Big Boy Stuff

There comes a time in every toddler's life when "being a big boy" becomes the exclusive goal of his entire existence.  Correspondingly, there comes a time in every parent's life when "being a big boy" can be shamelessly used to induce just about any desirable behavior imaginable.

Want to be a big boy?  Better eat all that broccoli.  Want to be a big boy?  Put on your hat and mittens.  Want to be a big boy?  Here, why don't you make Mommy's bed, put away all her laundry, pay the bills, and take out the trash.  Please and thank you.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Owen also uses his new Big Boy status to his own advantage.  After unabashedly stealing and eating all of Eliza's dinner one night, he announced: "I eat Ewiza's food because I'm a big boy and Ewiza is a baby."  When Eliza needed to be put down for a nap, he justified trying to pick her up by saying:  "I will put Ewiza down for sleep because I'm a big boy."

But perhaps the single greatest "big boy" move came a week ago.  Assured that toilets represent the holy grail of Big Boyhood, Owen officially decided to join civilized society and shun his Pampers.  The mythical End of Diapers.  (For at least one butt, anyway.)

We are, of course, so excited and proud of him, but this is an adventure for which I wasn't quite mentally prepared.  Turns out little bladders are very high maintenance.  And pairing public restrooms with little hands that touch indiscriminately makes for a special kind of a nightmare.

So far (knock on wood), Owen's only had one accident.  But it was the kind of accident that reminded me not to get comfortable too fast.  Feeding Eliza before bed, home for the third night in a row by myself, exhausted, I heard Owen yell to me from the bathroom in a most surprised voice:

"Mommy! There's a POOP on the floor!!"

In his efforts to position his little step stool (no pun intended) just so, he told me that the "poopy fell out of my bumbum."  The tired part of me wanted to cry.  But every other part of me couldn't help laughing defeatedly as I scraped poop off the tile floor.

The next morning, Owen wanted to rehash The Incident.  "Mommy, you 'member when I pooped on the floor?  You 'member that?"

Laughing, I said "Yes, baby, I remember that."

Smiling, he replied, "Was that silly?"

Yes, sweet boy.  It was so, so silly.

Dinner and a Show

ACT I:  06:11PM January 13, 2014 - Set in a toy-strewn foyer that smells faintly of burned chicken tenders. If you listen closely, you may hear air raid sirens and bomb explosions coming from another room.  Enter Aaron through front door as Owen is corralled into bathroom by baby-toting mother covered in food.

KATE: (to Aaron) "Back away!!!  Don't let him touch you!  He's covered in honey!"

AARON:  "Where's the honey?"

OWEN:  (Proudly) "All over me."

AARON:  "Why?"

KATE:  "Because the chicken was burned so I gave him honey to dip it in, and he spread it all over his belly."

AARON:  "Why didn't he have a shirt on?"

KATE:  "Because Eliza puked all over him."  

ACT II:  05:45PM January 13, 2014 - Set in kitchen where you cannot see a single inch of unoccupied countertop. Eliza is showing the early signs of discontentment after being stuck in her high chair for too long. Owen is diligently dumping out the contents of every can of PlayDoh on the floor.  Kate is cooking Owen's dinner, cleaning up after Eliza's dinner, packing Owen's lunch for tomorrow, and wondering if someone could please pour her an extra large glass of wine.

OWEN:  "Mommy, I gonna watch Ewiza on my stool."  (Drags a stool over to Eliza's highchair and proceeds to steal every Cheerio off her tray, his sweet revenge after being denied his own bowl of cereal.)

ELIZA:  (Losing her shit)  "WAHHHHHHHHHH."  

(Kate lifts Eliza -- who is covered in pear juice and caked rice cereal, and therefore very justified in her cries of complaint -- and puts her in jumperoo seat while rushing back to the stove to flip the chicken tenders.  Meanwhile, Owen goes over to "help Ewiza bounce," thereby multiplying the force of every jump and essentially making his sister do negative Gs.  Kate turns just in time to see a familiar looking expression on Eliza's face.)

KATE:  (In that deep, slow-motion, Sandlot kind of voice) "Nooooooo!!!! Waaaaaatch outttttttt."  

(At that very moment, Eliza projectile vomits all over Owen's left arm.  Owen looks down, pauses in a moment of utter shock and panic, and then he, too, loses his shit.)

OWEN:  "GET IT OFF, MOMMY!!!!!!"

ACT III:  04:50PM January 13, 2014 - Set in an immaculate home, peaceful and happy.  Two sweet children are playing gently with one another as their loving nanny/second-mother finishes putting away the fifth load of folded laundry she's done today.

KATE:  (Cheerfully ignorant of what the next hour holds) "Hey guys! I'm home!"

Things You're Happy Your Kid Said In Private

• "Champagne is good."
• "Your forehead is big, Mommy."
• "Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap!"

Happy Hump Day.

A Traveling Circus

A week before Christmas, I flew by myself with both kiddos from Boston to Virginia.  The lag between ticket purchase and travel date was sufficiently long as to trick me into believing this would be a really swell idea.

(Side note:  future-predicting is one of parenthood's crazy mind games; you have no clue how different your kids -- and therefore your entire life -- will be from Time A to Time B, and it's deceivingly easy to confuse optimism with realism. "Oh, two whole months from now?  Eliza will practically be a toddler by then and Owen could probably help me carry all the bags through security."  Um, or not.)

It was only right before our flight, face-to-face with six rather imposing pieces of luggage, that I began to realize how many things could go terribly, terribly wrong.  (Spoiler alert:  nothing did, but that's not the point.)  Apparently, many people who encountered us in the airport that day had a similar thought.

Like any family with young children, we can be quite a spectacle when we venture out into the world. We're an easy source of entertainment for the bored people-watcher, a satisfying side show for fellow travelers.  Owen sang the ABCs Remix (starting over at QRS) on repeat through the entire security line.  At the gate, Eliza did tummy time on a blanket I'd spread on the floor and shared her glowing sweet-potato-orange spit-up for all to see.  Owen stood up in front of the otherwise silent boarding area crowd and announced that he wanted to take his pants off.  Then he began to sing at full volume:  "Dissssssneyyyyyy Juniorrrrrrrrr...On Demand!"  (I swear he watches less than 30 minutes of TV a day.)

Away from the safety of our natural habitat of toys and books and easy time-out corners, we draw unwanted attention.  Some people smile or coo, but many people glare.  Who knows what they're thinking -- probably some version of "please don't be seated in the row behind me" -- but I try to avoid eye contact at all cost.  I already feel awkward enough; please let me live in my world of denial ("if I don't see you, you don't see me") and don't think I'm rude if I fail to look up.

If there's one thing I've learned about parenthood, it's that where the world sees uncontrolled chaos, an accident waiting to happen, I see meticulous mental planning:  a sloppy-looking mother wearing spandex pants and a baggy sweatshirt because it maximizes her toddler-chasing agility; a dad who is fully aware of the spit-up on his shirt but carefully choosing his battles; a traveling mama who hasn't had a sip to drink since yesterday for fear of needing to pee with two kids in tow.  Sure, there's chaos.  But there's almost always a corresponding contingency plan.

A kind woman next to me on the plane remarked that I was surprisingly calm for taking a flight alone with two little ones.  Of course, she didn't know about the Emergency Oreos I had in my pocket, the episode of Curious George I had queued up on the iPad, and the glass of wine that would be waiting for me at my parents' house.