Welcome to Saturday. . .and my bad attitude.

They say that if you have nothing nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all.  That's my excuse for not posting very often lately.  That. . .and the fact that I have barely enough energy to open a bottle of wine and pour a glass before I pass out each night.  I do always manage to find the energy to do that, though.

We're pushing about three weeks now where Cole won't sleep in his bed.  That's sort of a lie.  He'll sleep in his bed, so long as Bill or I are in the room.  So we're also pushing about three weeks that Bill has been sleeping on Cole's bedroom floor. 

At the moment? I'm writing this post from the rocker in the corner of his room while he naps.  It's like prison.  A prison of Toy Story characters, cartoon robots, and the omnipresent smell of applesauce and poops.

Anyway.  It's been tough.  I'm just about ready to yell "uncle" and see if Cole can live there.  No, I joke. I'm really ready to move Cole's bed in our room.  Just to make life easier for everyone and yes...to completely solidify the fact that an almost three year old runs my life.  Just in case there was anyone out
there with any doubt.  Mom: 0, Cole: to many to count.

I'm really glad that I've had friends and family tell me so much about these "terrible threes" that I'm clearly living with.  It makes me feel less crazy.  Actually? It kind of reminds me of how my mother describes me as a teenager; completely unstable and possessed by demons.  Could this be karma. . .?

And of course this stage is coinciding with that wonderful stage of Till's when she becomes even more talkative, and funny, and so great to be around.  The problem is that every time you're enjoying Till, Cole takes it as an invitation to let his inner wolves out.  And repeat.  And repeat.

Side note: The combination scream/whine from a small boy has got to be worse than any other form of torture out there.  Worse than water boarding, worse than solitary confinement, worse than listening to my sister tell a story. . .

Just today, within the first two hours of arising for the day, Cole had dumped his cereal (including milk) on Till's head. . . on purpose.  He threw a block at the TV.  He called me a "bad dog".  He had two time outs; one was for doing something he shouldn't have, and the second was for trying to sneak away while he should have been in the first time out.  He attempted to color Till's foot.  He ran his head into the front door while playing "race car" when I clearly told him we don't play race car.  Not with our heads.  He dumped a box of Cheerios out on the floor. . .you know. . .for a dramatic pause to our morning:

... and then he ate them.  Fast.  Because I was going to get the vacuum.

By the way, I was sort of laughing like a crazy woman with tears in my eyes while taking this picture.  That's how much you mean to me.  I'll go get the camera right in the middle of my breakdown, to take you to hell with me.

And the Tills really likes Cheerios.  When she figured out what was going on. . .she lost it:

Me too, kid.  Me too.  Actually, she might be upset about my folks' wallpaper.  I know I am.

And it was a perfect reaction, actually.  Because I was already crying, lying on the floor, snapping pictures of this nut-town.  So Cole took advantage of the moment, per usual, and started yelling at Till to be quiet.

The really nice thing about this shot, is that if you look closely. . .you can see his head injury from earlier this morning.

Just in case you can't see it on your own:

Can you say "I told you so?" to a toddler and not be a jerk?

I do actually have a story for you about when the van died this week and a how a $25 dollar belt ended up costing us $700, but you're probably already late for something fun you planned to do on a Saturday.  Something fun because you probably don't have an almost-three-year-old who's been possessed by demons.

Must be really nice to be you.

And so, this is why I haven't posted.  And maybe why I should keep not posting.  Except when I tell you the van story.  Which you'll love.  And will also have some vivid imagery of Bill screaming obscenities in the middle of the night while out on a gorgeous snowy, New England road.   But not now, because I've been in Cole's room now for over an hour. . .and I just looked over at him. . .and he's sitting up, reading a book.  It must be my typing.

All for another time.  Cole's 3rd birthday is a week from today.  And if I (and he) make it to then, I'm sure I'll have a bit more for you, too.

Where I tell you in 30 seconds about Christmas, the Till's birthday, and the monster that took over our toddler

I have a good excuse this time. . .I do. 

We had the holidays, and then we had Till's birthday, and in the middle. . .we've been having one of the worst toddler 'stages' EVER.  Ev. Er.

But let's start with the nice stuff.

Christmas 2010.

It was strange, being in a new place that isn't ours, but it was also really fun to do Christmas morning with my folks.  Not only did Cole really start to understand the concept of Santa Claus this year, but our fabulous families understood that we didn't have much room for more stuff. . .and they were very thoughtful with their [small] gifts. 

Santa brought Cole a workbench.  A real workbench.  After about a half hour listening to Cole bang at the nails and screws. . .I started to question my gift choice.  This is definitely one of those things you should remind me about next Christmas. . .and the one after that. . .and the one after that. . .



"Cole, smile for mom with your present.  No, no, don't open it yet.  Just point.  Sure, that'll do.
That doesn't look forced or crazy at all."
Also, please note what rat dog did to the blinds.  Too bad she was able to get her head free.

 


This girl is always happy. 
Even when we stick her in the jumpy thing on Christmas morning to play workbench whammy on the wooden nails until Mommy ears are bleeding, with Cole. 

 

We also spent Christmas night at my in laws.  That was so great and the kids really enjoyed themselves.  They always want more time with them.  We kept hearing about the "one memere and one pepere" for about a week.  Still unsure why he counts them. . .

And then there was Matilda's first birthday.  We had a small, family party in the middle of the blizzard.  At least there's always a broke kid who works at a pizza joint, willing to bring you pizza in the middle of a blizzard.  And if there's pizza, there's a party.  And party we did.

I made a vegan carrot cake.  We're not vegans.  But I like saying vegan. . .and when you remember that all vegan carrot cake really is. . .is replacing eggs with applesauce. . .vegan becomes easy, too!

A vegan carrot cake with cream cheese and agave nectar frosting. . .YUMMMMM. 

(yes, sarcastic.)  However, this is about seven floors down from the crazy first-time-mom penthouse I used to live in when I made Cole an all natural, sugar free, trifle for his first birthday. . . and insisted travelling with it just in case someone wanted to sneak him some real birthday cake.

I wasn't that crazy this time around.

In fact, my vegan carrot cake had food-colored, store bought, candy crunchies on top.  You know. . .for color. 

And the Tills?  Not impressed. . . .

These are three faces I caught on camera during the evening.  The first, is with said cake.  Please note the "this is the worst, mom" face.  The second. . .is the devious first born trying to lure my attention away from the sweet birthday girl.  (Note: it worked.) The third picture is the sweet birthday girl finally getting in the mood (Note: when she gets excited, her birthmark shows up on her eyelid. . .seems fitting on her birthday).

But overall. . .please notice that the vegan carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and colored crunchy candies is untouched in all pictures. . .

. . .and so it stayed until Bill threw it away the next morning.  C'est la vie.  Now that I think about it. . .Cole didn't really eat his trifle, either.  I think someone gave him a whoopie pie instead.  Sigh.

I think I might have cared about the cake if it was any other week than this one we've had.  Cole has refused to sleep in his room alone in almost two weeks.  Out of the blue.  Screams his head off whenever it's nap or bedtime.

This has never happened before.  This is the kid who would put himself to bed if it got too late.  The sweet boy that naps for an average of 2.8  hours each day.  EACH DAY, people.

And now. . .I'm going on about 6 nights where his pudgy little feet have been in my mouth in the morning.  Because I've given up and let him sleep with me.  Because one of us has to look human in the morning. . .and it hasn't been me.

Actually, Bill's the one that is most zombie-ish right now.  As I type, he's actually upstairs with Cole (and has been for about an hour and a half) just sitting in his room in the dark while he tries to fall asleep.  Talk about dad of the year.

I let Cole scream for about 45 seconds, give up, and take him to bed.  Clearly not the strong one.

Although I've solicited ideas, advice, and general support from everyone I know and even people I don't. . .I'm still open to more.  Please send them my way.  Twice.  I'd get into more detail for you now, but I need to go get the bed ready for three.

Wish us luck.  I'll keep you posted.