Things I let them do...

...so that I can do my hair once a week -

There's a reason why I don't shower

A dear friend messaged me this morning to tell me that her only time to shower is after midnight, after her 2 kids are in bed. All I could think was, OMG. I have to try that.
This morning, after having skipped yesterday's, I "attempted" a shower. Here's how it went:

"Hey Adeleigh! I'm jumping in the shower and Atticus is upstairs with me. I'm going to close the baby gate.  Do you want to come up too or hang out with Daniel Tiger?
"I'll stay here, Mom!"
Cool.
I shut the gate and started the water, shut the doors to the rooms with potential hazards for kids, and pulled out some books and toys off the kid's shelves to try and keep Atticus entertained.
I hopped in the shower as Atticus walked into the bathroom behind me. Ten seconds in, I peeked out to see the entire roll of toilet paper strewn across the ground. Twenty seconds in, I heard him rustling underneath the cabinets. We really need to babyproof in here. (By "we", I mean "Phaeton".)
Thirty seconds in, I felt a breeze as the curtain was opened and Atticus peeked in with a grin. Then he threw the lint roller into the shower and it made a loud noise. He liked that.
I grabbed it and handed it back to him, only to have him shake off the water and throw it back into the shower. So, we played "fetch" with the lint roller. He'd throw it in the shower, point to it until I picked it up, then I'd throw it soaking wet into the hallway. He giggled and ran after it. That lasted 2 minutes.
Next, he pointed to the bar of soap that I was currently using on my armpits. "You can't play with this. I am using it right now. Where is the lint roller?"
He screamed and his face got red as he pointed to the soap again.
"No thank you."
His screams got louder and his face got redder.
Ugh. Fine. I handed him the soap. It was so slippery, I figured just trying to pick it up might keep him entertained for a few minutes. He grabbed it from me, no trouble, and walked out.
I stood in the running water for thirty seconds or so when I started to question his whereabouts with my soap.
"Atticus?! Where are you? Come back here please!"
He walked in with the bar of soap, wearing one of those guilty grins.
"Atticus? What did you do?" He started to gag. I gave him a second before getting my hand ready for the mouth sweep/bite down, but he swallowed it. Then he grinned at me again, pointed to the soap and yelled.
"Um, no thanks." And I put it up high.
I felt relieved that he didn't choke and then I started to question if I needed to call Poison Control. I remembered when Ralphie from A Christmas Story had soap in his mouth and he was fine. Then after evaluating my soap for bite marks, I found it was completely intact, minus a small little shaving. He'll be fine. It's Dove.
I began to question if I had time to wash my hair when I heard the baby gate shaking. Adeleigh wanted upstairs.
Ugh. I turned off the water, grabbed my towel, let her in and took off Atticus' sopping wet, soapy clothes.

Maybe I'll try again at midnight.

It makes sense when you're 4

This afternoon while getting the kids ready and dressed (because we were in our jammies until 2pm today), Adeleigh and I had a slight disagreement -

Me: "Okay, Adeleigh. Time to get dressed. Go ahead and pick out your clothes. Let me know if you need help."
Adeleigh: "Mom, I need you to help grab what I pick out....I want to wear this sweater under a t-shirt."

Now, I am all for allowing my child to pick out her own clothes, no matter how mismatched, or worn, or out of season they may be. But sometimes, I have my limits...

Me: "Adeleigh, this sweater is too bulky to wear under a t-shirt. I don't think you would be very comfortable."
Adeleigh: "Mom, I will wear what I want. I am wearing this sweater under a t-shirt. The way Daddy does."
I was trying to remember the last time Phaeton wore a sweater under a t-shirt...
Me: "Oh, do you mean how he always wears a t-shirt under a sweater? You can do that! Which t-shirt do you want to wear under this sweater? I'll grab it for you." I assumed we were on the same wavelength...
Adeleigh: "No! Mom! I want to wear a sweater under a shirt! I will wear whatever I want to wear!"
I took a deep breath and had one of those moments that later became a "wish-I-could-have-a-re-do-because-I-don't-need-to-have-this-battle" moments. I grabbed 2 sweaters and 2 t-shirts, laid them out on her bed and said, "Adeleigh. We don't wear sweaters under t-shirts. We wear t-shirts under sweaters. That's more comfortable and makes more sense. You can pick which t-shirt you want and which sweater and then find a pair of pants. Let me know if you need help."
She got dressed on her own and we went downstairs to play. About fifteen minutes later, she looked at me with tears in her eyes, "Mom, you really hurt my feelings."
Me: "Oh no, Adeleigh! What did I do?"
Adeleigh: "Upstairs, you wouldn't let me wear the sweater like I wanted to. That really hurt my feelings."
Me: "Adeleigh, come here." I sat down on the ground near her. "I am sorry I hurt your feelings. And I am sorry I said that. What can I do to help you feel better?"
She came over and sat on my lap.
Adeleigh: "Give me a hug." I gave her a big hug. Then she said, "And don't do it again."
I smiled. I realized how grown up my little girl is and how I shouldn't have cared so much in that moment about what or how she wanted to dress. And in a moment where I was trying to teach her something that wasn't necessary, she ended up teaching me something way more valuable.
:)

I love my little 4-year-old firecracker, style and all -

(Taken last summer before a walk to the park)

Hermey

We've not yet gotten on the Elf on the Shelf bandwagon. I've wanted to, but I couldn't justify the cost. So this year, I had a thought -
What if I just buy a toy elf, plant him somewhere in the house and tell Adeleigh a brief, and completely believable story about why he's here???.....That'll totally work.

Then two days ago while shopping at Target, I found an endcap display of classic Rudolph stuffed animals. One was an elf for $5.99. Perfect.
That night, I stuck him on top of a canvas near the Christmas Tree. I decided to start out simply before getting all Pinterest-ed out on the little guy.
The next morning, Adeleigh, Atticus and I walked down the stairs together. The first thing she noticed was the elf.
"Mom, what's that?"
"Oh, Adeleigh! Santa must have sent one of his elves to check in on you and your brother during the day! How cute!"
"No, Mom. That's not a real elf."
"What do you mean? Of course it's a real elf!" Generally, I wouldn't lie to my children, but this time I did.
"No, Mom. It's not." She grabbed our classic Rudolph board book collection, pulled out a  book, flipped to a page and said, "See? It's that guy...What's his name?"
"Well, what do you think his name is? You get to pick what Santa's elf's name is."
Keep in mind, I have not read the premise to Elf on the Shelf. All I know is a family gets an elf, the kids name it something cute, and then Moms and Dads make it do silly things like poop chocolate chips on the counter tops.
"Mom. Mom. It's not Santa's elf. It's that guy, right there. What's his name? Hermey?"
"Yes, he looks like Hermey to me. Santa must have sent Hermey then!"
"No, Mom. No. It's not a real elf. He's too soft. And his ears aren't pointy."

I was stumped. I had nothing left to say. And I planned on getting my $5.99 back for the failed scheme.
"Well, Adeleigh. If he's not real, then do you want him to leave?"
"No. He can stay. He's our elf now. But he's not one of Santa's elves. And he isn't real. Stop saying that."

So Hermey is here to stay. And my 4-year-old is smarter than me.

Things to do at Urgent Care on a busy Saturday when you are three

Eat lollipops.
Read every children's book that has sick-kid boogers on them.
Claim all stickers with pink on them as your own.
Announce to the entire waiting room that your Daddy put pee in a jar for the doctor.
Fail to mention that it was your pee, not Daddy's.
Open up all the drawers and try to play with all the sterile equipment.
Spin around in circles on the wheelie chair.
Wash your hands with green soap, then pink soap, then clear soap.
Play with tongue depressors.
Open up the Biohazard trash can (the one with the skull and crossbones on it), despite Mom & Dad's desperate attempts at keeping you away.
Count the dead moths stuck in the ceiling lights.
Remind the doctor that there are dead moths in the room and that they need to be cleaned.
Blow up surgical gloves and see what animals you can create with them.
Bounce blown up surgical gloves around the room and scream as loud as you can while doing so.
Pocket a few surgical gloves to take home after realizing how much fun this is.

Two hours and a $30 co-pay later:

Leave (without a diagnosis and a pocket overflowing with lollipops, stickers and surgical gloves).

When can we do this again?

Nubi

She loved the scruff on Phaeton's chin. She loved belly rubs. She loved earplugs, hair ties and easter basket grass. She loved Rico. And she always made sure to meow her loudest when the babies were crying, just in case we couldn't hear them already. She loved us. I think the only thing she didn't love was the vacuum. She was a great kitty. The greatest kitty.

We had to say goodbye to our sweet Nubi today. After a short, yet aggressive battle with cancer, we made the decision to end her suffering and allow her the peace she was needing.

She purred until her last breath. Phaeton said she followed him home from the clinic. And I believe him.
We love you, Nubi.

Nubi and Adeleigh

These two have always shared something special.

Adeleigh decoded

"No, I didn't lick Atticus' pacifier."
Translation: I totally just licked Atticus' pacifier.

"I only took 1 m&m." (Followed by a smirk, lack of eye contact and running away)
Translation: I totally just ate 5 m&ms.

"I only took 1 m&m...I did."
Translation: I really only took 1 m&m.

"Mom! There's a bee! I need you to kill it!"
Translation: Mom, there's a tiny little speck of something near me! And you, with your insane shenanigans and reactions to anything bug-like, have forever instilled in me to have a melodramatic, borderline crazy person response to anything resembling bug-like tendencies. Including but not limited to: a gnat, a piece of dirt blowing across the floor and the fly in the neighbor's yard air. But ladybugs and roly-polys - those are cool.

"I would like peanut butter and jelly for lunch, please."
Translation: I will eat berries, cereal bars, cheddar bunnies and drink my milk. But, I will definitely not touch that PB&J sandwich I asked you for. And if I do happen to touch it, it will only be to smear it all over my face, the couch and the carpet. And before you ask me to - No. I will not clean it up.

"I want you to lay with me."
Translation: You WILL lay next to me until I fall asleep. You will also rub my back like this...Stop. Now rub my arm. Now this arm. Now rub my back again. No not like that. Like this...

"Just go, Dad."
Translation: In the middle of the night after I have crawled into your bed, kicked all the covers off the whole family and taken your pillows hostage, YOU, Dad, need to leave so that I can have more space. Go sleep in my pink bed.

"No bumps, Mom."
Translation: In the morning after you have gotten me a cereal bar, turned on a show for me on your bedroom TV and laid back down to snooze awhile longer, you must lay perfectly flat and still for the next thirty minutes, so as not to obstruct my perfect view of Curious George. Otherwise, I will scream and kick and wake you and Atticus back up. Every. Single. Time you move.

"Don't look to me, talk to me, or sing."
Translation: I have to poop.


She thinks she rules this house...

A Berry Bitty City Intervention

This was storytime tonight in the Gaglio house, read by Daddy:

(While nonchalantly flipping through a Strawberry Shortcake book)
"...And then Orange Blossom was so worried and stressed about delivering all of the orders to her friends. So Strawberry was like, "Hey, Orange. Do you need some help?"
And Orange was like, "I don't need your help! I can do it myself!"
So Strawberry was all, "Geez. What's her problem, Plum?"
Then, Lemon got her delivery and was like, "I didn't even order vegetables!"
And Plum didn't even know what her delivery was.
So all of Orange's friends decided to have an intervention for Orange.
Strawberry said, "I have an idea. We are going to let Orange fail, so that she will have to beg us for our help. And instead of saying 'yes' we will give her a Starbucks double shot to give her energy, so that she can make her own deliveries..."
(Phaeton started laughing)
"...No one is even listening to this story."
Me (dozing off) - "Huh? What did you say?"
Adeleigh (touching her Daddy's arm) - "No. What happened is they all got their scooters and helped Orange make her deliveries. Daddy, you need to calm down."

Leave it to the 3 year old to keep us on track :)

Today it was me

A few months ago, we added something new into our bedtime routine. Every night after we tuck her into bed and before we say "Good night," we ask Adeleigh, "What was your favorite part of today?"
It's helped us close our day, no matter how tough or awesome it may have been, on a positive note.
We usually talk about the friends she has played with, the cousins she went sledding with, Grandma and Grandpa who came to visit, playing with her brother, playing at the park, or the toy store. On Christmas Day, despite all of her new toys, the thing that stood out most was the fun she had at bathtime.
Every night, I have patiently been awaiting my turn.
Tonight, it finally came. And it felt awesome.

Me, while cuddling with her in her bed - "Adeleigh, I know you didn't feel well. And today was tough. But, what was your favorite part of today?"
Adeleigh - "Being with you, Mommy."
I gave her a squeeze. "What was your favorite part of today, Mommy?"
Mine was an easy answer. "Being with you."

She's the best.

(Photo by Jessica Loucks)

To the mom

We are all in this together, Moms. Awesome and miraculous as it is, motherhood is far from easy. Children are ever-evolving. And as the Momma, you are ever-expected to keep up. And just when you think you're getting a grip on everything, your child throws a wrench into the gears, or a golfball at your face, or bites the dog, or runs into the street. So you adapt. You take a different approach...
You have successes. You make mistakes. You learn something everyday. Even with 2 hours of sleep under your belt or with barf running down the back of your shirt, you're always learning. There are days that you've got it figured out, and those where you haven't got a clue. But what's nice about this journey called motherhood, is that almost everywhere you turn is a mom who has been there, done that.
To her - Thank you for allowing me to feel "normal". Whatever "normal" might look like today.

To the mom at the park who gives me her number to call if I need an emergency play date, babysitter or info on local storytimes - Thank you for your help.
To the mom who tells me that it is not a sign of weakness to express frustrations about parenthood - Thank you for relieving some of my guilt.
To the mom who tells me I'm not a bad mother because sometimes I yell - Thank you for not judging me.
To the mom who tells me that sometimes she yells too - Thank you for your honesty.
To the mom who I know I can text or call anytime for advice - from "How do I keep my child from running into the street?" to "When should my kids start school?" - Thank you for sharing your experience.
To the mom who offers to trim my baby's fingernails because I'm too scared to - Thank you for your support.
To the mom who thinks to call me on a particularly trying day just to see how I am doing and ends up talking, crying and laughing with me for hours - Thank you for your friendship.
To the mom who I think has everything figured out, but admits to me that she doesn't - Thank you for your example.
To the mom who helped shape me as a little girl, helped support me as a woman and helps to guide me as a mom - Thank you for everything. I hope I make you proud.