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By Alyssa, August 19, 2010 10:05 pm

Zeke discovers mascara and mineral make-up

Just after Bubba turned 2, my mother-in-law warned me of Haus’ terrible twos.  A bull in a china closet, she said.  Bubba, however, breezed through his twos as a sweet, complacent little boy.  With one small warning look, he immediately avoided trouble.  Bull?  Ha!  I remember thinking Haus couldn’t have been that rambuncious because raising Bubba as a two-year-old was pretty easy.

Then Bubba got a little brother.  A handsome, funny, stubborn little brother.  From the moment Zeke discovered his free will, he’s been using it.  Oh MAN has he been using it!  Loving my little bull Zeke can be trying.  I don’t particularly love when he spreads baking soda across the kitchen floor or squeezes a half a tube of A&D ointment down carpeted stairs or powders the master bedroom rug, sheets, and his p.j.s with dark purple mineral eye shadow.  Did I mention that was all in the last three days?  This kiddo splits his lip at least once a week trying to escape to the nearby park or mimicking big brother. Yesterday, I made my first call to poison control.  I stepped out of my three minute shower to find him chugging a bottle of children’s Benadryl.  How he got into the medicine cabinet and took off the “child-proof” cap in those three minutes is beyond me.

You’d think I don’t watch the kid.  How in three days could he possible spread more than three different substances on our carpet and swig Benadryl?  I think velcroing him to my body is about the only way I can guarantee he won’t get into something.  I recently laughed over the phone as a girlfriend described her solution to her curious second child.  She said she strapped him in a baby sling to her body whenever they left the house.  I’m just about there.  The kid laughs at spankings and uses the N.O. word regardless of the circumstances, even when he means yes.

Believe it or not, I love both of my sons equally.  They are very different, but that’s one of the main things I love about them.  Zeke is demanding, but he’s also a generous hugger.  He’s fearless, but my sensitive snuggle-bug.  I think God blessed him with soft blonde hair and those deep blue eyes because He knew with one little lopsided grin I’m able to forget his challenges.

So here I go into Zeke’s terrific twos.  My little fireball is turning two on Tuesday.  As I repeat to myself, he’s making me into a better mom, he’s making me into a better mom, I remain positive that Zeke and I are up for an amazing year.  Happy birthday to my baby boy, my crazy, independent, spirited little boy.  Oh and by the way, he survived the Benadryl… he’d spilled enough on his shirt that it’s only side effect was a very long nap.

Do you have a monster… ahem, independent kiddo at home?  If so, I’d love to hear about them!

Happy Birthday, Zeke!

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By Alyssa, May 16, 2010 7:43 am

Dishwasher to empty.  Laundry to fold.  Floor to sweep.  Dishes to wash.  Toilets to scrub.  Laundry to wash.

This list runs like a teleprompter in my head.  Being at home with my boys means, well… we’re home and thus the house gets dirtier faster.  In between wrangling my toddlers, I seem to always be cleaning.  I’m in a bible study with a group of other toddler moms and we were discussing how easy it is to become depressed by the situation.  Usually these tasks are just done and our family doesn’t notice that someone is doing them.  Being applauded and appreciated every minute of the day isn’t a common theme associated with staying home with the kids.

I listened to my friends encourage one another while addressing the dull and dreary of stay-at-home mom life and as the conversation lulled, I piped up, “I know that there are times when I am frustrated by the monotony of chores, but I don’t think I’ve ever been at a point where I thought I wasn’t supposed to be doing what I’m doing now.”

I continued, bouncing sweet Zeke on my knee, “I think once you have to rely on someone else to raise your kids completely, to run your household, you are always thankful for the time that you have with them.”

Pausing, I tried to word my thoughts.  How could I explain to these women, without coming off as self-righteous, what it was like to completely miss Bubba’s 18 month to two year stage?  When I deployed, he was 17-months-old, a little younger than Zeke’s age now.  I relied on my little sister and a nanny to raise him during the day and my husband to handle everything in between.

I tried to explain, “I’m transitioning Zeke to one nap right now and you’d think I’d be all over it since Bubba was transitioned at this age.  But I didn’t do that job, my little sister, the one in college without kids?  She did it.  I’ve been calling her asking her exactly what she did so that I can repeat it with Zeke.  I never want to have to have someone explain to me the stages of my child again and that’s why I don’t think I will ever regret helping them through their stages now.”

I stopped as my friends continued to talk and discuss.  It wasn’t until I was driving home that afternoon, I realized why I’d always be thankful with my current job.  It was a hard reality to call my sister for advice or completely depend on others to raise my kids, but lots of moms call for advice and employ caretakers.  I think the kicker for me was that when I deployed there was that chance that I would never come back.  When I left I knew that not returning was a possibility.

As I write this post, my dishes need washed and my laundry needs folded, but I know that I came home safe three years ago to be just the woman strong enough to do those chores.  They may not earn me any medals, but being here for my family, getting that chance to provide for them, that’s joy enough for me.

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By Alyssa, September 14, 2009 2:24 pm

When I first considered leaving active duty to raise the boys, I received some surprising comments.  I was told full time motherhood wouldn’t fit my personality or that I would be so bored that I would regret the decision.  I’ve compiled this list over the last year in response to those opinions. These are reasons why toddlers can be harder than soldiers.

-Uniforms just make everything easier.  My soldiers never whined in the morning about how they HAD to wear their Spongebob shoes today or demanded a race car costume be worn over shorts and a t-shirt.  I have to also note that I have boys.  My friends with girls have ten times the stories and struggles.

-Physical training in the Army was one hour in the morning, one hour.  Bubba seems to think that physical training starts at 7:00 am and ends… well, I don’t think he would ever like it to end.  My current circuit training consists of forty toddler lifts (moving forty pound Bubba and twenty pound Zeke in and out of car seats) and at least two dozen sprints (Whoah! That is amazing that you can lift your little brother over your head).  I’m not even going into piggy back, airplane, “Mom, let’s see how long I can drag holding onto your leg” rides.

- How I long for Army powerpoint presentations. Throw a few slides together, hit the highlights during your brief, and maybe even add a laser pointer for style.  Easy.  It’s not so easy, however, trying to read an entire book in Grover’s voice.  Or how about getting called out by your three-year-old for skipping parts of a sixty-four page Dr. Suess book that he’s memorized?  Not easy.

- I remember how I complained about the random fire drills at Army schools in the middle of the night.  Had to get up once and then got to go back to bed.  After two babies and seasons of every hour nightly feedings, I scoff at fire drills.  Seriously, what was so hard about Army sleep deprivation?  They’ve got nothing on a newborn.

-Finally, I think the hardest part of being a mom with toddlers compared to my Army days is that if my soldiers ever told me no, which I can’t remember anyone doing, I could take their pay, sentence them to extra duties, even send them to jail.  My 3-year-old on the other hand, that little guy looks me square in the eye, arms crossed, perma-scowl, and demands he be heard.  Not no, but NO!  He could care less that I can shoot expert with my M16 rifle, knock out fifty push-ups, or program a PATRIOT missile.  He’s pretty sure if he says it just right, he’s in charge.

So am I bored?  BORED?  I’m sorry but I still have to laugh at that comment.  I wonder now if that person ever spent more than 20 minutes with a toddler.  I guess the bottom line is raising toddlers is tough.  Kudos to all moms that do.