DB2 Pushes Our Buttons

Check out this retro alarm system on this old school wallpaper. No way this thing still works, right?

Isaac, our dear Danger Baby 2.0 (hence DB2), is a big time button pusher. As I am the fourth child of five, I can safely predict that his button pushing days are far from over, though his motivation and delivery may change.

If DB2 suddenly perks up and makes a beeline across the room, you can be sure he's spotted an iPhone and is on his way to push its button for a little chat with Siri.

Similarly, DB2 can spot a functioning remote control anytime, anywhere. Think you can fool him with an old VCR remote? Think again. Think you can hide one from him? He can find a remote control hidden in a jacket pocket under a couch cushion on a different floor of the house. I kid you not! Well not really. But he finds them.

Dishwasher? Full or not full, soap or no soap, this kid doesn't discriminate. Button pushed, dishes clean... or are they?

But Ike really knocked one out of the park last Tuesday evening. I tutored until about 5:30, but we had $30 worth of expiring Snuffy's gift cards to use, so we were determined to bundle the kids up for some stellar burgers and malts. It took waaaaay too long, but we were finally ready. 

The big kids were waiting by the door to the garage. I was heading downstairs to meet them. Rick was holding Isaac and heading down the stairs behind me. On the wall of our garage entry stairwell is this "amazing" wallpaper, and the off-white old school alarm system pictured above. To our knowledge, it hadn't ever been used by our house's previous owners, and it was not functional.

To our knowledge.

Of course, as DB2 made his way downstairs in Rick's arms, he leaned over and pushed a button. There was a beep. And then a little word showed up on the screen:

Armed.

Rick, ever optimistic, attempted to disarm the alarm. Obviously if alarm systems could be disarmed without knowing a code, they wouldn't be very useful. But he tried anyway, to no avail.

We were chuckling a little, because what were the odds DB2 would hit just the right button on his first try? Then, Tucker cracked open the door to the garage, and the system erupted in a crazy loud alarm both upstairs and down!

Maisy was terrified. Tucker was frozen. Rick and I were pushing more buttons, as if that would help. Isaac was taking mental notes. 

The alarm wailed on.

Maisy started to cry. Tucker put his hands over his ears. Isaac continued to take note.

It took a useless phone call (me) to the company on the alarm box, and some work in the fuse box (Rick), as well as a text to the previous owners (who had never used it), but we got the alarm to stop.

In the end, we laughed our way out the door to Snuffy's with the knowledge that we own a highly effective localized alarm system should we choose to use it. 

And an equally effective little button pusher we call DB2.

That's A+ Parenting (Last Week).

An Ode to Little Friends (and the germs they carry)

Been texting with my mama friends

Earaches, coughs, it never ends

January brought the cold

And the sickness, new and old

Since we got together just last weekend

Suddenly the fevers are peakin'

Cost of friendship isn't in bills

It's in aching, coughing, chills

Stomach flu? We're puking too! 

Kids achoo? That's how we do!

Sneezing child? Wheezing child? 

In his bedroom heaving child?

New school terms? Walking germs.

A get-together? Then under the weather.

Quarantined? Ain't no thing:

We'll share this illness wirelessly, virusly, up all hours - tirelessly.

Wash those hands! Sanitize! 

Cut these epidemics down to size! 

(We can always fantasize.)

If we'd known we'd have stayed home. 

Kept brewing germies on their own. 

Honestly I can't predict 

When these kids are almost sick 

Playing-smiling-running-

CRASH!

Fever spike, puke in trash.

Send a text.

Disinfect.

Sympathize.

No surprise:

Too late now, damage done.

Watch them go down one by one!

Then the mamas join the "fun".

Given time the sicknesses pass,

And the kiddos get back to class,

But these growing little friendships last.

Could keep healthy-seeming friends away. 

Or we can just... let 'em play.

Kids will get sick anyway.

(That's A+ Parenting Today.)

Perks of Being a Sick House

You may want to put on a mask before reading this. I doubt that germs can travel wirelessly, but if I were you, I wouldn't risk it. Mask on?

We're currently going on the third day of Sickies in the Sick House. We managed to power through Illness #1: Stomach Flu, with a ratio of 3 Sickies: 2 Healthies. Not great; could be worse. We've merged seamlessly into Illness #2: Fever and Sore Throat, with a current ratio of 1 Sickie: 1 Maybe: 3 Doomed. 

Yes, it's been rough. I can almost feel my mind at work trying to erase the memories of Illness #1. Perhaps soon, all that will remain is the dread. Because with 3 kiddos within 5 years of each other, this certainly won't be our last at-bat.

But yesterday was my Day of Recovery (Lucky mom got it worst of all), and so today was going to be my Day of Re-emergence. Even though Maisy's pop-up fever has prevented that, I'm feeling pretty good! I started thinking about how I could blog about this. I decided that you already know how horrible it is. You can easily imagine the Midnight Changes-of-Sheets, and the Surprise! The 3-Year-Old-Has-It-Too-All-Over-the-Bathroom-Floor. You can empathize with the Sick Spouse and the Last Spouse Standing. So I decided I'd take a different approach and write about...

The Perks of Being a Sick House

Perk #1: Guilt-free screen time. Because throwing up is a free pass, no matter who is doing the throwing.

Perk #2: An opportunity to disinfect those rarely disinfected places. Like hallways. And the knobs on the vanity. And down the side of the toddler bed. This house is so CLEAN now. Ha!

Perk #3: Renewed thankfulness for my husband (Last Spouse Standing). Because while caring for both Sickies and Healthies, he also was the one doing the vast majority of the sheet-changing and floor-scrubbing and vanity-knob-disinfecting. Super romantic stuff. He's pretty darn amazing. And sorry, he's taken.

Perk #4: Getting to the bottom of the pile of hand towels in the linen closet. What a nice, fluffy green one! And look how well this kitchen dish towel operates as a hand towel? Who knew?

 <----Perk #4

Perk #5: New toothbrushes! Who doesn't like a new toothbrush? Tucker, for one, goes nuts over a new toothbrush. And you're welcome, Tucker.

Perk #6: Get up, change into different pajamas, wear all day, take an evening shower, and put on another set of pajamas! Triple pajama day!

Perk #7: An unrepentant morning nap. And afternoon nap. See how necessary those pajamas were? I was ready for a nap at any moment.

Perk #8: Creative uses for household furniture. Danger Baby + Stomach Flu = Piano Buckets

 <------ Piano buckets 

Perk #8: That Just-Back-To-Healthy Feeling. Nothing like it, amiright? Except maybe that second trimester energy burst. But no, this is even better. It's the energy burst (I can make up songs about Isaac's toys while I change his poopy diaper! I can play not one, but TWO board games with my older kiddos while the youngest has his morning nap! I can clear the table! I can start on The Laundry Alps! I can do anything!). It's the appetite (What's this? A bowl of cereal?! Jackpot!). It is, in all seriousness, deep thankfulness for my own health. So. Very. Thankful. 

Now I am off to go scale Mount Laundry yet again, with Guilt-free Screen Time and That Just-Back-To-Healthy Feeling in my back pocket. 

That's A+ Parenting Today.

You should probably go wash your hands. Because wireless viruses. Because we are walking, talking germs over here. 

Danger Baby 2.0

I can't take the credit for Isaac's earned title of Danger Baby 2.0. Isaac's older (by 2 months) cousin Dean is the Original Danger Baby, probably because he basically came out of the womb crawling. (I was going to say "he came crawling out of the womb", but somehow this alternate phrasing seemed a bit too graphic.) Anyway, Isaac has earned his distinction of Danger Baby 2.0 through many, many months of consistently finding trouble... and food.

Maybe it's because he's my third child - I'm more laidback out of necessity, I can't watch him as closely because I have two other little people running around, baby-proofing is trickier with older siblings - but I suspect there's another answer at play. The kid has guts! I love it. This. kid. has. guts. But also, he's my third of three kids 5 & under and I'm tired... That's A+ Parenting Today.

How this particular post was born: 

Yesterday it was negative-too-many degrees outside, so I wanted to start the car before heading out with the boys. Very foward-thinking of me, I thought. Tucker was on the potty, Isaac was playing quietly in the living room, and so I ducked out for less than a minute.  Less than 60 seconds later, I reentered the house and heard frantic, loud crying, so I ran up the stairs to find this:

on top of this:

who was shrieking, I suspect because a lamp falling on top of you is loud and surprising, and also because he was stuck between two of the tripod legs and couldn't go anywhere. Bummer.

I'm sorry I didn't snap a picture for ya'll (it briefly flashed through my mind), but I decided that making sure the shrieking child was unharmed should probably be my first course of action. He was fine. I wish I had a picture.

After the Tripod Lamp Incident, I thought it would be fun to revisit the photo album on my phone for visual evidence of Danger Baby 2.0. Here's what I found:

Mitten-hand after Danger Baby 2.0 slashed his finger open on a vent.

Danger Baby 2.0 continuing to seek out vents.

Danger Baby 2.0 branching out from just vents to also seek out outlets. Note that this outlet had both covers on. Go me!

Danger Baby 2.0 playing with electrical cords plugged into the previously pictured outlets.

Danger Baby 2.0 scavenging for broom-food.

Danger Baby 2.0 almost making it to the broom-food. (Not pictured: DB2 screeching when I picked him up and moved him before he could actually get any broom-food in his mouth. Good.parenting.move.)

Danger Baby 2.0 STILL searching for vents.

DB2 with a sock-hand after losing a battle with a different vent at a different house.

Danger Baby 2.0 finding food here...

and here...

and here...

and here...

and here.

Danger Baby 2.0 in search of  new ways of injuring his fingers: Cabinets and drawers!

Also fun... 

Sneaking away to climb steps...

Clanking dishes in the dishwasher...

Knives, of course...

And just climbing on in.

DB2 also enjoys using a rhythm stick to whack at the TV.

(Not pictured: Crawling with a rhythm stick hanging out of his mouth. I opted to remove the rhythm stick instead of photographing it. High five!)

Danger Baby joy ride

And just one more lamp...

Boy, I can't wait until he learns to walk!

All of this Danger Babying can be exhausting, so I'll leave you with this:

And that's A+ Parenting Today!

Wooted

My family went to camp this weekend, to our church's winter retreat. It's a totally rational thing to do in Minnesota in the height of an Arctic blast: Travel north. We packed up 4 tons of winter gear, plus bedding, diapers, and ice skates, and off we went. It turns out the ice skates were optimistic, because when the temps were still below zero in the warmest part of the day, strapping my 3 and 5-year-old into skates just didn't happen. 

In spite of the lack of outdoor winter sports (unless you count pulling the kids by sled from one building to another at camp), it was a great weekend. Of course, for this mom, any amount of packing and bundling up is worth it if every meal is prepared for me and I don't have to do any of the dishes after! My kids were just thrilled to sleep on bunk beds and run around with other kids from church all weekend. My mom got her kicks by placing 4th in the annual ping pong tournament, beating one of the usual top contenders along the way. Side note: Who knew my mom was so good at ping pong? It's been many, many years since we had a table in our basement, which leads me to wonder if she is in some kind of underground ping pong league that I am unaware of. More likely, her competitive streak just kicked into high gear (the French is strong with this one).  And my dad? I think he just liked watching my mom's ping-pong-fueled adrenaline rush. As did I. As for Rick, he got to do his own thing too when he and about a dozen others hit the ice for a 2-hour game of broomball. Outside. Brrrr. 

But what I really want to share here are a couple of videos of my kiddos. Our theme for the weekend was Rooted, based on Ephesians 3:17-18: And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord's holy people, to grasp how wide, and long, and high, and deep is the love of Christ.

SpongeMaisy SnowPants memorized the verse and pluckily shared it in front of the group at chapel on Sunday morning:

Maisy video

When we got home on Sunday evening, I also asked Tucker to tell me the Bible verse.

You guys, my Tucker says the most ridiculous things. He told me just last week, "When my finish my water, my going to pee on you." and then laughed like he had just told a hilarious joke. Hi-la-ri-ous. Because for a potty training boy, what is funnier than a potty mouth? 

And just today at nap time, after reading a wonderful piece of literature about Podracing, and tucking him in, and handing him his beloved Elmo doll, and brushing back his hair, and telling him I loved him, he looked sweetly up at me and said, "Elmo say he not like you." (I didn't believe Elmo, especially since Elmo asked for a goodnight kiss just 30 seconds later.) 

Tucker is silly and impulsive and says all these ridiculous things with his sparkly brown eyes and not even the slightest hint of meanness. But he still says them! 

Then yesterday evening, he bounces around, and he looks at my phone and says the words:

"My pway... dat be wooted... da deep... wuv... Jesus." 

And I smile, and I watch the video about 10 more times, and I show it to other people, and I share it with you, and I seriously pray that he and all my kids would be "wooted in the deep wuv of Jesus."

Fresh Year, Fresh Blog: Making Baby Friends

It's been over two years since my last post as TutorMommy.  I couldn't figure out how to make a smooth transition from the happiness, the brokenness, and the randomness contained in my other blog, so I've decided to start fresh.  Welcome, friends.  It's A+ Parenting Today... 

Making Baby Friends

I took my 3-year-old and 1-year-old boys to the library today. I have to confess, I didn't really pack snacks. Living dangerously, I know. And after storytime, we may have hung around looking for books just a wee bit too long. So, with a couple of empty tummies and a full bag of books, we made our way to the checkout computers.  

At the computer next to ours, there was a mom with a single, exceptionally well-dressed little blond baby, probably about 18-months-old.  Adorable, sparkly silver boots. Matching sparkly tights. Sweet baby skirt. A faux fur vest over a cute long-sleeved shirt. Silver headband that she would never dream of pulling off of her head, since it complemented her outfit so well. 

"Hi baby," Well-Dressed Baby said sweetly to my 1-year-old Isaac, who pulled himself up on the stool next to her.  She softly patted his head and smiled.  Her mom reminded her to be gentle. I smiled and said, "He's the youngest of three. He's pretty tough." Famous last words.

Apparently, Isaac was listening. And needed to prove himself as the Tough Guy. 

Tucker arrived on the scene.  He began to climb up on the stool to help check out books, so I diligently reminded him not to step on Tough Guy's fingers. Because clearly, Tough Guy was at risk here, right?

Wrong. Tucker did not step on Tough Guy's fingers. And Tough Guy probably wouldn't have cared if he did. But Tucker. Poor Tucker. His rear end was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tough Guy sunk his 5 sharpened baby teeth right into Tucker's rear end, and Tucker sucked in air, and then screeeeaaaaammmed, his wails echoing throughout the quiet library. 

"No biting," I scolded Tough Guy quietly and ineffectually. Tucker screeeeeaaaammmed. I held him, trying to soothe and quiet him down (he's usually my real tough guy, so clearly this hurt.)  I tapped Tough Guy very gently on the mouth. "No biting," I repeated, as if he both a) understood and b) cared.  

Meanwhile, Well-Dressed Baby was whisked away by her mommy, away from the Biter and the Screamer, and their Scolder and Soother. Probably to tell her well-dressed husband about the Biter and the Screamer, and about Well-Dressed Baby's almost demise. 

That's A+ Parenting Today, folks. That's how we make baby friends in our family. That's just how we do it.