On Dreams

It's been a long time since Turbo shared his dreams with me. I'd almost started to wonder if he was dreaming at all. I have yet to google when kids start to dream, but I don't need to. I have proof from the source. (Plus, do you ever feel Internet fatigue... I get tired of being lazy and searching for my answers when I might have them already rattling around my own head.)

Out of curiosity, I read through a couple of my older posts about Turbo and his dreams (Proof of Dreaming, and Part Two), I noticed a pattern that when Turbo sleeps in a little longer than his usual 6 something'o'clock, this is the magical time when dreams take shape. It makes sense. From what I remember of college psychology classes, dreaming happens most as we're in the light sleep just before waking. (Again, not googling to confirm - oh, what freedom to stop caring about accuracy for a moment.)

This morning my husband and I woke to the comforting sounds of rain pelting down on our roof. I smiled when I realized my kids were still sleeping (in their own beds) and I could breathe in the rain-soaked air from our open window on this rare quiet morning. I have always loved the sound of rain and welcome its presence in my life more than I usually admit to my affected-by-the-lack-of-sun friends. Seasonal Affective Disorder is no joke, but I don't seem to have it and I love, love, love the cleansing power of rain. I'm pretty sure I live in the right area of our great country.

When I finally ventured into Turbo's room to wake him for school and raisin bran (not in that order), he reached out for my arm, eyes still mostly closed, and pulled me into his bed for a hug. So sweet is he who wakes gently and slowly. Here is our conversation:

Turbo, unprompted, "I got on a school bus."

Me: "You did?"

Turbo: "Yeah. I sat in the drive-- where the driver..."

Me: "You sat in the driver's seat?"

Turbo: "Yeah."

Of course you did, my little director. You love to be in charge.

Me: "Who else was on the bus with you?"

Turbo: "Nobody. The kids weren't there." He paused and reconsidered (I assume he might have actually still been in the dream and was playing with the story a bit). "My kids were on the bus too. They sat in back... in front..."

Pause (oh, how I  hope he was molding the story with his wise and powerful mind).

Turbo: "We went on a trip."

Me: "Where did you go?"

Turbo: "I can't ma-member."

And then it was over and he was awake and pulling me out of his bed to go eat some of that raisin bran.

Here's to you, my man in charge. May you always steer with precision.

Time Out Turbo

Tonight it felt like our household was starring in an episode of Supernanny.

I've never been 100% sure if a 'timeout' is the right method for our Turbo, or for either kid for that matter as Smiley will start to break the rules soon I'm quite sure. I know there are other approaches, but we've used timeout with varying success. Turbo does not like timeout at all and will avoid it at all costs... which I guess says that it is effective.

I've seen episodes of Supernanny where the parents will use timeout for the first time with a willful child and the show will count how many times the child got up from the 'naughty spot' and had to start over with their 3 minutes of timeout. It always seemed to me that the show only counted when it was really, really bad.

Um, yeah, I think some records were broken tonight at our house. I didn't count, and maybe I should have just to get it on the record books. Hello, Guinness?

Let's recap with some highlights:

• Turbo called us, "stinky and poopy" about a dozen times.
• He begged us, "stop chasing me around the room like that."
• He stole the timer once, believing that it was the key to stopping this timeout nonsense.
• At one point he was up and down so much that I stopped resetting the timer and handed it to Smiley as I changed her into her jammies. She loved that and made it beep-beep-beep with rapid succession that almost confused poor Turbo.

In the end, just like on every Supernanny episode that features a timeout, our child sat quietly in the same spot and timeout eventually ended.

When it was time for bed, which was just a few moments ago, he drifted off into sleep faster than he has in a long time. Tantrums'll do that to ya.

Where Does The Time Go?

Ugh. I miss blogging on a daily basis. I was born to write. I need to write. But where-oh-where am I going to find the time?

I have a writer's voice in my head. It's a welcome balance to the other noises cluttering up my brain, like complex Calculus exercises and ever-changing strategies to clear out the piles of stuff in the garage.

So, here I am, not sure if I have anything specific to say and still finding the need to hear the clack, clack, clack of the keyboard beneath my fingertips. It feels good.

I'm working my way up to another staycation. The last one, reported on in January, was chock full of potential with mediocre delivery on that promise. I think I even opted out of blogging the last two days of my five day respite. That's because little Smiley got sick and while I spent three good days clearing and organizing and being blissfully alone, the final two were spent with a feverish sweetheart attached to my chest. She slept, I watched really bad TV. I didn't complain because that is my job as a mom, to be available when my kids need me. I love it when they need me.

I also love being alone. It's so rare these days to get a full day to myself, so when I do I really live it up. I'm a planner, too, so I'm already making lists (love lists!) of possible ways I can spend my time while I'm off of work next week.

I have learned not to overpromise what I think I can get done in a day or a week. I used to make lists and assume I could get it all done. Not anymore. I make a list of options. Each day I wake up and decide which options I want to accomplish that day and I also enjoy adjusting my expectations throughout the day so that I'm not ever (well, almost never) feeling disappointed with what I did or didn't complete. It's all about quality of life in those precious all-by-myself days. I do not need the added stress of being too hard on myself with unrealistic expectations.

Maybe this staycation I'll get massages and pedicures and catch a couple of movies... in the theatre, no less.

Ah, the sweet possibility of doing whatever feels right in the moment. It's-a gonna be a good one.

Winnie The Poop

My daughter can't be the first kid to mistake "Pooh" for "poo-poo," but I am still getting a huge kick out of it. Definitely an LOL moment.

A few weeks ago Smiley got really interested in potty training - we're not training her yet - as the slightly older kids in her school use the toilet with doors wide open and teachers wipe their bottoms for an audience. She stares impolitely and points, "poo-poo."

She's been saying "poo-poo" a lot since she learned it, and just like any new word or skill she is really proud of her accomplishment. The other day her brother dropped his pants (as boys will do) and she walked around to the back of him, pointed at his bum, and said, "poo-poo."

What could I do but cheer her on with, "Good girl!"

I love to sing to my kids and we've been on a Winnie the Pooh kick lately... Deep in the Hundred Acre Wood...etc.  We even bought a DVD and it's been fun to sing both of the songs that I know (T-I-double-Guu-Er being the other). I tend to go for the old Disney version, like so, "Winnie the Pooh. Pooh! Winnie the Pooh. Pooh! Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff..."

It was Smiley to helped me recognize that the echo "pooh" in "Winnie the Pooh. Pooh!" is basically guilty of calling this beloved bear a piece of sh**. Oops.

Yesterday when I was singing this song to her, Smiley was loudly and proudly saying "poo-poo" as if she were my back-up singer. We're thinking of taking the act on the road this summer.

Mother's Day

My precocious 3.5-yr-old chose today to first utter those three little words every mother deserves to hear on Mother's Day... "I hate you."

Yes, folks, it actually happened.

The morning started off so well. My husband let me go back to bed for about an hour while he made scrambled eggs and pancakes and managed our two little darlings. Turbo woke me up with kisses and a tug on my hand, saying in a sweet sing-songy voice, "Come on, mom. Breakfast is ready."

Turbo peppered my arms with more kisses as we stomped down the stairs. Smiley's tiny feet slapped the kitchen floor as she ran to me for a hug - I love that sound - and she reached her arms up to me and exclaimed, "Mama!" as if I were the person she most wanted to see in the whole wide world. Kisses, hugs, a little extra sleep (alone)... ah, bliss. Best Mother's Day ever.

As we at our yummy breakfast in harmonious peace, I opened my cards and cried a couple of happy tears at the love poured out in crayon. The cards were barely tucked safely away from maple syrup sticky fingers when, rather abruptly, Turbo ran downstairs and announced that he was going to watch a movie.

Me: "Not until everyone finishes breakfast. Please come back up here until we're all done eating."

Turbo, first with a loud sort of screaming noise, then: "I hate you guys!"

Silence.

Dad: "And there it is."

Seems the gift from my husband is very timely and appropriate:

In lieu of flowers, please send drinks.