Everybody's Got a Hungry Heart

In our home, we're a pretty emotionally-attached bunch. I'm sure we're not alone in this, but we are very open with our affections, both me and the hubby and us with the boys. The boys are therefore very comfortable with hugging and yes, even kissing their friends goodbye. (This was quite something for their friends to get to used to at first.) I'm sure there will come a time when we'll have to curb this activity, but for now, I'm not worried about it.

One of the phrases we are found of sharing with the boys is, "I love you with my whole heart!" (Daddy started it, believe it or not.) They love reiterating this back to us in various forms:

No, I love you with MY whole heart.

And I love you with my ENTIRE heart.

My whole heart is hungry.

Mommy, my heart is hungry for fruit snacks.

Mommy, did you hear me? Let me shout this one out, just to be sure. I SAID MY HEART IS HUNGRY FOR FRUIT SNACKS.

No, my heart is not hungry for a banana.

My heart is sad because you won't give me fruit snacks.

Regression Therapy

Since returning from my mom's house after a week's vacation there last week (and a gloriously quiet yet sadly empty house for me), the boys have been watching nothing but Baby Einstein DVDs. Apparently their two-year old cousin E loves them and convinced our boys to watch them while at my mom's house.

I had ours (all 15 of them) all packed up from their baby days (and don't give me crap about toddlers watching TV - I HAD TO TAKE A SHOWER AT SOME POINT). So upon their return from my mom's and their insistence on watching Baby Einstein, I had to dig out the entire collection. For the last four days, they've watched nothing but Baby Einstein. No Wow! Wow! Wubzy!, no Monster Jam, no I Spy. It's crazy. I can't believe those movies keep two nearly-four-year-old boys happy and entertained, albeit in twenty minute intervals.

Before each movie begins, Julie Aigner-Clark, founder of Baby Einstein, tells the parents about the company and then announces, "Enjoy the show!"

J has added his own two cents. Each time he hears that line, he shouts back, "I will!"

Long Time, No Post

We've been crazy busy! Just like everyone else, of course.

T-ball started last night. Dad is our coach and it was hilarious to watch the boys call him Coach.

This morning, N asked me, "Mom, can you do me a favor? Can you hold this CD so we can play it when Miss J gets here?"

I swear, he actually asked me do to him a favor. And of course I did it. I'd do anything for someone so sweet.

The boys have kind of started fighting with each other. Just occasionally. Last night, N wanted J to sleep in his bed but J refused. Of course, we couldn't make J sleep with N but my heart just broke to see N so sad that his brother rejected him. Ugh. But then just five minutes earlier, they were laughing hysterically at the other's silly antics. Just boys, I guess.

At Least They're Polite

J: Mommy! N bonked my head!

N: No J! You bonked my head first, then I bonked your head!

J: Oh! Mommy! I bonked N's head! Then he bonked my head!

N: I'm sorry I bonked your head J!

J: That's okay! I'm sorry I bonked your head first!

(And I'm sorry about all the exclamation points! But that's the way they talk! It's very loud! Yet very enthusiastic! And polite!)

How to Brush Your Teeth (As My Three-Year Old Twins Interpret It)

Step 1: Ask Mommy for your toothbrush. No, not that one. The other one. The OTHER other one. The one with the car on it. Not that car. The red car. Why do you have so many toothbrushes anyway?

Step 2: Put toothpaste on the brush. DO NOT get the toothbrush wet first. If the toothbrush gets wet before the toothpaste is placed on the bristles, this game is over. We mean it. Seriously.

Okay, back to the toothpaste. You want the blue toothpaste. The sparkly one. What does she mean, the blue sparkle toothpaste is all gone and has been for three months? What about last night? This crazy lady has no idea what she's talking about. But you are dying for some toothpaste (it does taste almost like candy), so settling for the plain blue toothpaste at this point is an acceptable compromise. Give her a little bit of whining to make sure she knows you are annoyed.

Insist on squeezing the toothpaste by yourself. Never mind what happened last night. She won't remember. Oh she does remember. Nope, she's not going to let you squeeze the toothpaste. Fine. Whatever. Don't let it get you down. Keep the end goal in mind: sweet, sweet toothpaste in your mouth. It's coming. And soon.

Step 3: NOW you can get the toothbrush wet, once the toothpaste is safely in place on the bristles. Oh wait. Crap. The powerful surge of water has washed all the toothpaste off your brush. Go back to Step 2. And insist on the blue sparkle toothpaste this time. You have to mean business with this lady or it will never get through to her.

Step 3: Again. But first turn the water back up. She turned it down when you weren't looking. The proper water pressure is essential when brushing your teeth, especially since you have not yet grasped the concept of rinsing your brush and going back for another round of brushing, like any normal human being. She just will NOT let you leave that water turned all the way up, huh? Who knows why. Mothers are inscrutable in their ways. Just move on.

Step 4: Brush tooth. Just the one in the front. Ignore all the others. They're fine. Now spit. Or drool. Whatever works. Now she wants to look in your mouth and see if you got the back teeth. Refuse to relinquish grip on toothbrush and work actively against her and her rude invasion into your mouth. Do not laugh at her joke of "saving the Goldfish for later." You don't get it - and also you cannot encourage her, even a little.

Step 5: A crucial but often forgotten step. Do not rinse out your toothbrush. Just tap it repeatedly on the side of the sink. The fact that it's full of toothpaste as you put it back in the toothbrush holder will serve as a distraction to the lady (causing her to gag with disgust and quickly work to clean it) as you work on Step 6.

Step 6: Rinse. Using the cup on the sink, turn water on full blast when she's distracted (we TOLD you) and get a big cup full of water. Despite having the functional ability to drink from a cup at all other occasions, this is a great time to spill the water all over yourself. This works especially well if you are already wearing your jammies as you will now have to put on dry jammies. Whatever water does get into your mouth, drink it. DO NOT spit it out. We're not sure why spitting out this water is suggested as the most important part of the "rinsing," but swallowing it will cause the desired effect: ejection from the bathroom. She's had enough.

Now it's time to send in your twin brother for Round Two.

They Don't Understand Sarcasm

The boys had a huge yet expected meltdown as we so cruelly tore them away from Deanna Rose Children's Farmstead this past Saturday, where we had attended a friend's birthday party. While buckling them into their seats, they were both fake-crying at the top of their little lungs and causing quite a noise.

Dad said to them, "Wow - you guys are great actors. You should go to Hollywood."

The crying immediately ceased, their interest piqued. Anyplace but home had to be better.

"We want to go to Hollywood!"

They Remember Everything We Say

Overheard this morning as I was getting ready for work...

J: N, stop telling me your questions! You're driving me nuts!

Almost A Dream Job

(Remember how I told you all about N's storytelling installments? He's still going strong...)

The scene: Riding in the van with Daddy on the way to swim at the YMCA.

The players: Daddy, N and J

N: Look Daddy! (Pointing out the window.) That's my yellow house! That's where me and my friend Davin work.

Daddy: Oh, uh, okay. So what do you and Davin do when you work?

N: We play video games. But Davin only has one controller so we have to share.

Vindication!

Last night's soccer match was a success! With the starting whistle, N was on the field like a flash. He ran up and down the field, elbowing his fellow pre-schoolers out of his path. He kicked, he dribbled, he passed (albeit unintentionally). He did not score. Oh well. His one complaint: "Mommy, the other kids aren't sharing!"

J, on the other hand. Oh J.

J did not want to participate at all - much like last week's game. He stood with me on the sidelines as I jumped and cheered like a freaking maniac for my other soccer monster out on the field. He was NOT happy that his twin brother was enjoying himself: "Mommy, N needs to come over and stop playing." I patiently tried to explain that N was having fun and that J should do the same. J was not convinced.

At halftime, N ran over, sweating profusely and very red in the face (yes, those must be my non-athletic genes coming through), ready for a water break. I tried again to convince J to get out there and play and, to my surprise, he agreed. He went out with N and stood with his team for the kick-off to start the second 15-minute half.

The ball dropped.

There was much kicking and pushing in the swarm herd.

Then, out of the pack came J! He had the ball and was kicking it down the field toward the goal, alone in his burst of speed!

He kicked toward the goal and SCORE! J made a goal!

Then J threw himself on the ground and burst into tears.

And that was the end of J's magnificent soccer career. He refused to play again for the rest of the game.

Oh - and by then, my camera batteries were dead.

Soccer - Part Duh

So we had our first soccer game last Wednesday. It was EXTREMELY cold and very wet. I did not want to be outside at all. We were bundled up as much as possible, with hats and mittens and several layers under the jerseys. And yet, the game was not called off. The brave parents dragged their children to the field (some literally kicking and screaming - the kids, I mean, not the parents) and yet, still the game was not called. The coach even apologized for the game not being called.

And so we began the game.

There were not enough kids to create a full a team for each side, so we combined and Operation Swarm Ball commenced. My friend S was there with her hubby Z and her twin boys C and Z. C and Z have not been all that enthusiastic about soccer practice thus far. They have had to be seriously cajoled into participating. But when the coach blew the whistle, C and Z were off and playing! Who knew they just really wanted to play soccer? And not be bothered with practicing and refining their art? They were out there on the FREEZING WET field, running, kicking, falling down and generally being the adorable soccer stars we all knew they would be.

And my guys? The boys who had thus far participated in soccer practice pretty well? They refused to play. They held onto my legs and kind of cried/whined their way through the 15-minute game, refusing to even stand on the field with their team. When I placed J in the soccer goal and told him to try out being a goalie, he complied for approximately two minutes, until the swarm came running toward him at which point he burst into tears and ran out.

I definitely think they're ready for t-ball.

It's Spring!

Monday evening was one of the best nights I have ever experienced as a mom. Extremely cheesy, but true. The boys went to their first soccer practice. Their friends, Z and C, were on the team as well - so adorable! Go Blue Team!

They loved it. Oh yes, there were a few moments of N refusing to stand in line again and running off to pout in the field, alone. There were a few moments when J wanted to cut in line (okay, that was continual). But overall, they loved it. I loved it. It was a blast. I wish it went on longer than the three weeks it's set up for. I think I can officially say this, (and I might get a little teary here, both from emotion and disgust), I may actually be a soccer mom. Does it count if I am pretty much playing soccer myself? Considering how much running around, kicking, dribbling and general coaxing/convincing I had to do, I got a pretty good workout.

Another quick pic from the boys - they love to build. And make faces. Maybe not in that particular order.

Are We Keeping You Up?

The scene: At Grandpa A's house, about 9pm.

The players: Grandpa A and N (J is already asleep).

The event: Never-before heard phrases coming from a three-year old.

N: "Grandpa, can we finish watching this movie tomorrow? I'm tired."

The Rule of Three

We've been dealing with Three at our house. Two boys who are Three as a matter of fact. (Well, they're really more like Three and a Half, but we'll call it Three just to make it easier to write about.)

The thing about Three is that you have no idea what's going to set it off. And by "it", I mean your kid. And by "no idea", I mean that it could be absolutely anything - from the temperature of the water in the cup you just put down in front of it, to the shade and/or texture of the toast you lovingly prepared for it.

Three wants to do everything for himself. No helping. No helping at all. Buttons on pants? Three wants to do that button, even though Three has no idea at all how to do a button. Carrying a plate to the table? Yeah, Three will do that too. Don't try to help or offer advice about not spilling. Spilling is just something you'll have to learn to deal with, lady.

And what happens when you don't follow the unknown and unwritten rules of Three? Tantrum. I will admit that I have become an absolute slave to the tantrum. I will do almost anything to make it stop. I have been known to take a flailing, screaming Three all the way back down the basement stairs to the garage and buckle him back into his car seat - just so that he can undo the seat belt himself, as he wanted to in the first place before I so rudely assisted him. I have also made a special trip to Gymboree to replace the sticker Three lost and didn't care about an hour ago until Three noticed the sticker on his brother and pined for it. And now Three Will. Not. Let. It. Go.

Before I had children, I was very Judgy-McJudgerson about parents and their hoodlum offspring. With their loud noises in public and their whining and the parents with their DVDs in their vehicles substituting for quality interaction. Now I think I understand. Those parents are tired. Those parents just want it to be quiet for just a little while. So driving all the way back to Gymboree to replace a lost sticker is completely acceptable in the grand scheme of peace and quiet.

Oh yes, Three also likes to say things like "I love you with my whole heart." And that makes things pretty good too. Until the screaming begins again.

I Never Thought Of It That Way

The scene: Putting away groceries in the kitchen, specifically putting hot dogs into the fridge. (Not for me! For my husband! I would never eat hot dogs!)

N: Mommy, what are those?

Me: Those are hot dogs.

N: Hot dogs live inside corn dogs!

Story Time

N has been creating stories to tell us. They come in installments, like mini-chapters, all revolving around the same elements with details coming in at random times.

N tells us he has a yellow house in California made of brick. In it, live his daughter and so many toys that he can't live there and has to come here (our house) to sleep.

While blow-drying my hair this morning, N came rushing in, shoving the door open, shouting, "Mommy! Mommy! My yellow house is made of bricks and it fell down! I have to rebuild it!" Then he ran out.

I have no idea where this is coming from, but I'm excited to hear the next chapter.

Maybe We're Rewarding Them Too Much

The scene: Dinner tonight, N and J eating at the table, using spoons with incredible ease to scoop up their applesauce.

Me: "Wow! You guys are using the potty everyday, you wear big boy underwear AND you use spoons to eat! Do you know what that means?"

N: "What?"

Me: "It means you are big boys!"

N: "And do you know what big boys mean?"

Me: "What?"

N: "Candy."

Cape Fear

N has been in a very dictatorial mood as of late. His "conversations" with us are along the lines of, "I AM GOING TO GO TO THE PARK AND YOU ARE GOING TO STAY HOME AND NOT GO TO WORK!"

In other words, N likes to tell us his version of reality and then dare us to contradict him. He especially likes to control the space-time continuum: "TODAY IS NOT TUESDAY! TODAY IS FRIDAY! I AM GOING TO MARK OFF TODAY AND THEN IT WILL BE THE WEEKEND AND THEN WE WILL GO TO GRANDPA'S HOUSE!"

The best technique we have found in dealing with his commands is to just smile and nod. And never show fear.

Happy Valentine's Day

I'm not sure what's in store for this evening but my dear hubby has planned something and has actually managed to keep it a surprise. It might be a first for him, after nearly ten years of marriage.

Last week, I asked him for a hint. The only thing he would say was, "ARE YOU READY FOR MONSTER JAM??? RIGHT NOW???"

I told him I was definitely not ready.

Little Doogies?

The other morning, the boys asked for "hexagon crackers" for their breakfast (and before anyone judges me, are crackers really any worse than cereal for breakfast?). I search high and low for hexagons in my kitchen, having no idea what they were talking about.

I finally located the oyster crackers we had had with dinner the night before (I made chili). I had never noticed, but they were indeed hexagon-shaped. Not pentagons or octagons - hexagons: six sides.

I told B this story, expecting him to express some sort of proud-dad sentiments. Instead, he voiced my exact thoughts by saying: "Are they geniuses or just geeks?"

Notes on Potty Training

It's hard to believe that just one month ago (or less), I believed we would never reach a day when the boys would not need diapers. As I brought a pack of Huggies upstairs last night, I realized that we would probably not buy any more diapers. We will buy some overnight pull-ups but not diapers.

That seems amazing to me.

And, as per my usual, kind of sad.

There have been a few accidents of course. That's okay. I can deal with that. Just this morning, for instance, I found myself wiping up a puddle in the middle of my hallway. But to be fair, it was only a partial accident and J finished up on the potty. I think he was just busy.

Another day, he called out to me urgently, "Mommy?! Am I wearing a diaper or underwear?!?" I told him he was wearing underwear so he hightailed it to the bathroom. I guess if it had been a diaper, he wouldn't have bothered(?). Not sure...

I believe the boys are finally ready to be called "potty-trained". We can be reasonably sure that taking them out in public in underwear won't result in disaster. We might have to make a mad dash to find a restroom in the most unlikely of places (grocery store, Best Buy, god forbid Mickey-Ds) but we probably won't have to mop up a puddle (or worse). And that's progress.