The Yacht Club

Evidently, my children are boaters. One small problem.... we do not, nor can we afford to, own a boat. The pictured boat belongs to my brother-in-law and his father. While a modest income can certainly afford a boat (we grew up with one), the additional costs of maintaining, storing, and using one can be far outside the limits. In my mind, I would imagine the only people who have boats and use them more than once or twice a year are either (a) fishermen or (b) people who use the names of seasons as verbs (e.g., "We shall summer in New England this year").

Siblings on Uncle's boat 

Meanwhile, the babies are no babies. My, how they've grown! My girl is now a five-year-old who has completed a year of pre-K at a lovely school in our area. She moves on to kindergarten this fall. Her aunt (wife of the boat-owner, and my sister) is pregnant. So, now my darling daughter pretends to be pregnant as well. She has no idea how much the prospect of her becoming pregnant (like EVER) terrifies me. Of course, someday this fear will vanish, I'm sure. There will come a time when grandchildren will seem like fun (rather than the death knell of my youth).

Five years old - the Skipper

We experienced our first (ever) fracture. During soccer, she had an avulsion fracture of her right fibula after tripping over a soccer ball. Never mind that it occurred because I might have allowed her to wear inappropriate shoes. She's taking it well, and is allowed to walk around with an air-cast. However, I should clarify that this child does not walk. She hops. She skips. She jumps, dips, dives, and does pretty much everything her doctor said not to do. And why not? She's five.

Two years old - the First Mate

My boy is two, and not the terrible kind. I'm convinced two is "terrific" and three is the "terrible" one. We'll see, come this time next year. Potty-training will be on the agenda for this year (hopefully this summer). He already senses the bodily urge and knows how to use the toilet, but his interest waxes and wanes (or, more appropriate to the theme, ebbs and flows like the tides).

He speaks rather well, but we've learned that his adenoids are enlarged and may be impacting his speech and breathing. While he gets sufficient oxygen, his sleep is likely impacted from snoring, and his speech is affected by the poor airflow during specific lip and mouth movements. We have a follow-up otolaryngology (ENT) consultation to determine if he will need surgery. While I try to wrap my mind around surgery on my baby boy, I have heard from other moms whose children managed to survive adenoidectomies.

Finally, we consider for a moment the possibility of expanding our family. What might that do to our great dynamic? How will the first two react to a third? They each have selected a same-sex sibling, as well as a name - the daughter wishes for a sister named Daisy Sunrose, and the son wishes for a brother with the same name as he has (because it is SO EPIC). And then, there are the financial considerations of how to manage upgrading a car (a must, to fit in a third child seat), where we'd all sleep, and how to pay for child care (which already costs more than our mortgage). So much for the yacht club.

Intervention

Wow. It's been nearly one year to the DAY since the last post. Two little kids with their two parents in graduate school is no joke.

This (year's) post title, "Intervention," seems appropriate on multiple levels. When life gets so busy that you don't have time to stop and.... I dunno...breathe the oxygen, it's time for someone to knock you upside the head and tell you to slow down for a second. While we spend the majority of our time running around like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, we do actually get a few moments to pretend we're a "normal" family. Of course, I use the word normal loosely. I firmly believe it's a setting on your washing machine and nothing more.

Today was one of those days we got to be somewhat normal. When I titled the post "Intervention," the intent was a little different than the aforementioned. My children, ages five and two, have now gotten to the wonderful age where arguments occur. Maybe even brawls. Today's example was when the 2-year-old boy asked (in the sweetest, most polite manner I've ever heard) his big sister if he could play with one of her toys, she SCREAMED in wild protest, "NO!!! NO!!! NO!!!" To which, the boy cried huge, devastating crocodile tears.

No one was harmed in this exchange. Physically, anyway. I often wonder as a parent when I should intervene. I wanted to do it today, but I did not, and here's why:

I have a rule I use with the 5-year-old on tattling. She is REALLY bad about doing it ALL the time. She doesn't get the concept that, "Nobody likes a snitch." Instead, I've resorted to providing clear-cut examples of when it is appropriate to "snitch" and when it is not. Bottom line: it's okay to tattle when someone is in danger or if someone's property is in danger. I'd like to take credit, but my sister let me borrow a book called Help Me Be Good: Tattling (one in a great series, actually) that helped a lot.

Anyway, I figured the same rules should apply to me. If nobody is in danger, and nobody's stuff is in danger, I should really let them work it out. They need to problem-solve on their own, and they'll never get practice if I keep breaking it up all the time. While I certainly wouldn't just let them go wild, I think they are not in the right mindset to accept a "teaching moment" (read: a lecture on the proper way to negotiate) when they're already in the throes of a knock-down, drag-out tumble over a toy.

The husband and I try our best to demonstrate clear examples of how to problem-solve as a team and negotiate the terms of a compromise. Additionally, there are plenty of opportunities to observe other kids or even use television (I know, I know... the evil box that sits in the living room babysitting other people's kids) to show where the actors (or cartoons) could have done something different.

Besides, I'm tired of screaming, "Knock it off!" from the top of the stairs.