I can get him settled eating quickly he will happily sit through the rest of Mass.  I have found that we are the most successful with this maneuver if I do it before Mass starts and there is almost no one there, or if I excuse myself to the cry room for a minute to get situated.  I only have about two minutes to get him set up before all hope is lost, Tolkien won't settle, and I might as well go home.  Now the scene is set. 

Today, someone thought the Cry Room was really only for the first person who gets there and used it as her personal playpen for her unruly toddler... And locked the door.  Needless to say, I missed the window. Causing me to try not to glare daggers at the woman for the rest of Mass.  I will be the first to say that I understand that taking toddlers to Mass is difficult and bless you for trying.  However, lady, I needed a cry room for my crying baby, and by the time Mass was done, *I* was ready to cry too.