Long Halloween

This is the best picture we could get of us before trick or treat. The Lad did not want to wear his pumpkin hat and squirmed so much that all of the pictures were fuzzy. It probably didn't help the photos were being taken by the dehydrated Daddy, who spent Halloween morning in the hospital.* Anyway, behold the janky, but sensible Ironman costume -- I refused to spend $30 on cheap plastic and flammable fabrics in the Halloween aisle and instead hit the toy aisles and scored a heavy-duty mask and "arc reactor" (that thing on his shirt) for less than $15 -- and my adorable pumpkin. Ignore my unwashed ponytail and the fuzzy focus. It was a long day.

The Boy seems so big these days. He makes up songs and stories and says things like, "Wow! They're really making prog-gress on that road." He's stretching out. We busted out some long pants this week and even the 4T ones questionable. He's changing looks. Sometimes I look at him and I can't see, at all, the baby who used to snuggle against my chest every night in the rocker. I can see the little boy and the teenager he's going to be, but the baby just is gone.

And then there are the moments that keep me from getting heartsick.

We went trick or treating and my Ironman is enough like me to be a little shy about knocking on doors. Plus, he had had a rough, busy day -- seeing his dad in the hospital, being asked to be patient for a long time, spending the afternoon running his grandparents ragged in the backyard. He seemed so big and grown-up all day. "Momma," he said as we started down the road. "We better walk in the grass. There's a car coming." But a handful of houses in, he asked if I would hold his bag. I noticed he was walking slower. He grabbed my hand.

"Momma. I just wanna go home."

I picked him up. He could have walked. He is heavy -- 37 pounds. But I picked him up anyway. I balanced him on my hip and his legs dangled down to my knees. He looked out under his mask, pushed up like a helmet, and in glow of the streetlamps and porchlights, I saw a boy. Then, The Boy clutched my arm and snuggled against me. My baby, my boy, always.

*More about that later. He's fine.

Eh, whatever

My mother-in-law asked tonight when The Lad needs bottles during the day. When they took The Boy at this age, I gave her -- at her insistence, but without problems on my part -- a detailed daily schedule for feedings, diaper changes and nap. Tonight, I looked at her blankly.

"Honestly, I have no idea," I said. "He gets three bottles every day while we're at work. Just feed him when he's hungry."

---

Daycare moved The Lad out of the baby room this week and into the Little Ones room. (These are the newly mobile under-1s and the not particularly mobile early-1s.) The Lad doesn't like the Little Ones room. They thought at first he just missed Miss L and Miss C from the baby room, but even when they're there, he is disgruntled. (That's the word Miss L has used -- repeatedly -- to describe him.) It appears to be the room upsetting him. He went on a hunger strike the first day. Now he's just cranky.

I dropped him off, handing him to the very nice Little Ones teacher over the half-door. She cuddled him, and he started whining. She assured me he was OK at least for a little while the previous day and he just needed time to get used to them and they were doing everything they could to make him comfortable. The Lad cried louder, but I just waved her away. He'll be fine; he just needs time to adjust.

"See you later, kiddo," I said, rubbing his fuzzy head goodbye. I walked out smiling.

When The Boy cried like that, I fought back tears on my way out the door and was late to work because I sat in the car and cried. Things just don't feel so tragic now. The Boy obviously was not scarred by the times he struggled with stranger anxiety. The Lad will survive unscathed, too.

---

I think if I had any more kids, I would be so laid back, the poor children would be scavenging for their food.

Let's help each other out

So we asked over on our Facebook page what you want to see us write about. Kelly asked about getting her toddler to bed without the tantrums. Here’s what she said:

Why my 2.5 year old insists on screaming EVERY SINGLE NIGHT at bedtime. This still plagues me and breaks my heart. I just want to give in and let her sleep in my room and go to bed early just to accommodate her.

I think this is a common problem that many parents face so let’s try to help her out, even if it is just to say “Yep. My kid does it too. Hang in there.”

Here has been our history of sleeping:

Peanut was spoiled for about the first year of her life. For the first six months, she napped while one of us held her. Seriously. Napping did not work in our house otherwise. Mind you she napped fine without the luxury of being held at the babysitter’s but at home it was a different story. She was also held until she fell asleep at night.

We began to try to break this habit at six months and gradually got there by the time she was a year old. Most of the time. Sometimes she was still rocked to sleep. Sometimes she just went to bed without making a peep. Sometimes she cried. Mostly we were spoiled and she would say night-night and snuggle down in her crib without fussing.

Then, we got our payback. She began crawling out of her crib before she was even 2 so we immediately moved her to a big girl’s bed. Holy Moses was that a dark time. It did not help that I was newly pregnant and exhausted anyway. Add in a toddler who was free to roam, and would do so right into our room five times a night and we had a very cranky household. We went from getting up at 8 a.m. some mornings to starting our day at 5:30 a.m. Not a fun transition.

We tried snuggling with her until she fell asleep but she would usually wake up when we moved. So we went the tough love route. We sang songs, thanked God and were out the door, closing it behind us. It was Brutal for awhile. She would throw herself up against the door screaming bloody murder. We would go in and try to calm her down but that only made the problem worse.

Eventually the dramatics calmed some. She would still cry and get out of bed but she started to fall asleep by the door. We’d leave her there until we knew she was out and put her back in bed. The husband kept saying she would realize her bed was more comfortable and stay in it. And you know? She did.

Now? Our night time routine consists of a few minutes of “Peter Pan” or a Tinkerbell movie after bath while snuggled in our bed. We then move the party to her room where she gets a couple songs and thanks God and then we are out of the room by 9 p.m. (we are night owls in our house). She stills whines a bit but it usually stops by the time we get to the stairs. She also doesn’t get back out of bed until I go into get her around 8:30 a.m.

This is what works for us. It was a lot of tears from both mom and child. It was many sleepless, exasperated nights wondering if we would ever sleep again.

What worked with you?

winner! and guests ...

My dashing young assistant picked a winner this morning, but this is the first time all day I've had 10 free minutes to post. So, without further ado (drumroll please!) the winner is #3 -- Molly. I actually know Molly outside of the interwebs -- or at least I did years ago. We went to school together, so it's been fun to see her two cute little girls.

Molly, send me your address on Facebook or e-mail -- hrcopsey(at)gmail.com -- and I'll get your box of goodies in the mail.

My in-laws got in town tonight for a week. I have a headache. I need to make a happy list like Michelle's. Hope you all are having a good week!

Happiness

As the crush of holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, new little person who is growing inside of me and is soon to be outside making us a family of four comes upon me, it's easy to feel overwhelmed. So I'm going to make a list of things making me happy right now to keep everything in perspective:

The husband is redoing our bathroom. And by redoing, I mean ripping everything but the toilet out. This project made me apprehensive at first, never having seen his self-proclaimed DIY skills. However, he began tiling the shower this weekend and it looks fabulous. He's even did my fancy-pants accent tile, which required a lot of cutting of said tile. I'm impressed and can't wait for it to be all done.

This man does it all: cooks, does laundry, goes grocery shopping, loves me when I'm at my craziest and can remodel bathrooms. I am a lucky girl.

*****

While Peanut and I were out avoiding the house Sunday so the husband could work on the bathroom in peace, she said to me out of the blue, "Mommy, I love my little sister."

This made me tear up instantly as we sat in the Kohl's parking lot. I told her how sweet she was and how much I loved her. She noticed my tears and said, "Mommy, you crying?" I tried to explain the concept of happy tears to her but she just wanted to know if I was OK.

It was one of the best moments I've ever had with that child.

*****

I signed up Peanut for a tumbling class twice a week in the mornings at the Y. I cannot wait to see how she does in her first semi-structured setting. I think she is going to love it.

*****

My sister and I finished the girls' Halloween costumes this weekend. They look less like peacocks and more like big puffs of tulle. Still, I think it will be fabulous and I can't wait to take Peanut trick-or-treating for the first time.

Thankfully, she has learned to actually say peacock but every time she hears someone talk about Halloween, she says she's going to be a pretty bird.

*****

What's making you happy?

No pumpkin bellies -- but a giveaway!

There were no pumpkin bellies at the 7th annual Treasure Coast Pumpkin Fest.

But we did have some pretty cute pumpkins.

Our pumpkin party is one of my favorite parts of fall. What's yours?

I'll pick one comment randomly Tuesday morning -- so, comments open until 12 a.m. Oc. 26 -- and send a box of pumpkin paraphernalia to the winner.

Double trouble

A big part of my good night Wednesday was The Boy's angelic behavior. Unfortunately, he learned the adage that no good deed goes unpunished.

First, he was playing with The Lad, who was trying to get The Cat. The Boy went to help and got his ears boxed by The Cat for his efforts. The Lad giggled.

Then, The Boy was laying in my lap in the bathroom doorway to get his ear drops. (Yay for sneaky ear infections!) The Lad wanted to get into the cat litter and so was climbing over The Boy, who was good-naturedly putting up with it. He was laughing until a thwarted, frustrated Lad bit him in the stomach hard enough to scrape off a layer of skin.

I turned the tv on for the crying Boy and put The Lad to bed. Coming out, The Boy looked up at me from the couch, removed the blanky from his mouth and said, "Momma, those two are just troubles."

Better busy than bored

I've said it before, but I really think my job makes me a better momma.

I have been busy since I took this new position at work. I was nearly caught up, but then I had to take Monday off for a sick day. That combined with an e-mail system switch (thanks IT!) and several cannot-be-canceled meetings made for an even more ridiculous workload Tuesday and Wednesday. It would be natural, then -- especially given my history -- to think Wednesday evening, when I had to wrangle kids alone thanks to a work event for the husband, would have been a disaster. Cranky momma snapping at dawdling preschooler and too-smart-for-his-own-good almost-toddler, right?

WRONG.

I was freakishly calm and collected and present. I cooked our no-daddy dinner (scrambled eggs and toast) while the kiddos scattered blocks over every square inch of my living room. I didn't get flustered when I didn't have time to wash and fill bottles before dinner. Instead of fixating on the crumb-littered floors or dirty dishes, I sat and chatted and made faces and enjoyed general silliness with the boys as they ever so slowly ate.

Now, what does all this have to do with work, you ask? Well, here's the thing with this new job: I'm never going to finish my to-do list. I've come to terms with it.

It is as if my brain is so overworked at work, it doesn't have time to fret and fritter -- as much -- over the little things at home.

Maybe I'm just exhausted into submission.

Or maybe the boys were just being freakishly good to trick me into letting my guard down long enough for them to launch some new sort of mischief.

Whatever. It was a good night. I'll take it.

All I want for Christmas ...

No, it is not too early to start thinking about Christmas especially in our house when I realized that there are TEN weeks until this baby could come (at which point I may or may not have unnecessarily flipped out on the husband who has been busting his tail to get things ready. I would blame hormones but really, that’s just a cop out. I’m just high strung.)

Anyway, I’ve been trying to think of practical toys for Peanut for Christmas. She’s 2 ½ , loves to color, play with stickers, glitter and PlayDoh. She loves books, babies and anything Tinkerbell or Peter Pan.

I’m want things that will keep her busy while we are shut in the house with a newborn during the snowy, cold Midwestern winter. I’m leaning towards arts and crafts items and starting to introduce games such as Go fish, Old Maid and CandyLand.

I’ve already bought some giant Melissa & Doug sticker books with all different themes, including letters and numbers as well as coloring books and the card games.

I’d rather not have her plopped in front of the television for the duration of my maternity leave although I’m not opposed to some Super Why! or a movie here and there.

This is where you come in. What things kept/keep your toddler busy? I’m looking for educational/fun. Any help would be wonderful.

It takes a village

New mothers and mothers who haven’t learned this lesson yet, let me pass something on to you. It is OK to ask for help. You need it. No one will think less of you.

It took me more than 2 years to actually figure this out.

Sure we’ve had help along the way but it has always come with a sense of guilt, put upon by no one other than me. I would think that the husband and I should be able to do it all on our own. We created this being, we need to take care of her.

Ladies and gentlemen, it takes a village.

My parents and in-laws are getting antsy to let Peanut stay with them more. She’s done so a few times but I realized this weekend that I as I hit the homestretch before the baby arrives and after her birth, it might need to happen a little more.

Peanut loves her grandparents and they are clamoring to spend more time with her, so why not let them? It gives us a chance to get ready for the baby and even spend some quality time with her after she comes. Plus, I hope it will make Peanut feel special that she gets to stay with the fun grandparents when her little sister must stay home with her boring parents.

We are blessed to have family close enough to help out.

I also had a friend offer to pick Peanut up from pre-school and drop her off at our babysitter’s next fall. I don’t think this friend knows exactly what this means to me. I have spent many nights worrying how we would negotiate the logistics of preschool.

It’s one thing to foist your responsibility on to others. It’s another thing to allow them to help you.

So do yourself a favor before you go crazy worrying and feeling guilty about everything. The next time someone offers help, take them up on it. Better yet, ask for help if you need it. There are more people willing than you might realize.

Sick days

Is there anything worse as a working parent than a sick day?

I hate (hate hate!) that moment when it becomes clear someone is going to have to stay home with a sick kid. I hate feeling like my kid, my poor snuffling baby, is an inconvenience. I hate trying to decide if the kid's cough outweighs my meeting. I hate choosing between being the mom who sends her snot-nosed kid to school or the employee who misses work because of her snot-nosed kid. I hate playing Whose Job Is More Important with the husband.

If I stay home, I get resentful. If I go to work, I feel sad. If I try to work from home, I feel guilty that neither work nor the kiddo is getting my full attention.

I love working. Work makes me a better momma. I am more patient and present when I have time away from my boys. I am good at my job. I love my job. But when my babies wake up with matted eyes or hacking coughs, when I have to leave work in the middle of the day because of fevers or falls, I wonder why I work.

When I pay for prescriptions, I remember.

Brothers

I wake to the sound of giggles and the slap-slap-slap of bare feet and fat baby hands and knees on the tile floors.

"Come and get me, Beastie!"

Slap slap slap. Squeal. Giggles.

"Ahhhh! You got me!"

"Shhhh! You boys need to play quieter. You're going to wake Momma."

I smile into my pillow.

---

Another morning, I'm sitting in my chair drinking coffee and reading. The Boy is on the couch, waiting for his waffle to cook. The Beast snuffles from his bedroom. He's barely audible. I'm determined to finish the chapter. It's only another page.

"Momma! I hear The Lad. I think he wants to get up. I'll go get him."

Slap slap slap go The Boy's feet into The Lad's room. Squeal! Giggles.

"Morning, Beastie."

When I go in to get The Lad, he's reaching through the crib bars, squeezing The Boy's nose. The Boy is grinning.

---

We're playing Legos, waiting for the Daddyman to get home. The Boy is building the biggest tower ever, he tells me. It's so big. It's so strong. The Lad is chewing on a block. It loses its flavor, or something, and he tosses it aside and swipes another one -- from the middle of his brother's stack. The Boy's tower topples.

"NO! Momma! The Lad knocked over my tower."

"Lad, you shouldn't have knocked over your brother's tower. But Boy, you shouldn't tattle. And you can rebuild."

He starts to cry as he snatches the blocks away from The Lad. "NO! That's mine. NO!" He tries to rebuild and The Lad smashes everything again. More tears from The Boy, sobbing in my direction.

"Come here, kiddo. You're sad your tower got knocked over. The Lad shouldn't have done that. It was a cool tower. It's upsetting, I know." I cuddle him close. "But you know, Lad is little. He's not a big boy like you. He doesn't know any better. He just wants to play with you."

I hug him and tickle him into giggling. The Boy returns to the Legos, where The Lad is chewing on yet another block. I expect another disaster. But five minutes later, The Boy has managed to evade his brother and build another tower.

"Look, Momma! It's bigger than before!"

Then he walks away.

"Go ahead, Beastzilla. Smash and crash."

The Lad follows directions. The tower falls. The boys giggle.

---

For anyone who might have been wondering, it takes roughly nine months for kids two years apart to be able to play together.

I have something I'd like to say

Dear body,

If I promise you that I will not get pregnant again, will you calm down and just let me enjoy the last couple months? Things that I would like for you to stop doing: making me feel sick randomly and making it difficult for me to walk at times, which freaks out the men folk I work around who I think fear my water could break at any moment.

Dear mind,

It would be great if you could chill out, too. Just because I have to go to the bathroom at 3:30 a.m. every night does not mean you need to start worrying needlessly. You can relax. I’ve got this under control. Specifically, the woman said we don’t need to worry about Peanut’s preschool until March and the nursery will get done at some point. Please just let me sleep.

Dear husband,

Let’s get on the same page. I love you because you are a good, good man but you do not need to start freaking out about our daughters’ teenage years yet. Yes, there is going to be angst (both from us and them) and yes, there will be dating (and probably all things that that involves). We will make it through. Forgive me if I go to bed while you have go through every worst case scenario. I’m tired and sick. See above notes. I still love you and want to thank you for loving me with a baby bump. You are wonderful man.

Dear kind co-worker,

Thank you for your lovely words today when you told me I should keep doing whatever I’m doing because I am glowing and shiny. That means a lot to a woman who feels like a tank coming through and feels about as sexy as an elephant. It was very sweet.

Dear baby,

I love feeling you move. I think it is great when others can see my stomach move and it freaks them out just a little bit. But, hey, can you calm down between the hours of 11 p.m. and 8 a.m. Mommy needs her sleep so that you can grow strong. You can do all the acrobatics you want any other time of the day but let’s have some quiet time at night, OK?

What works now: monster update

We have remedied the monster situation with a few different tactics that you guys might find handy at some point.


The first was suggested by Megan: The Boy loves to pick out his own clothes. If he whines and cries or refuses to get dressed himself, he forfeits that privilege. He suffered this indignity once and apparently decided the outfit I picked was way too dorky to do it again.


The second came to me after reading Heidi's suggestion to tell The Boy the monster's mommy wouldn't let him play here and then going to a party where the 2-year-old birthday boy's constant RAWRing was driving his mother nuts. The Boy was RAWRing, too, shouting that he and the birthday boy were big, scary dinosaurs. I called him a Tyrannosaurus Rhys. So now, when monsters come, I tell him, "Remember, you're a big, scary T-Rhys. You can scare THEM off. Just RAWR at them," and he does and he giggles and the monster disappears.

And finally, following Devan's advice that, like so many parenting problems, this too would pass, we have been allowing The Boy to get dressed where ever we are. He has to go get his clothes himself. He has to dress himself. Dirty clothes have to go in the basket. But if he wants to do all that by sprinting between his room and The Lad's room or the living room or where ever we are, fine -- provided there is no whining or crying. We already had been doing this, but prior to the first rule (tantrum = mommy-picked outfit), he continued the fit-throwing or would stall getting dressed. The combination has been successful.

So, in summary, thank you internet friends for solving my problems for me.

Hey, there is a baby coming. Soon.

I go for my last monthly OB/GYN appointment next week. Do you know what that means? I have two appointments every two weeks after that and then weekly appointments until the baby comes.

I am nowhere close to being ready for this kid. The only thing done in the nursery is the furniture has been moved. The crib hasn’t been reassembled. I don’t have bedding for the double bed that is staying there. I haven’t cleaned out the closet like I should. There is still a very dark red wall and a flower border that all needs to go and turn yellow. Or maybe pink. Or maybe green. We haven’t really decided yet.

I’m moving all things flower from Peanut’s bedroom into Maddie’s, which means I need to make things to replace them. Peanut is getting a fairy/tutu theme, which may or may not come together before my maternity leave. I need to paint a couple fairy canvasses and make a valance using tulle so it looks like a tutu.

I do have clothes coming in thanks to some great deals at Carter’s, my mother and my mother-in-law. I still need to go through Peanut’s old clothing to see what will be useable but considering she was born in July and Maddie will most likely be born in December, I’m guessing not much at first. Transitional clothes for fall and spring, yes, but I doubt Maddie will be wearing many sun dresses in July.

Plus I still need to make Peanut’s Halloween costume and my sister and I are planning a 40^th anniversary party for our parents in early December. The husband’s birthday is in November. Our anniversary is in 10 days later and there is this little thing called Christmas shopping that needs to be done. Plus, you know, the actual holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

At the last doctor’s appointment, he told me if I wanted to schedule a C-section, he would do it the week in between Christmas and New Year’s, most likely Wednesday. For anyone keeping track, that gives me 11 weeks to get ready.

Oddly enough, I’m not even freaking out. Yet.

Maddie has been kicking and punching so much that I woke up this morning feeling battered. It’s so funny to see the husband’s reaction when he feels her. He can’t believe how strong she is. She is nonstop once I lay down for the night.

Oh, and I’m waddling a bit. You know, the lovely pregnancy waddle. I blame it on the fact that Maddie seems to be sitting so very, very low. I had one co-worker ask why I was walking “like that.” I calmly explained to her that with 15 to 20 extra pounds sitting on my stomach, my hips spreading and child sitting on a nerve that causes pain in my legs, I have to walk “like that.” I then wished all the same for her should she ever decide to get pregnant.

P.S. I do apologize for not commenting more on your blogs. I’ve been reading and keep meaning to go back to comment but it just hasn’t happened.

Good boys

The Boy, The Lad and I had a lovely weekend despite the Daddyman's absence. My plot to keep the boys too busy to be bad worked. Having friends willing to put up with us helped. We spent Saturday morning running errands and then spent several hours hanging out with the family of one of The Boy's friends from school. They played so hard, the kiddos were both conked out almost before I got the seatbelts fastened. Library, dinner and a bubble bath killed the evening. This morning, we were lazy bums, as I told The Boy, and stayed in our jammies all morning. The boys played together and when The Boy had his first potty accident in a month and The Lad got food all over his jams, I didn't get upset because they needed to get dressed for a birthday party in the afternoon anyway.

Moral of the story: Sometimes lowered expectations mean happiness.

It also helped that the kiddos have been very very good. (That sound you hear? That's me madly knocking on wood. I've got two days left solo-parenting.) Really, though, they have. They're ornery for sure -- The Lad yelled at me until I looked at him this morning then lunged after the computer cords; The Boy still is whiny about being alone. But they also have been extra cute. Self preservation, maybe? The Boy, when I asked why he was flailing his arms in the backseat, explained he was giving the wind a high five. The Lad played peekaboo with me for five minutes, giggling madly the entire time. They were playing "hide and sneak" together and blocks and trucks while I read.

We've hit one of those parenting sweet spots, I think, where everyone is behaving and it almost feels like we know what we're doing. It could change tomorrow. I'm trying to savor it.

Bits ....

I meant to post last night, only the damn computer wouldn't hold a charge. I shouldn't curse the computer. Poor little Macky Mackerson (the husband's name for our Macbook) was attacked by the Beast. The Lad put the end of the charger in his mouth for like 2 seconds and somehow destroyed it. We thought the problem was in the charger, but a new one did no good, so it's off to the Apple store we go ... sometime.

Because the boys and I are on our own for the next four days while the husband jaunts off to Cincinnati to watch play-off baseball. This is the first time in 15 years his team has been in the play-offs and we were lucky enough to win the lottery to buy tickets. It was his birthday gift. I'm happy for him ... mostly.

Did I mention I'll be alone with The Lad and The Boy from Saturday to Tuesday? My plan is this: Keep the boys so busy they don't have time to be bad. Saturday is the library and grocery store and park and movie night, Sunday is jammies til I someone starts whining enough to make me crazy, then park and a birthday party after nap. My house might be dirty and the laundry might not get done. We might eat popcorn for dinner. But we'll survive ... I hope.

And it started off so well ...

A recent conversation with Peanut:

Peanut: Mommy, I love you so much.

Me: Aww. Honey, I love you so much. You make me so happy.

(At this point, I admit to feeling a little smug, thinking how sweet my daughter is)

Peanut: Mommy, I saw penguins the other day.

Me: You did? What were they doing?

Peanut: They swim. They swim fast.

Me: They did?

(Again, I am thinking how great this is. She's telling me about her trip to the zoo with daddy last week.)

Peanut: And they pooped. The penguins poop. I see their poop. They pooped!

Me: Really? They pooped. That's, um, well, OK. Great.

So in a span of 30 seconds we went from love to penguin poop. I love the mind of a toddler.

Monsters in the closet

A monster has hung out in the closet or corner of The Boy's room for about a year now. He's Friendly Monster. He's pink or blue and has an orange nose, or maybe a green one. He's biggish and kind of fuzzy, only not really. The important thing to know is he is, as his name implies, a friend. He likes The Boy. He's The Boy's buddy. When other scary things come into The Boy's room, Friendly Monster scares them away. Friendly Monster might be kind, but he is mean to bad guys and a great roar-er.

Since the husband and I were quick enough to make the monster in the closet friendly (though not quick enough to give him a clever name), Friendly Monster has kept other fears at bay for my imaginative Boy. But lately, Friendly Monster just isn't tough enough.

The Boy is convinced there is a monster outside his window. A big scary one. One that really frightens him. One that only seems to come out when he doesn't want to go alone into his room to get dressed.

I have tried being tough. After The Boy dilly-dallied getting his pajamas on tonight in the living room (safe from the monster) -- we're talking 15 minutes of chattering and still he's sitting there in his underwear -- I put him in his room. Screams. "I'm scared!" Running out. "NO!" I put him back in his room and shut the door. He opened it and repeated the screaming. I put him back in the room and held the door closed -- until he started throwing himself against it and then sobbing, "PLLLLLLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSSE!" When I opened the door, he kept screaming and when I put my hand on his chest, his heart was beating a 100 miles an hour. I felt awful.

I have tried being matter-of-fact:

"There is no monster in the bedroom. Look. Do you see a monster?"

"No. But it's outside."

"Look out the window. There's no monster. Do you see a monster?"

"No. But it's in the bushes."

"C'mon. We're going outside. Do you see a monster?"

"No, but --"

"Do you see a monster?"

"No, but --"

"Here. We're in the bushes. Do you see a monster?"

"No. But we can hunt them."

"There's no monster to hunt, Boy. There is no monster."

"No. There's not. But I'm a good hunter. I'll hunt them fast. And tigers."

"So, there's no monster. Now, ready to go in and get dressed."

"Yeah. There's no monster after all, Momma."

"Right. Go into your room and get dressed."

"But I heard a monster."

That's when The Boy ended up in the living room getting his pajamas on.

The monster is really, I think, his having to get dressed independently. We have the monster conversations twice a day: in the morning when he gets dressed and at night when he puts on jammies. He is capable of dressing himself. He insists on picking out his own clothes. But he wants us with him while he puts them on. Sometimes we just can't do that. Other times we can and do. But other times, we can and either just don't want to or don't want to let him be a bratty little tyrant.

On the other hand, he is -- as my mother pointed out -- not yet 3. What do you think? Are we expecting too much? And if we aren't, how can we help him conquer the monster?

Not much time

We have family in for a few days from out of state so I'm going to keep this brief...

1. When do you plan to/when did you enroll your child in preschool? Peanut will have just turned three next fall so I feel like we should start to consider it. The husband thinks we should wait another year. I'm thinking 2 days a week would be good for her. If we do it this coming fall, I need to start looking now because we will need to enroll her in January and/or February.

2. Is anyone else obsessed with all edible things to do with pumpkin? I think this is part of the reason I love fall so much. Pumpkin-spiced lattes, pumpkin-spiced creamer, pumpkin chocolate cookies (of which I made 9 dozen this weekend. I am sharing. I'm not eating them all myself.)

3. Do you fight with your child over what they eat? Peanut is going through a cereal and ravioli only phase. We try and try and try to get her to eat other things but that is all she wants. I've given in because it's a battle I don't want to fight.

Toddler theology, take 2

Driving to a football game Friday night, The Boy looked out at the sunset and said, "Wow. That's pretty." I agreed with him and he was silent for a few seconds.

"God made that."

This did not surprise me. A couple weeks ago, he came home with a paper doll of himself that said on the back, "God made me special." I know they're going over creation in his class, but I was curious to see what he was absorbing. "What else does God do?"

"Um, he made the animals. And the trees. And me. And people meet God in heaven. 'Cause that's where God lives."

"When will people meet God?"

It was clear The Boy didn't know how to answer that. "Um, soon. Pretty soon."

"Yeah, someday," I said. And then I surprised myself: "But Momma likes to think you can see God everyday, in pretty things like that sunset. Or when people do nice things for you. That's like seeing God."

The Boy just nodded and the conversation ended.

I don't go to church and never have. I've read The Bible and a lot about religion and spirituality in general. I don't feel the need to go to church, but I do believe in God, a higher being. I believe in right and wrong, good and evil, the golden rule and that god is love -- or vice versa. But I don't talk about it. That's why my little theology lesson with The Boy shocked me. I believe, but rarely share.

I don't have any desire to be an evangelist, but I want my sons to believe in something -- and if they choose something other than my beliefs, I want them to have done so knowledgeably. I have considered joining a church for their sake, but can't find one I am comfortable enough with -- and, honestly, I don't feel like I need it and know the husband would not attend cheerfully. (Lapsed Catholic that he is, he feels he's been forced to attend enough Sunday sermons in his life.) And that's why I consider the religion classes a perk of our daycare. It gives the kids the basics. It sparks conversations. It reminds me to talk to my kids about what I believe, because how else are they supposed to know.