Well, I might as well start the new year off with a Ministry of Reality post. It’s a good thing I made no resolutions to be a perfect wife or parent (or even close); I had already muffed it twice before we had been out of bed an hour.

First up, a scolding for me: Jason and I had a minor scurfluffle over how time could/should be spent this morning. I had reacted poorly and knew it but just stubbornly didn’t want to get out of my frump. I started to say, “I wish I had responded better . . . ” and before I could add my “but I really want to do it my way,” Jason interrupted with a snappish “Yeah, I wish you had too.” And that just made me mad. So even though I hadn’t really been about to issue a real apology anyway, I seized the opportunity to be indignant and huff away with the pile of towels I had just so virtuously and sacrificially folded.

Simon, who had been oblivious to the exchange, followed me out into the hall and asked, “Mommy, what happened?” Completely convinced I had the high ground, however ill-gotten, I said as sweetly as I could, “Well, honey, your daddy made me mad, and now I’m just trying to cool down.” Totally backfired. Next thing I knew I was facing the wrath of my very earnest son: “No, Mommy. You’re being UNKIND. Daddy does NOT like to be fussed at, Mommy. Do NOT say that to Daddy.” And how could I not laugh at that little twerp, who was at least mostly right? There’s nothing like a precocious two-year-old to diffuse a ridiculous situation.

And then a lesson for Simon: He caught me on the staircase and asked very quietly, “Mommy, can I have a little bite of cake?” I turned to see that he clearly was asking for permission after the fact. Wise friends who have gone before me have warned me this day would come (and will again and again) and that the thing to do is not give them the opportunity to lie. But I forgot, and so I asked him, “Simon, did you already eat the cake?”

And then, for the first time that I can say for sure that he knew what he was doing, my son lied to me. He said, “No! I did not eat the cake.” And, wow, that sucked. I always thought that I would be angry when lied to (and I’m certain I will be in the future, when there’s more at stake than a pastry). But I wasn’t. I was hurt. And I suppose I’m still processing through this possibly inevitable, wicked milestone. This parenting gig is not for wimps.

The end of the story is that there was some tantruming (his, not mine this time) and some more unfruitful confrontation until I finally remembered the better approach. So when he calmed down (and stopped screaming, “I did not eat the cake! I did NOT!”). I took him in my lap and said, “Simon, I know you ate the cake. I’m not mad, but I want to talk to you about it.” And then we talked a bit about asking permission first and about lying. And then I said, “Simon, why did you eat the cake? Did you know you were not supposed to?” And he looked at me with those big eyes, as brown as the chocolate smeared at the corner of his lip, and said, “I ate the cake. It was mmm mmmm all down in my tummy. It was so tasty. ” And, you can guess the rest, I melted.

Before:

After:

Never leave home without them.

Important disclaimer: I recognize that by poking fun at my husband’s fashion sense in this post I am exposing myself as a complete ingrate. He gets one or both of the boys dressed every morning, and I love him for it. It’s just that sometimes, well . . .

This morning we were headed over to a friend’s house to run through the sprinkler, so I decided that Simon should wear his swim trunks to avoid an unnecessary change. Believe it or not, it’s not always that fun to get a two-year-old dressed. I laid out his yellow-and-blue-striped trunks for him and went to get Ian dressed (that I dressed Ian today will become important later in the story). When Simon came downstairs, I was pretty sure we had finally come to the developmental stage where he insists on picking out his own clothes (a stage that I am totally looking forward to, by the way, because I picture myself as one of those moms who doesn’t interfere and lets her young child be seen in public in ridiculous getups while it’s still so darn cute. We’ll see how that plays out when the time comes). But as I was to discover, we’re not there yet; this outfit was Daddy’s doing:

Now, in Jason’s defense, Simon really doesn’t have any shirts that would go with those shorts, and in fact I didn’t pick out a shirt for him because I was kind of at a loss myself for how to pair them. What actually cracks me up about this outfit, though, is that after he put it on, Jason decided it “worked” because of the horizontal stripes in both.

We then turned our attention to Ian’s outfit. I went out of my way to find the plaid shorts this morning because they’re my favorites. I like the mismatched patterns and deliberately put this outfit together because I think it’s totally cute.

Jason says that I have a double standard. Maybe so, but I’ll stand by it.

So what do you think? (And don’t let this influence you or anything, but Simon already took Jason’s side this morning in an unrelated light-hearted dispute, so I’m feeling a little fragile. But like I said, don’t let that sway you to my already obviously right point of view.)

At the Lincoln Children’s Zoo this morning, I told Simon “no” on something (I can’t remember the exact circumstance). He had to work it through a little, but he actually did avoid an all-out tantrum.

He almost came to terms with it . . . but then, no, it was still too much.

Phew! 

Several months ago—maybe even a year—Simon received a gift of a fire truck. It may have been valuable, as it is an older toy and was still in mint-in-the-box condition. Simon asks to play with it every time he finds it, and we’ve always said, “Not today.” But yesterday we watched Toy Story and Toy Story 2, and this morning when Simon brought the truck out from its sort-of hiding place, I couldn’t help but think of Buzz reminding Woody that (for a toy) “life’s only worth living if you’re being loved by a child.” So I caved. And because it’s just the kind of sap I am, I actually got a little teary while I was looking for a screwdriver to unfasten the truck from its box so it could be set free to be loved by Simon.

I hadn’t really realized that the truck was probably a bit too intricate for a two-year-old, and in less than two minutes, Simon broke the truck.

And when I explained to Jason how I had been persuaded by Toy Story to open the box, he reminded me that Simon has plenty of toys to love and neglect as he will. Take poor Rody, for example, muzzled and abandoned:

In hindsight, maybe I let my emotions get the best of me. Perhaps I should have let the truck stay in mint condition and watch Simon from his box, never to be loved. How will we pay for Simon’s college education now?

After checking the weather for the umpteenth time this morning, we finally decided not to brave the potentially treacherous Nebraska roads in the midst of the predicted storm. So we’re hanging out at home for Christmas after all. Although we’re disappointed to not get to spend the day(s) with our families, we’re enjoying some sweet family time with just the three (well, four) of us.

This picture isn’t the best quality; I had to do lots of adjustments because I had my camera on the wrong, wrong, wrong settings. But it should give you an idea of just how desperate I was this morning to keep the little one happy. We blessedly did get out of the house this afternoon for a glorious trip to Super Target with Rebecca and Liv. Oh sweet, sweet freedom from the confines of the house. (I don’t know that I’ve ever had cabin fever as bad as I did this week.) You’d think I would have brought my camera for the ride, but really I was just too giddy at being OUT OUT OUT of the house.

We have been celebrating today’s gorgeous weather in a most un-Moreheadlike way: yard work!

I don’t think the pictures can quite convey the horror that was the area back by our garage. Rebecca once said that she was afraid that she was going to run over someone every time she had to pull out of the alley.

And Jason admitted that it crossed his mind that he might find a body back there (chalk that up to watching too much Bones lately). Thankfully, he found only a snake and a couple of aluminum cans.

Meanwhile, Simon helpfully rearranged the rocks in what I guess is the driveway. What a thoughtful boy.

And while the “after” still leaves plenty to be desired, it is quite satisfying to be just that much less of a blight on the neighborhood.

Untitled
Crayon on plaster
Simon Morehead, 2009

So this morning I discovered that Simon had begun to install an uncommissioned mural. As precious as the artist is, the piece was just not what we had in mind for the dining room (thank goodness for magic erasers).

Simon was more than happy to demonstrate his technique for the camera.

He did not, however, appreciate being given an alternative canvas . . .

and banged his head in protest, claiming that Mama was trying to restrain his creative spirit.