holyboogers

I’ve been planning for quite some time now to take Ryan sledding with my  mom’s group.  When I originally made these plans, I made the assumption that Jay would be back from Portugal and I would therefor have help with the boys.  I’ve since come to realize that I just shouldn’t assume anything when it comes to Jay’s work.  Yes, he’s still in Portugal.

I woke this morning not wanting to get out of bed, but very excited for what lay ahead of us.  Come 9:30, I had the boys bundled up, I had the backpack carrier (where I was planning on putting Noah) set to go as well as all the other objects I would need for this excursion down the street;  snowpants, mittens, hats, camera.  I take both boys out to the car.  I get Noah buckled into his carseat and turn to the other side of the car with Ryan.  The door is just slightly ajar.  You have got to be kidding me, right?  I knew the disappointment that lay in front of me because sadly, I’ve done this before.  I place the key in the ignition, the slightest bit of hope still lurking within me.  No luck.  The battery is dead.  Ugh!  I take Ryan by the hand, pull Noah from the car, and head back indoors to make a couple of phone calls.  Luckily, I was able to catch one of my friends before she left her home to meet me at the sledding hill and she was able to stop here first and jump my care.  It worked, thank goodness!

I’m off.  Both boys are back in the car, all our gear spread out on the seats.  We arrive at the hill ten minutes later.  I get Ryan into his snowsuit, finish bundling him up.  I take Noah from his carseat and place his snowsuit on as well and then place him in the backpack carrier.  Then I take a minute to bundle myself up, hitch Noah to my back and make our way to the tunnel that I’ve been told is suppose to take us under the road and to the hill.  Whoah…they weren’t kidding when they called it a tunnel!  I was assuming it would be more like a narrow pathway, but a tunnel it was.  Circular in shape, and very low to the ground.  I found myself squatting rather low, an extra 25 pounds strapped to my back.  But we make it to the other end.  Success!  And that’s where the true fun begins. 

Immediately I see that the hill is shear ice.  And it’s huge!  Probably the largest hill I’ve ever been sledding on.  We’re slipping and sliding on the way up, but I find my footing on a narrow patch of grass and Ryan follows suit.  We make it to the top where I explain our tardiness to another friend of mine who has been there for over an hour at this point.  Thank goodness she’s an understanding person! :)  I scope out the hill and find the smallest portion.  I take Noah off my back and prop him up so he can watch what we’re doing.  Ryan finds his way into the sled, I give him a slight push, and off he goes…slowly at first and then faster, and faster.  Whoah…I put my hands on my head, my teeth biting my lower lip in anticipation of…there he goes!  He falls from the sled and tumbles on his side three times over.  When his little body finally comes to a stop he sits there crying and there’s no easy way I can get to him.  I end up sliding on my butt on the ice until I reach him.  He hugs me and the tears end.  We begin walking back up the hill and that’s when I realize I’m on the absolute wrong end of this thing to be climbing up!  I see where I need to be, where my feet will pick into more sturdy snow instead of this sheer ice that I keep slipping on.  I get in the sled and place Ryan in front of me, push off, and down we goooooo.   So fast!  I’m laughing as we end and get out of the sled, start trudging back up the hill.  Ryan begins to fuss and for the seven or eight minutes it takes us to get back to the top, the fussing doesn’t cease.  First he’s just upset that he’s slipping, then he’s angry that his mitten continues to fall from his wrist, then I’m convinced he just wants to continue on the path of crankiness since he’s begun it already anyway. :) 

We make it to the top.  There’s  a small shed that we enter and I see that my friend has got a happy Noah in her arms.  I’m so very thankful for the help!  “Snack Momma.”  Yeah…that’s Ryan.  I tell him that I don’t have a snack to which he throws himself on the ground in an hysterical fit.  Oh joy!  My girlfriend whispers that she’s got a cereal bar in her bag that he’s welcome to have.  I tell Ryan that he’s welcome to have a bar that our friends have brought, but that it’s not in my bag so we have to ask politely if we can eat it.  He wants to ask me, but refuses to ask our friends, so his fit continues.  Eventually I state that if he doesn’t stop with his behavior, we’re headed to the car and going home. To this, he screams louder.  I repeat myself one last time and when his fit doesn’t stop, I start getting Noah ready to go by placing him back in the backpack carrier.  I take Ryan by the hand and lead him down the hill.  “Bar, Momma.  Snack, Momma.”  He repeats this all the way down the icy hill, through the tunnel that I’m squatting to get through once again, and in the parking lot by the car.  “Bar, Momma,” he says as he loses footing and falls on his knees into a large pile of mud making him cry with even more intensity.  Of course. 

I eventually get both boys snuggled into their carseats and we head home.  Ryan cries the entire way through periodic breaks of “bar, Momma!  Snack, Momma!”  Once we pull the car into the driveway, the tears tend to slowly cease their downfall although he’s still asking me for a snack. 

And this was just our morning

Yet, through this all, I find that I put my boys to bed at night and my heart swells with this love.  I can almost feel the pull throughout my entire body as if the feeling were in actuality, part of my bloodstream, coursing fast and fully.  I was getting Ryan’s pajama’s on this evening and he saw that I had his Superman pj’s for him.  “Superman!”  he exclaims.  “I want my cape, Momma!”  This makes me smile. We head to the kitchen where his cape is kept, he extends his back to me, and I put it on.  He’s beaming as if he were an adult that was just handed a thousand dollars to do whatever they please with it.  I pull him to me, hug his body to mine, kiss his blonde head of hair over and over again.  He giggles.  I do it more.

Three years old is going to be a challenge.  I can feel it.  And yet I know that each evening when we’re laying in bed together as I sing him to sleep, these challenges will be far from the forefront of my mind.  I’ll be looking at his blue eyes bearing into mine with adoration, with happiness and fulfillment, and that’s all I need. 

I sit here in my playroom.  Noah is beside me, the boppy supporting his back as he’s learning to sit erect.  Ryan is in front of him with a large green ball.  “I play ball with Noah!” 

Now that Noah is becoming more active and more aware, he wants to be right up there with his big brother.  He wants to do what he’s doing, to see what he sees…and yet, he just simply doesn’t have the physical ability to do so.  Oh, but is he determined!  He’s happiest when he can see his brother.  At this very moment, they are done playing ball and Ryan is on all fours in front of Noah.  Noah sticks his hand in his brother’s mouth, which pulls fits of laughter from Ryan. In turn, this makes Noah laugh a deep laugh that I’m sure originates in his belly.  I love it. 

“Mommy Noah silly.  Noah silly pull my hair!”

Noah continues to reach for his big brother as I type.  I can surely make my son laugh, but there are times when only his brother can extract the hysteria that dimples both his cheeks and not just the one that dimples when he’s smiling throughout the day.

Now Ryan is showing Noah the dinosaur book that he deems to be so dear.  One of his favorites.  I know this stage won’t last forever.  I hold this knowledge close to help me savor these moments. 

I was sitting at a booth in a local restaurant the other day with my husband and two children.  The woman seated next to us leans over and says “what a pretty baby girl!”  I smile…an amazing compliment for sure…it’s just that Noah’s a boy.

At first I thought nothing of this.  I’d be complimented in line at the grocery store, playing at the mall, at indoor playareas where Ryan would be having the time of his life running around like a kid on uppers.  And always the same idea…”what a pretty girl.”  “Hi sweetie…you’re such a beautiful girl.”  I’d look down at my son, rosie cheeks like a cherub, long curly brown hair swept over his forehead, blue eyes that seem to sparkle in his smile.  Yeah…okay…I can see how he’d be mistaken for a girl if it weren’t for the blatant boy statement of his blue outfits adorned with teddy bears, trucks, cars, and dinosaurs.  Still, I always seems to smile and thank these people for the compliments.  Even when it happened to me again yesterday as I was in Walmart.  I’m telling you, this seems to happen now on a daily basis.  Even more so now than when he was an infant and it’s quite common to mistaken the sexes.  Yet, now that Noah’s seven months, it makes me wonder…does my son actually look like a girl? 

The lady at the restaurant said it best, I think. “Oh my…but he’s just such a pretty boy!”  And I think this must be what it is with Noah.  He’s got these amazingly beautiful features and I admit it, he is a pretty boy :)  So when tomorrow comes and I’m complimented on how beautiful my baby girl is, I’ll smile and thank them once again because really, it’s a wonderful compliment

It’s not as easy as it looks.

Individuals balance on one foot, the other lifted into the air.   Flexibility and endurance are pushed to the extreme.  Arms raised toward the sky as deep breaths go in, go out. 

Jay has made it home for a week and offered to watch the boys tonight so I could have what we call “me time.”  My reaction?  Heck yes!  I haven’t been to the gym in over a month!  I head to the bedroom and rummage through my lower dresser drawer which is where I keep hold of my exercise clothes.  I place a pair of pants on and then pull a shirt over my body that I haven’t tried on since pre-pregnancy Noah, when I was at my smallest.  Um…yeah….a little on the smaller side.  I pull another shirt over my head and have the same issue.  I then do something that I rarely do.  I ask Jay which shirt looks better.  Asking a man a female clothing-related question is like trying to extract the lollipop my son is enjoying out his sticky grasp.  You don’t get the outcome you were hoping for.  I resign myself to the fact that I’m just simply not as small as I was before having Noah (and those women who drop the weight six months after having a baby frustrate me for sure), and choose to walk out the door in the first shirt. 

I head to the gym.  After doing a half hour of cardio which leaves me breathless and red in the face (how attractive), but also quite exhilarated, I notice that there are a few people making their way into the group fitness room.  I look at the schedule tacked to the wall and notice that a yoga class will begin in ten minutes.  Yoga?  Sure!  Why not?  I’ll give it a try! 

A minute later I’m on a mat in the middle of the floor waiting for the class to begin thinking that I’m about to experience an incredibly relaxing and easy “workout.”  Darn!  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  Just about five minutes into the class, I was asking my body to contort into positions it hasn’t been in since I was a flexible child, I’m sure.  And it didn’t let up.  The positions seemed to increase in intensity and I would find myself in Child’s Pose, knees bent and on the floor, chest upon my knees, forehead resting on the mat, hands splayed in front of my body.  I’d do this to rest.  And a rest it was.  While in Child’s Pose, I’d close my eyes and I found myself at Peace.  My body was calm and my mind was free.  I was in the moment.  I wasn’t worrying about my husband with the kids…I knew he was doing a great job and they were well taken care of.  I wasn’t thinking about the limited time I have with Jay before he’ll be heading back to Portugal.  Again.  I wasn’t thinking about anything but how incredibly good it felt to lay there just then, breathing in and out. 

When the Yoga class ended, I headed to the dressing room to retrieve my caot and car keys.  I drove to a cafe just down the street, which is where I am at the moment.  My body is sore.  Already.  I imagine I’ll be feeling the tingles tomorrow and as I am I’ll be sure to remember the great workout I got from this class.  Notice how the word is not quoted the second time I write it, for I truly did get an excellent workout in.  My body wasn’t only worked, though.  I was also able to find Peace and Calm in a super fast-paced society.  I was able to be “in the moment” with myself, which is something that I believe we all need to do each and every day. 

What a wonderful experience.

My friend’s have often told me that the “terrible two’s” really should have been for three-year-old’s.  Two, they say, is nothing compared to three.  Ryan will have his third birthday at the end of next month and I think I may be witnessing a sneak peek into the behavior of a three-year-old.  Lucky me! 

Tuesday’s are library storytime days for us and Ryan absolutely adores this time.  We’ve been attending since our move in October of 2007 and his excitement has always been heightened by the story reading, song singing, and dancing that occur.  But now library time holds a new love.  Thomas.  Yep, that’s right…Thomas the Tank Engine, adored by small boys around the country, has now entered the heart of my son in the form of a computer game.  Just recently has he been able to manage the concept of a computer mouse and the pride permeates off his little body as he sits erect in his chair, mouse in his right hand, earphones wrapped around his head causing his newly buzzed blonde hair to spike up on end in areas beside even his two prominent cowlicks.  He asks for “Thomas” each time we arrive at the library now.  Sure, he still enjoys his storytime, but nothing can compare to his Thomas these days.  Tuesday was here and we headed out the door.  Ryan was quite upset to see that both the computers were taken when we arrived in the children’s room but my words of assurance that he could play when a computer was open seemed to calm his anxiety.  Storytime came and went and the very moment (no, really…the exact moment!!) the goodbye rhyme was finished and he waved his little hand, he whipped his head toward me, eyes bright and wide and exclaimed his question.  “Thomas?”  Off he went to the computer area.  Ugh.  They’re still taken!  He didn’t seem to mind, thank goodness, and headed off to the Lego table.

Now, whenever Ryan has thrown a temper tantrum, I’ve always been able to get down at his level, look him in the eye and tell him “that’s enough.”  He’d stand there looking at me, his little body quivering, but he’d always calm down well and I’d be able to speak with him. 

In comes my peek at life with a three-year-old.

When I told Ryan it was time to leave (even after having counted down…five minutes…two minutes…time to go), he wailed!  Literally wailed right there in the children’s room of the library.  “Thomas!”  “Momma, Thomas!”  We had a lunch date and needed to head out the door, so I put his coat and hat on, took him by the hand, took Noah’s extremely heavy carseat in my other hand, and led him screaming out the door and to the car.  He screamed for 20 minutes before the tears ceased, face red and blotchy.  Just like that, he was done.  As if he had forgotten what it was he was crying about in the first place.  Okay, okay…I can deal with this.  We had a rough morning that morning and he appeared to be lagging, tired.  I’m sure that didn’t help matters at all.

Today we had to get our oil changed and some new wipers replaced on the car.  The garage happens to be across the street from the library.  When all was said and done (almost $100 later!), I asked Ryan if he’d rather go home, or if he wanted to go to the library.  I’m sure you can guess where he chose to go.

In we walk and he runs to the elevator.  We head downstairs and as soon as the elevator door opens, he booms “Thomas!” and runs over to the computer area.  -smile-  What an obsession he’s got!  I tell you, we must have been there for about 45 minutes before I started counting down to him.  “Five minutes and we have to go home for lunch.”  Two minutes.  Time to go!  Oh, heck no!  He wasn’t having that.  My countdowns have always worked!  I’d count down and take a complying toddler by the hand and out the door, smiles on both our faces.  Paradise period has officially come to an end and this time I can’t use the excuse that my son is tired.  ”Thomas!  Thomas!”  He’s screaming as I put his boots, coat and hat on his body.  Noah is crying because I’m no longer holding him and he’s in the carseat.  I begin to walk thinking he’ll follow me.  Wrong!  He stands there, persistent.  He’s not leaving without a fight.  I take him by the hand and lead him to the elevator.  He stands in the doorway, refusing to get in.  The door begins to close.  I leap forward, put my hand in the way, and it jumps back again.  I grab Ryan’s hand while I’ve got a 30+ pound carseat on my other arm and bring him into the elevator.  His eyes close.  He’s determined to make as much noise as humanly possible.  The elevator door opens and drops us out to the main floor.  I exit.  My son does not.  I once again take his hand and lead him into the lobby.  I drop it to push the handicap button so the door will slide open for this jumbled mother.  The librarians are trying not to look my way, but when one does, I smile and say “he really likes your Thomas!”  I get a slight smile and a nod.  Okay…time to go!  Man is he persistent!  I take his hand again, balance Noah and his carseat on my other arm as best I can, and we walk out to the car.  I get the boys in.  All I have to say is that I’m extremely grateful that my home is only five minutes from the library because my ears were ringing by the time we got to the house.  I walk inside and look back to see Ryan at the bottom of the stairs outdoors looking up at me with the most pitiful look upon his face, lower lip quivering.  I put Noah down, turn back, walk down the icy steps, take his hand, lead him indoors.  And guess what?  He takes one look at the table and says “Momma, I want a snack.” 

Okay, so apparently Thomas was placed on a back burner.  For the moment.

I just don’t get it! I completely understand that Jay wants to be a great worker, wants to do his job well. But the man has been in Portugal for the better part of six months, works all week long, Saturday’s and most Sunday’s as well and when he works, he works from morning and doesn’t get home until 10, 11:00 at night. That leaves him with how much time to wind down, relax, and sleep?I called him Saturday to check in and he said he could have been better. Said he wasn’t going to tell me b/c he didn’t want to worry me, but he was in the hospital. Apparently he was working and suddenly went black, saw stars, and the entire left side of his body went numb. He was at the hospital to get some testing done. I told him I wasn’t worried…that I wouldn’t be unless something came back abnormal, but I was SURE this was b/c he was overworked, overtired, and completely and utterly stressed out.