Mid-shopping Snack

At some point, I'm told kids stop being so adorable.  Thankfully, we're not there yet.  Much happened over the holidays.  Here's a nugget:

(Scene: grocery store, with both kids sitting in a "car cart".)

Doc Princess: "Om mom nom!"  Nuzzling Buster's neck, pretending to eat him up just like Daddy does.

Buster: *whines*

Me: "Okay Hunny Bunny, enough for now."  Hands the kids apples.

Ten minutes later...

Doc Princess: "Mommy, can I have some more?"

Me: "More what?"

Doc Princess: "More brother."

Me: "Oh, okay."

Doc Princess: "Om nom nom nom!"

My Baby's Sunshine and Thunderheads

My husband told me I should write about Buster's incredible ability to cry real tears, every single time he gets unhappy.  I'm not kidding -  every.  single.  time.

At 13-months, Buster is as adorable as any toddler.  His default mood is bright and sunny, ready for adventure.  The second something goes wrong, however, he goes into drama king mode, and that includes tears.  It's absolutely amazing: heartbreaking to watch, sometimes panic-inducing, sometimes even comical.

The silver lining to his little cloud is that all he needs to feel better is a Mommy or Daddy cuddle.

Here's the thing that concerns me a little.  I don't think Buster cries crocodile tears.  (Doc Princess, on the other hand, is an expert at fake crying.  What an incredible toddler ability, huh?)  I think, when he cries (which is always), he is genuinely, terribly upset.  Even if his world-sundering grief lasts for less than 10 seconds, that has to take a lot out of a little man.

Now, I can be emotional too; I have my fair share of frustrated outbursts - but I'm trying hard not to blow up around Buster or Doc Princess.  I want to help with the mood swings, not the other way around.  For example, when something spills, we say, "Uh oh", in that sing-song, super-mommy way.  Maybe if I pretend to be super-mommy hard enough, it will happen?  Let's just say I don't think Santa will be getting me a cape for Christmas.  But I digress.

Last night, Buster broke down when I removed the TV remote from his reach.  I could almost see the thoughts running through his head:

"Noooo!  That was the best remote ever to exist, and you took it from me!  It's gone forever!  I hate youuuu!  Oh, please hold me before I fall apart!"

When I cuddled him, Buster buried his face in my shoulder, whimpered a little, wiped his snotty face on my shirt, then cackled and tried to steal my glasses.  Back to normal.

He cackles a lot, by the way.

Extreme Mommy Mortification, in Less than Two Days

Some god of comedic humiliation must have found out I started a blog this week.  I already have much to atone for in the mommy mishap department.

Both of my children take swim lessons at an aquatic therapy center, through a wonderful organization called Pods.  Usually, my mother helps me out by coming along with us, so I can get in the pool with Buster during his "Parent and Child" class.  Today, I was all alone, but one of the swim instructors offered to keep an eye on Doc Princess during her brother's lesson.  We went for it.  I scrambled after children, herding one or the other away from the pool, pulling on swim diapers and getting peed on, hauling my son into the pool and prying him off of me long enough for him to "swim" - but we made it through both lessons!

I was thanking the instructors and quietly congratulating myself for a job well done as I led my kids into the baby changing room.  I peeled the wet swimsuit off my son and got him diapered.  I put him down and pulled off my suit, started reaching for my clothes, and I heard a click behind me.

Then I heard a creak and a cackle, as Buster threw open the door and bounded out.

Several thoughts ran through my panicked head, not exactly at once, but definitely overlapping (and that's bad because I need my thoughts one at a time):

"Oh god, I'm naked!"
"Buster's escaping!"
"I'm still naked!"
"Buster's going to fall into the pool!"
"Towel... towel!  Where is it?"
"I can't believe he's about to drown while I'm naked!"

I stumbled out in nothing but a towel barely clasped around my torso.  No free hands - they were a critical part of my attire - but that didn't stop me from grabbing Buster and tripping backwards into the dressing room.  Outside, there was a stunned silence.  Then, "No no, honey, make sure you stay away from the pool."

Doc Princess was missing.

So, I did what any self-respecting mommy would do.  I picked up my son and used him to hold up my towel while I retrieved my little girl.  And I laughed at myself.  The other mommies smiled as if to say, "I've been there."  That helped a lot, even though I'm pretty sure none of them have ever, ever been there.

So that's the story of how I got naked and almost let my son drown.

I still can't believe he managed to get the door open.  It was one of those bar-handle knobs that you just have to pull downwards, but I was sure it was too high for him.  Maybe he jumped for it like a terrier or something.  Good job, Son.

Dinner Magic

We have this magic bucket in the kitchen.  It makes dinner.  Really slowly.  I "set it and forget it".  And even if (when) I really do forget it, nothing burns!

And now the the chilly weather is here, I'm told slow cooker meals make even more sense.  I knew there was a reason for the cold.

Anyway, I tried a new recipe yesterday, and it seemed to go over well.  Minestrone soup: http://www.familyfreshmeals.com/2014/11/the-best-crockpot-minestrone-soup.html

I thought the V8 juice was going to be weird, but it worked out.  Oh, make sure you use a huge crockpot.  The recipe makes enough soup for a whole herd of kids and daddies.  Also, next time I'll use elbow pasta, so (Dust)buster can more easily grab them, throw them off his tray, and eat them off the floor.

Buster and Doc Princess approved.

The Vacuum and Baby Meals

I just dustbustered my child.

I know this probably isn't the best way to start a blog, but I figured I'd better be honest, or this won't be worth reading.  Is it better that my 13-month-old boy enjoyed being vacuumed?  He giggled and wiggled his belly as I attempted to remove the coating of toast-crumbs he'd acquired over breakfast.  It was a vain attempt.  He's now crawling around in nothing but his diaper.  Oh, look, he found a stale Cheerio.  ...And its gone.  My little man is a dustbuster, too.  I need better mommy reflexes!

My Dustbuster has an older sister, a beautiful two-year-old girl - a self-proclaimed Doctor Princess - who is allergic to sitting at the table for meals.  She is sweet, and she is also pretty funny in a weird, of-course-because-she's-my-daughter kind of way.

For example, this morning she told me she loves babies.  I said, "Yay, me too!"  She said, "Mommy, they're not for eating.  No, no, no."
Okay.  I promise not to eat any babies.

I don't exactly have a plan for this blog, but every once in a while I do something with my children that makes me feel like a good mommy, and I feel like this would be a nice way to show off without annoying anyone.  I can also share my many, many mishaps, as a way of atoning for my bad-mommy moments.

Like dustbustering my child.