Dear Town House

Dear Town House,

Thank you for the fabulous 7 years you've given us. We've have so many wonderful memories here.

It is here that we went from two single people to a married couple, to the parents of two little girls. It is here that we became a family and really grasped the meaning of home. I will miss the woodsy path behind the complex where I was proposed to, and the leafy shades under which I've sat with my little girl and chatted about nothing. I will also miss the huge evergreens with thick tree trucks perfect for the first hide and seek games. The pool that has generated so much laughter will never be forgotten. The pitter patter of little feet running across your carpeted hall way during the night will forever echo in my heart. The image of my child reading quietly in her room, bathed in golden sun light will be forever cherished. You've provided us wonderful neighbors and showed us what it means to be in a community. Alas, we, as a family, grow, but you remain the same. And now it is time we leave you for a bigger place. We will remember you fondly.

Meal time II

Evelyn ate edamame the other day.
I boiled them in their pods, so to eat them, you'll have to squeeze the beans out of the pod. A fun a novel approach that met Evelyn's approval. But in order to play with the pod, I told her she'd have to eat the beans. And she did. By plopping the beans into her mouth, take a swing of her milk, and swallow the beans like they are vitamin pills. Whole and un-chewed. Righty oh.
"Chew it," her father urged.
"But I don't like it that way," she replied with a bean in her mouth ready to be swallowed.
I watched in disbelief. That is supposedly how her father ate his green beans when he's little. And here she is, doing it without him teaching her. Is it really in the genes?

So then, the question is does this cop out method count as eating a veggie?

Movie time

Being raised on movies, when Evelyn was almost 2.5 years old, we decided that she's mature enough to sit through and enjoy a movie. We took her to see Up! in the theater. She loved the popcorn, loved the candies, and loved the movie. The whole 90 minutes of it. Only at the last few minutes did she start to get distracted by the purse I held on my lap. Since then, whenever there is something suitable playing in the theater, one of us would take her to it while the other gets left behind with baby duty.
I got to take the little princess to Princess and the Frog, her father drew How to Train Your Dragon and Shrek 4. So when Toy Story 3 comes along, it was my turn. Woo Hoo!
We got to the movie theater 15 minutes before the movie started. The little girl of course had to fall asleep in our short short car ride. But she woke willingly and happily in my arms as we raced into the theater, piping up to remind me about the chocolate covered raisins I promised her.
With the box of raisins in hand, we picked out our seats and settled in. We shared the candies, and cheered (quietly) when one preview is followed by another. When the movie started, she climbed into my lap, and we watched it snuggled into one seat. The movie was thrilling, funny, moving, and beautiful. When it was over, we walked hand in hand back into the sun light, back into real life, sharing thoughts about the story. Mother and daughter. A simple way to spend a typical afternoon. It was wonderful.

Chase me, chase me, Lauren.

Lauren started crawling at 6 months old. A early crawler, to which I take no credit. It's a matter of her own desire to catch up with her big sister.

From the very beginning, the sight of Evelyn is enough to make Lauren bounce in excitement in my arms. Especially when we are following Evelyn up the stairs. Lauren would wiggle herself so that she's facing Evelyn, wave her arms and giggle in excitement. If Evelyn is in the mood to interact with Lauren, she would turn back and say "ribbit" every couple of steps. This makes Lauren laugh and laugh and laugh. Now that she's mobile, Lauren wants to follow Evelyn every where she goes. Evelyn took pride in this, too, and would let Lauren chase her. Except the 3 year old is not very good at gauging the crawler's speed. She'd zoom past Lauren on the hall way yelling "chase me, Lauren!" Lauren would sit up to watch her big sister, beams at the challenge, get on all fours and start towards the big girl. At which point, the big girl had done enough waiting and is zooming past again yelling "chase me, Lauren!" as she goes.

Then, they realized that this chasing game would work better if Evelyn is lying down and only rolls around. Seeing Evelyn laying on the couch or in the bed, Lauren could not resist to crawl over (doing an infant battle cry "ah`" along the way) and lay her head down on her sister, which would tickle Evelyn so that she'd giggle and laugh and roll away. Finding herself lying on top of the mattress instead of a cushy toddler body, Lauren would crawl a few inches over to where Evelyn is, and lay down again and so goes the game. Happy screams, laughter, and battle cries would fill the air. And all I have to do is assume the head-bump prevention duty and hope that they'd wear themselves out enough to guarantee an easy bedtime.

I wish they would so enjoy each other always.

When it comes to meal time

Am I the only mom that always approach meal time with unease?

I'd be zipping about in the kitchen, stirring a pot, washing fruit, checking the meat, and all the while hearing a nagging little voice in my head asking me questions like this: Are they going to eat it? Are they going to like it? Will they wrinkle their noses and turn away from their plates? Are they going to leave the table hungry because dinner wasn't satisfying? Am I crazy? I think I sounded crazy.

I would describe it as small scale nerve wrecking. (I put "small scale" in the sentence just so I appear less crazy.)

Let's see, the father of the children is a carnivore in the purest way. He does not eat vegetables, period. Not one iota of it. He will root out any green specks of herb that I sprinkled in a dish before he would even let the food near his lips. He'll spend an eternity on it, going over every inch on the plate patiently and thoroughly in case any little speck escaped his attention while I seethed at the other side of the table. Really? That harmless bit of microscopic parsley just had to be scraped off from your pasta or else it would ruin your whole dinner experience? I love the father of my children. I do. But sometimes it takes a lot for me to not grab his utensils and throw his plat away.

And then there's the fact that seafood can be too seafood-y, tomato sauce could be too tomato-y, and that sort of thing. I can never be completely sure if a new recipe is blend enough or if the pot of my new culinary attempt will be my lunch for the week.

The three year old is, unfortunately, much of the same way. So, every night, I sit beside her, cut up her food, and then try my best to look as though I've nonchalantly move on to other things rather than fighting the urge to bite my nails in wait of her verdict on this food that I served. As though I'm not straining my eye ball in order to watch while not appearing to watch her next move. Every time she takes a second bite of something non-carb without us issuing any threat, I feel like I've won the lottery. At least for now. Because the second bite could also be the last, and she'd just fill herself up with plain white rice leaving behind the rest of her wonderful dinner behind for me to swept into my frustrated mouth.

Now here comes the 8 month old, whom I have not completely figured out. She loves to grab, lick, and suck on the fruit that I'm having. But if I pureed that same piece of fruit into baby friendly mush and spoon feed it to her, she makes this face even before the spoon reaches her. Rejecting it even before she tried it. All the love and labor, thoughts and effort that I poured into making her this tasty, delicious food, gone to waste. I would have been a lot more frustrated if she wasn't so darn cute.

Hair

I so need a hair cut.
I haven't had a hair cut since, oh, let's just say well before Lauren was born. And Lauren is only a few days shy of being eight months old.
The problem lies not in the matter of looks. Goodness knows I'd let my fingers serve as hair brushes often enough. I'm happy as long as I get to shower in the morning and don't have visible drool, spit up, or food in my hair before I leave the house. The problem lies in the matter of my sanity and the preservation of my hair.
You see, Lauren loves my hair. It provides her a safety hand hold and something to chew on. With my hair reaching my shoulder blades, Lauren doesn't need to reach to get to it. Whenever she climbs into my arms or gets picked up, she first gets a fist full of my hair. A stranger comes close? Grab on tight. Mommy lower her onto the floor? Grab on tighter. Occasionally, the grab would be accompanied by a pull, and off comes a few strands of hair. I am forever reclaiming a fallen hair from between her fingers or between her toes. Have you ever noticed how baby toes pick up random things from the floor?

It's rather pathetic, but getting a hair cut seems such an insurmountable challenge.
First off, I have Asian hair. I need someone who understands Asian hair to do the cut. When I told Evelyn I have Chinese hair and need a Chinese hair cut, her father who was right beside me gave snorted in amusement. Dude, you can snort all you want, but you have no idea how serious I am about this Chinese hair thing. Case in point. Every non-Asian hair dresser I've ever came across commented on my straight hair. My straight, silky hair. Let us examine my straight, silky hair a tad closer, shall we. Let us randomly pluck off a few strands of hair, just as Lauren so often does several times a day, you'd find straight ones, wavy ones, and ones that are so zig-zaggy, they look like non-springy springs. As a matter of fact, during my teenage years, some of my straight, silky hair has such a ridiculous tight curl, it was a dry, puffy mane. I often imagine myself as a walking ball of dandelion. When the wind blows, my hair explodes in all directions. Don't believe me? Ask any one who knew me during my 9-12 grad years.
Any how, the crazy hair is behind me. But getting a good hair cut is still a challenging task. My safest bet is to get it in China town, which involves getting a baby sitter, making the 45 miles drive, and dealing with Boston traffic and parking. Just thinking about it makes me tired and lazy.
Writing this much about hair makes me tired and lazy.
So, I badly need a hair cut...

Selective Mutism

Honestly, I don't know why it took me so long to come online and do some research on selective mutism. Perhaps I was simply relieved to know that Evelyn is not the only child who plays statue in certain social situations. Perhaps subconsciously I did not believe it to be a serious issue. After all, she is whispering to her teachers when asked a question, and she had no problem talking to her friends. But what I'm reading this morning yanked whatever covers I've been hiding under off, and shined the bright light of reality in my eyes.

What is selective mutism? The definition of Selective Mutism (SM) given by the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association notes: " Selective mutism (formally known as elective mutism) is a disorder that usually occurs during childhood. It is when the child does not to speak in at least one social setting. However, the child can speak in other situations. Selective mutism typically occurs before a child is 5 years old and is usually first noticed when the child starts school."

The definition describes Evelyn's situation perfectly. Going over the specific features described in the 2000 Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders (DSM-IV-TR) (pp.125-127), Evelyn got a 5 out of 5:
• Consistent failure to speak in specific social situations (in which there is an expectation for speaking, e.g., at school) despite speaking in other situations. (Check)
• The disturbance interferes with educational or occupational achievement or with social communication. (Check)
• The duration of the disturbance is at least 1 month (not limited to the first month of school). (Check)
• The failure to speak is not due to a lack of knowledge of, or comfort with, the spoken language required in the social situation. (Check)
• The disturbance is not better accounted for by a Communication Disorder (e.g., Stuttering) and does not occur exclusively during the course of a Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Schizophrenia, or other Psychotic Disorder. (Check. Thank God.)

Some emphasized the fact that the children with this disorder did not choose to not speak (hence the disorder was renamed from elective mutism to selective mutism). Nor do the children use speech as a power and control tool. These children are inhibited to talk because of social anxiety. This, I've come to observe on my own. When Evelyn turns into stone, it's almost like there's a barrier she cannot cross that is barring her to reach out to the other person. In these cases, her body stiffens. Her steps become shuffles, and her arms hang rigidly by her side. The loving, smiley child freezes up with a intense look on her face. She's not intentionally holding back the "thank you" or the "please", she's just... cast into stone. The material I read also pointed out that this is not just shyness in effect. It's not a phase, and it's not something a child simply grows out of. I'm on the edge of my seat now. If left untreated, the child's anxiety against social interactions may continue to build. What do I do? I scream in my brain. Wait, do I have selective mutism, too?

Then, two sentences from a webpage popped out and just about hit me over the head: "The majority of children with Selective Mutism have a genetic predisposition to anxiety. In other words, they have inherited a tendency to be anxious from one or more family members." It's all in the gene? Oh my poor children, what defective traits have I pass down to you? Since I'm the one writing this entry, let's just blame it on your dad. Then again, I think I'm the more temperamental of the two.

In any case. Like all disorders, the symptoms of every child differs and the severity varies widely. The good thing is I think Evelyn's is at the lighter end of it. Though she couldn't speak in certain situations, she's began to whisper to her teachers. She even whispered to the dentist last time we visited. A dentist she has not seen before, people! It was an event worth bragging.

Another good thing is that we've been doing many things that would combat this disorder unknowingly, such as going to regular play groups (thank God for the mothers support group!) and exposing her to various social environments. I've also, thankfully, given up on forcing her to talk to people, but ask her to whisper her response to me first, then whisper it to others. All these little things may help. But I think the road to a freely communicative Evelyn is still a long one, and we would need and seek professional, structural help. I look forward to the day when Evelyn is able to comfortably tell her imaginative stories and sing her made up songs to friends and family who adores her directly.

Reference:
American Speech-Hearing-Language Association (n.d.). Selective Mutism. Retrieved from: http://www.asha.org/public/speech/disorders/selectivemutism.htm, May 7, 2010.
Selective Mutism Anxiety Research and Treatment Center. Accessed from http://www.selectivemutismcenter.org, May 7, 2010 .

"I love my body"

I forgot what we were talking about, but Evelyn all of a sudden told me "I love my body. I love myself."
Two short sentences that she uttered matter of fact-ly. Life seen from a toddler's point of view. Two short sentences that carry so much meaning in a world in which people battle with body image. I wish I could bottle her self love and confidence up to dole it out if she ever felt down about herself. I wish I could help her feel that way about herself through out her life.

Talking

Evelyn has two sides. One side she shows only to the people that are closest to her, and the other she shows to the rest of the world.
In front of close, close family and favorite friends, she's this talkative little girl who spins stories, invents expressions, and sings at the top of her lung. But if someone from the rest of the world come close and talk to her, they would see a stony faced little girl with her eyes trained on them but gives them only silence. Friends we saw on an almost weekly basis still have trouble getting an utterance out of her. Once or twice someone would overhear Evelyn talking in play, not noticing the adult near by. But once she spots the observer, she would shut up like a clam. Time and time again we would have to tell a friendly stranger, doctor or a waiter who solicited her reaction that she's shy. But while the behavior is easily excused when she's a cute baby or toddler, it cannot continue as she continues to grow. Even more perplexing is how she's shrouding herself in silence in front of her teachers at school.
Evelyn was moved to her current class last summer. She quickly found her comfort level with her teachers. Her teachers make drop-offs in the morning smooth and without problem. She seeks hugs from them and would go sit on their laps at various times through out the day. Yet this close physical comfort is not enough for her to speak to them. They only know that she is not developmentally impeded by overhearing her imaginary plays and conversation with her best friend. With some prodding, they might be able to get her to whisper to them, but that's it. They brought the issue up once again at the latest parent-teacher conference, and asked if we should seek professional help as they are out of tricks to try.
I've asked her why she refuses to talk to her teachers. She told me it's because "I'm shy." But that seems to be just a convenient answer, and that there's more behind it. She's never been teased or laughed at, nor responded poorly towards. Why did she ever need to put up such a defense? I wonder if she is holding on to her silence as her identity. Her badge of honor, almost. As a way of standing out. Except as she progress along in school, the lack of communication with teachers and peers would quickly become a hindrance. How would people know what she understands or not get if she doesn't let on?
Any way, last week her Nanny (granny) helped her make a "shyness" box to store her shyness at home. The second day, she whispered to a teacher. Today, I reminded her to talk to people some more. We shall see how the day goes.
To me, she's a precious little girl with an active imagination and hearty laugh. I just hope she would share it more with the rest of the world.

How much?

The setting: Migo is Evelyn's auntie's dog. She's also Evelyn's "favorite, favorite dog in the whole world." In fact, the day after we came back from visiting Evelyn's aunties and Migo, Evelyn told me that she "misses Migo so much." This conversation took place during our visit.

Auntie Alicia: Evelyn, how much do you love Migo?
Evelyn: So much!
Auntie Alicia: How much?
Evelyn: Two hours much!

I suppose when one has only been in this world for 3 years and some months, an hour could seem so, very, very long. And to love another being as much as two hours long, now that, is an astronomical amount.

Can I still refer to Lauren as a new born?

When Evelyn was a baby, I was keenly aware of how old she was and what milestones she should be hitting. I bounced in my seat with excitement when she approached her four months mark, eager to begin feeding her solids. I wanted her to take her sweet time growing up, but I also can't wait to look ahead and see what's coming, to know her as a child and later as an independent individual. With Lauren, it feels like days bleed into weeks bleed into months. Time is not segmented, but a mass continuous body. An ocean, perhaps, on which life travels. And I set sail with Lauren always in my arms. She's my baby and I have no intention to speed up her development. But time passes regardless of how much or little I care about it. And all of a sudden, Lauren's had her four months check up and ready for play feeding. All of a sudden, she's aggressively attacking her fist, my fingers, my cheeks, or anything within range with her gum to ease teething discomforts. All of a sudden, she's getting on all fours and inching herself backwards (to be stuck under the coffee table). My newborn is not that new anymore. She's almost 6 months old! My, my.

It amuses me how different my attitudes are on caring for Evelyn and for Lauren. A Chinese saying goes "the first child, you rear by book; the second child, you rear like a pig (as in the child's basic needs are your prime concerns. It sounds worse in English than it does in Chinese)." Re-reading my journal for Evelyn, I was taking notes every time an expert comes to give talks at the weekly mothers support group. Develop a bed time routine as early as you can? Of course. Got to start massaging baby's gum before the teeth comes in? No problem. Let the baby nap every two hours? Okay. I took all these advice to heart and carried them out as best as I could, worrying over Evelyn's night time routine (there were 3 journal entries on bed time routine in Evelyn's 4th month), breaking out the baby gum wash cloth, and checking baby websites weekly for mile stones that she should be meeting. With Lauren, I still pay attention to these advices that came my way, but I'm a lot more relaxed and not actively seeking out and chasing after them. This time, I'm letting Lauren lead me, waiting to see what she is going to show me. Rather than marking down the next mile stone and waiting for Lauren to meet it, I find myself in a constant stage of wonderment, looking forward to what ability Lauren's about to reveal. It's been amazing.

Since Evelyn, I'm no longer qualifies as a "new mom" no matter how new my next child is. But honestly, I think with every child comes new experiences, and that makes a mom new regardless of how many children she's already has.

Rediscovering Evelyn

Is it possible to love your child more and more each day?
When Lauren was just brought home, I was off kilter. I was struggling to find my footing as a parent of two and getting used to night nursing again. A new born that also needs my attention and care, the lack of sleep, and the potty training process that seemed to finally pick up combined to make me rather short on temper and quick to snap.
Many nights did I look back at certain events during the day and regretted on my reaction and confined to their father that I've become an awful mother. In fact, I thought it was miraculous that for how impatient I was with her, Evelyn continues to love and demand me so. Then, something even more miraculous happened. We somehow managed to find a groove. While there are still difficult days and exhausting times, all in all, dare I say it, we're managing pretty good. I no longer freak out over vacation week when both girls will be home with me, alone, for consecutive days. I find myself confidence enough on my ability to take care of and entertain them both at the same time that the prospect of being snowed in doesn't send me panicking. With the frustration threshold elevated, I find myself really, truly enjoying Evelyn as a three year old. Now that I stopped pulling my hair out over a spilled toy basket/juice cup/$25-a-small-tiny-tube lotion, many of the horrible three actions sent me laughing instead of count-to-ten-deep-breathing. Such as how she'd squirm all over the place until her chair is far from the dinning table yet keeping half her bottom on it at all times, obeying the "keep your bottom on the chair during dinner" rule. Oh, or the time when she ate cookies while I was in the shower, breaking the "no cookies until after lunch" rule. She was a terrible cookie thief. I knew what was going on when I heard the dining chair being pulled towards the cookie box. Then, there's the child herself who, while managed to wash her hands, didn't care to brush off the cookie crumbs that ringed her mouth. Of course I can't forget to mention the big throwaway. To my question of "what are you doing?", she proudly answered "I ate a cookie!"
There is how she loves to be a princess. If she could, she would be in her Snow White Halloween costume everyday. Her pretty shoes and her pretty dress make it easier to step into her little princess plays. The way she deliberately kicks off one of her sparkling slippers so she could land on the couch to await for her prince just cracks me up.
There is also how she loves her sister. Always wanting to hold her, kiss her, know what the baby is doing. I stepped away from the room the other day, leaving the two of them. Lauren, laying on her play mat on the floor, started fussing, and I heard Evelyn comforting her: "it's okay, I'm here, I'm here". And then she tried to pick the baby up and toppled over, with Lauren on top of her.
The list goes on and on. It's like I'm rediscovering Evelyn all over again, and just loving her more and more every day. It's a wonderful thing.

Evelyn and Lauren together

Evelyn loves Lauren. Lauren is always the first to receive bedtime and goodbye hugs and kisses. When I'm holding Lauren, Evelyn would ask me to sit beside her so she can see Lauren, talk to her, and touch her. Whenever I leave the room for mere seconds, Evelyn would keep an eye on Lauren. In fact, I have to warn her off from trying to rock Lauren in her swing too much, or from picking Lauren up. Lauren loves Evelyn in return. When Evelyn's at home, Lauren follows her every movement with her eyes, watching her play, observing her movements. She is fascinated by her big sister.

The other day, Evelyn was dressed in her Snow White Halloween costume (a costume that was well worth buying) and watching Snow White movie, again. She likes the story so much, and has watched the movie so many times, she remembers some of the lines. This particular afternoon, she was watching the movie while play acting out the scenes. Then came the part where Snow White dances with the Seven Dwarfs after dinner. Evelyn twirled and spun and danced with the princess on screen. Lauren watched and laughed and laughed and laughed. It was one of the most precious moments.

"True love's kiss"

How deep has the fairy tale bug bitten Evelyn?

She made a new friend, Abby, at the play area in the mall today. The two little girls ran around, chased each other, compared their baby siblings, and climbed in and out of play things. Then, I spotted Evelyn lying on the floor, apparently fake sleeping and paying no mind to her confused new friend who just could not rouse her. Abby shook Evelyn, tickled her until Evelyn was squirming away, and asked her to wake up in the persistent way that only a toddler could master, all to no avail. I knew what Evelyn was waiting for, but I reined in the urge to interfere. I wanted to see what would happen. After a minute or two, just when I was afraid that Abby is going to give up on Evelyn, I saw Evelyn mouthed three words to Abby, "true love's kiss". Right... Just what I thought. Poor Abby was even more troubled. It's time for me and Prince Lauren to step in. All it took was a slobbery kiss from Lauren and the world was righted. There goes princess Evelyn, rescued from some unknown, but definitely wicked sleep enchantment, happily engaged with a real world playmate again.

Who are you now?

Evelyn loves to pretend play these days, especially loves to re-enact her beloved princess stories.
Just the other day, I found her slightly bent over in a non-specific living room corner with a hand cupped by her mouth as if silently singing towards the floor. She then tilted her head towards the same spot as if listening for a response. "Snow White?" I ventured a guess, "are you Snow White singing into the castle well?" She looked up and nodded solemnly, and picked up a corner of her sleeping gown as she swept across the floor. I left the poor princess to clean up after breakfast. When I returned, she was perched on her hands and knees upon the pillow stack singing quietly. She then propped herself up, lifted her head, and sang the phrase "part of your world~". Ah, she is Ariel, the little mermaid, longing to become a part of the Prince's world. While the little mermaid was busy swimming across the room, I went to change Lauren's diaper, and came back to find the big sister face down on the floor. Turns out that she was Snow White again, escaped into the forest, tired and frightened, just about to be led to the Seven Dwarf's house by little woodland animals. That whole day, I felt like I was caught in a never ending Scene It game. Every time I return to Evelyn's side, I'd arrive in the middle of a story. Charming little stories. Charming, that is, until I was assigned the role of a big bad wolf or an evil queen and had to chase the heroine around the crowded house, with the baby in my arms.

"I'm mama, you're Evelyn"

Sometimes we role play. Evelyn would be the little mermaid, and I would be Flounder/King Triton/Ursula/Prince Eric - depending on which part of the story we are reenacting.
Today, she wanted to be me, and told me to be her. Sure thing. I was so ready to throw a tantrum at her to let her have a taste of her medicine. But her performances halted me in my track:
"[mumble mumble] only mama can [mumble mumble] give you a time out!"
With a finger pointed at me and her eyes opened wide to portray a stern look "[mumble mumble] I will take it away!"
"Don't touch [mumble mumble] or I will give you a time out!"
Yeah, so for the next ten minutes or so, I sat there listening to her telling me to behave, threatening to give me time outs or taking my things away.
Dear me, is that all I am to her?
What about the times I spent playing two-people duck, duck goose with her, while holding baby Lauren in my arms?
Or the times when I sat on the little stool across from you in our tiny half bath per your request to keep you company while you go potty?
I know being a parent does not equate to being a good play mate, and often times not a good friend. There is necessarily rule settings and lots of no's. I just hope that the fun times leave as strong impressions as the not so fun times.

Oh little girl...

It will be hell for me if we ever have to use the cry it out method with Lauren.
The father of the children once said to me "and you thought Evelyn was clingy..."
This little girl recognizes her mother, and would continue to cry and cry and cry when her father holds her at night.
On the nights when it's my turn to put her sister to bed and her father's turn to take care of her, she would cry persistently in his arms, no matter what he does. He'd walk her, rock her, sing to her, talk to her, all to no avail. She would cry out tears (not an easy feat for a two months old), cry herself hoarse, cry until she coughs, and finally tire herself out and cry herself to sleep. That could easily take an hour.
Upstairs, I'd be struggling to read stories with the usual embellishments and high spirits for the older one while feeling dragged down by the cries of the little one. It tears at me even though I know she's in good hands. The cries pull at me, and I have to force myself to focus only on the older one who also needs my full attention and love.
Stubborn, determined, and only two months old. Wonder what the future holds.

Toddlers and tantrums

Evelyn seldom screams. Bad tantrums that brings up headaches occurs rarely. Last week, she gave me one that is quite unforgettable.

It happened because of something really trivial. All memorable tantrums start that way, it seems. Then the situation got more and more heated as she ups her volume and refuses to listen. Oh, she told me she wants to listen many, many times. But after I repeated my instruction, she would continue to insist on going against it. So, more time outs. Except the execution of the time outs became more and more difficult. She began to scream "don't leave me alone, mommy", and cling to me like an octopus. I need to peel her of off me before I can run out of her room to leave her in it. The screams drive me nuts but the "don't leave me alone" and the desperation with which she grab on to me break my heart. I cannot stand my children feeling that they were abandoned by me. Yes, I may be too dramatic here, but it is one of my worst fears. But I digress. I was amazed by her screams, by how she does it with her whole being. As if it's from the very root of her soul. As if her life depended on it. There was no holding back. It was pure emotion, pure desire. We all want our children to behave, be reasonable and civil, and be calm when facing distressing situations. But that afternoon, standing in her room, hauling her back to her room for the nth time out by her arms, feeling exhausted by this fight, I found myself also mourning the time when she would loose this freedom to let it all out as she grow up, when the restraints will be put in place. It's a price we all pay in order to mature and make the world a livable place, I suppose.

How do you get an almost three year old to understand that...

A secret is something that you don't want to tell the person that you are keeping the secret from. If you seek out and run up to tell the person what surprise you just prepared them, it is a surprise no more. ("We got a cake!" she told her surprise-birthday-party-girl-auntie.)

There is no eating the gingerbread house before it is even assembled. And no, there is no negotiating. ("Four bites?" she pleaded with a hopeful expression.)

It is not polite to ask "what's that?" after the noises from next stall in a public restroom. Even more so, it is extremely inappropriate to bend over to check on the person in the next stall through the crack between the wall and the door.

Repeating a request over and over and over and over again would not let it happen faster, if it happens at all.

It is great to explore things and I encourage that, but it doesn't mean I won't get grossed out by certain explorating actions. (Evelyn explored her poop the other day while I was away nursing the tiny one.)

"Because I love you"

One night at bed time, Evelyn started to cry for no reason. Her father asked her why she was sad, she replied "because I love you!" It's very sweet, but after a half an hour of such crying, I realized that she's forcing the cries just so she can stay sad. I can't help but wonder: seriously, child, must you be so dramatic.

Last night, she asked me to read Snow White to her. The story, like many princess stories, began with Snow White's biological mom dying to make way for the evil step mom. And of course Evelyn has to ask "why?" I told her sometimes mommies die because they get sick or get in an accident.
"So you'll die?" she asked.
"Not for a very, very, very long time, I hope," I told her.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, just when I continued with the story again, she began to cry.
"Don't die! I love you! Don't die!" This time, she cried real tears, and it broke my heart.
Oh child, my biggest fear is to not be able to be there when you need me. I will try my best to stay with you forever and ever.