6:10 a.m.

Wake to the pitter patter of little feet. See a small shadow dart into my bedroom, snatch Mr. Andi’s Kindle Fire off the nightstand, and make a break for the living room. Weigh the possible ramifications of ignoring the thief and going back to sleep. Drag myself out of bed and recapture the Kindle.

6:40 a.m.

Feel only a little bit ridiculous singing the “Celebrate!” song while dumping an impressive amount of pee pee into the potty. Clap while Nathan flushes. Make a dramatic production out of presenting him with a single M&M as a reward for his efforts.

6:50 a.m.

Spot a giant brownish-yellow smear on the couch. Realize that Nathan has pooped in his underwear a mere ten minutes after going pee pee potty. Mutter a string of obscenities as I wipe the offending smears off the various surfaces he’s contaminated. Slip outside, looking furtively around first for any neighbors who might see me in my pajamas, to deposit the now obsolete pull-up in the garbage can.

6:55 a.m.

Finish cleaning up and wash off my hands and forearms in the kitchen sink. Wonder where Nathan is. Hear a rustle from the front room and go investigate. Find Nathan snapping photos of the desk and sofa with my iPhone. Herd him back into the living room, where he begins playing with his trucks, driving them around the living room.

6:56 a.m.

Attempt to check my email.

7:05 a.m.

Notice that Nathan is no longer in the living room, and I can no longer hear the trucks rolling around on the floor. Hear a tiny chuckle and go investigate. Find Nathan in the laundry room, imitating the dogs drinking out of the water bowl. Herd him back into the living room.

7:06 a.m.

Attempt to check my email again.

7:15 a.m.

The dogs finish eating and drinking now that Nathan has been removed from the area of their food and water bowls. One of them rings the bell to go out, so I stop what I’m doing to open the door. After they both exit, I pull it closed, forgetting to lock the deadbolt.

7:30 a.m.

Hear a jingle and notice that the back door is ajar. Hop up and hurry over to it, where I see Nathan gleefully jump off the back porch and race across the yard. Call to him to return to the house in the off chance that THIS will be The Day that he finally decides to listen and obey.

7:31 a.m.

Realize that, indeed, today is not The Day and weigh the risk of being seen in my pajamas by the neighbors and/or men building the pool up the street. Decide that the much more open space of our backyard, on a corner lot with a picket fence next to the main thoroughfare in and out of the subdivision, is much too risky relative to the garbage can on the side of the house, and call for Sarah Kate, who is also wearing pajamas, to go get her brother.

7:32 a.m.

Discover how brilliant my oldest child is when she walks out onto the back porch, then calls cheerfully, “Oh, no! He’s going to get me!” and fake-runs back into the house. Nathan falls for the ruse and rushes inside. The dogs follow.

7:33 a.m.

Attempt to check my email again.

7:40 a.m.

Hear a tiny chuckle and go investigate. Find Nathan in the laundry room once again, imitating the dogs drinking out of the water bowl. Herd him back into the living room.

7:50 a.m.

Decide, after Nathan has pushed his trucks off the coffee table onto the hardwood floor one too many times, that perhaps it might be time for a morning outing into the backyard.

7:51 a.m.

Herd Nathan into his room to put socks and shoes on him, since earlier this week he managed to find the one new ant bed in the yard and now his feet and ankles are covered in bites. Notice that his room has a distinct pee aroma. Cross fingers that the smell is coming from his laundry basket and not the carpet.

7:55 a.m.

Both of us now clad in appropriate attire, I follow Nathan out to the backyard, retrieving his tee ball bat, tee, and practice balls from the toy bin and the bubble mower from under a tree. Settle into a chair to watch him run wild.

8:05 a.m.

Find that the joy of being in the the great outdoors is short lived when Nathan dumps a bucket full of rainwater down his front side and then rolls around in the grass imitating the dogs.

8:06 a.m.

Wonder if it’s too early for sangria.

You just finished <del>A Day</del> Two Hours in the Life originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

Each day’s nap time begins the same way.

“Are you ready for a nap? Let’s go take a nap in Momma’s bed!”

Nathan dutifully heads to my room, laughing as he tries to climb onto the tall bed. I lift him up and put my provisions in place on the nightstand – Tervis tumbler filled with decaf iced tea, iPad, phone, and TV remote. Despite my clear instructions, the nap message always becomes confused with an invitation to a jump-jump, and Stella, who by this point has used her spring-loaded limbs to reach the bed, joins in with the jump-jump fun. Daisy, who is shorter, fatter, and more nap-inclined, gives me The Look which indicates she needs a boost onto the bed that she is dreading reaching because rest is, in fact, not imminent despite my indications otherwise.

I use my champion cat-herding skills to corral the little ones and encourage them to settle down, which is more successful on some days than it is on others. I pronounce that it’s time to snuggle with Momma and settle Nathan into the crook of my arm. Not unlike corralling the dogs, this effort is more successful on some days than others.

Sometimes, the call to snuggle is well and dutifully received, but most typically, the snuggle time necessarily leads to the introduction of “strong physical cues” that it is nap time. And by “strong physical cues” I mean holding his hands so he doesn’t poke my eyes out and putting my leg over both of his so he can’t kick me. But don’t worry – no toddlers are ever harmed in the making of a strong physical cues blog post.

Then it’s time for me to break out my repertoire of songs.

I begin with “Little Boxes” (yes, the theme song from seasons 1-3 of Weeds – don’t judge me), followed by perennial favorite “You Are My Sunshine” and bluegrass classic “Down to the River to Pray”. Those three were my go-to songs for nap time during the beach day trips this summer, but alas, the second two may have to be removed from the rotation soon. Too many of the lyrics can be signed by Nathan, extending the waking period beyond the desired time limit (you…sun…happy…please…night…sleeping…cried…down…pray…sister…down…down…down…).

If his eyes aren’t beginning to flutter by the time I get through the third song (and, increasingly, that is the case), I launch into two back-ups. The first is “Jesus Loves the Little Children” which has a soothing melody and usually gets a choral repeat or two. Each time I sing it, I vaguely wonder if it’s offensive or at least a little un-PC because of its reference to children who are “red and yellow, black and white” but I keep singing it because I figure it’s no worse for his developing psyche than “Little Boxes”. The grand finale of “Lucky One” comes next, because by this time I’ve already used my singing voice to mock suburbia and offend several ethnic groups, so I might as well hit the Inappropriate Messages for Toddlers Trifecta by throwing a reference about one-night stands into the mix.

If, by this point, Nathan hasn’t fallen victim to the Sandman, I repeat as necessary, careful to skip over any tunes that might prompt a new round of sign language. When at long last the whirling dervish drifts off to blissful sleep, I extricate myself from his (now dead weight) body and spend the next two hours thinking of all the things I could be doing that are more productive than stretching out on my bed watching Hulu on the iPad because I dare not leave the room for fear of waking the sleeping midget (although I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed both seasons of Downton Abbey during nap time over the past month and have started over).

So now that I suspect you may have a few questions, I’ll pose what I think they might be to myself and provide answers:

Maybe he’s ready to give up the nap. Have you thought of that?

Why, yes, I have. I even tried skipping it once or twice with poor results. But whether he’s asleep in my bed with me sitting beside him or skipping the nap altogether, I’m still not able to be productive. So…might as well enjoy a little bit of quiet and guarantee a more pleasant child in the evening hours.

Could you carry him to his room and put him in his bed once he falls asleep?

Theoretically, yes. However, my previous attempts have had, at best, mixed results. I do plan to try it again, but the risk/reward ratio isn’t currently in my favor. No matter how long Nathan has been asleep, whether it’s a few minutes or a few hours, once he’s awakened there’s no going back.

You know the old saying, “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” – can you try to take a nap with him?

Again, in theory, yes. But only twice of all the times I’ve tried it in the past month have I been successful, and one of those times I woke up with a nasty headache.

So although wrestling the baby tiger isn’t all that much fun and despite knowing that my small window of time to get things done each day has evaporated, I still cherish nap time with my little guy. All children are transformed into angels when they sleep, and Nathan is no different. As I watch him sleep and feel his warm little body next to me, I am transformed, too.

As long as I don’t think about the dirt accumulating in the rest of the house…

You just finished One Month Later: The Unintended Consequences of the Big Boy Bed originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

Despite my steadfast declarations that we’ll always stay home for Christmas, some branch of my family tree manages to exploit a loophole every year. This year, my dad and stepmom were the culprits, planning a family reunion at their house this past Sunday. Given that my dad and his sister are the last remaining two of the original five children in his family and that these folks almost never get together, I decided to go.

At the last minute, due to the accident that occurred at Mr. Andi’s workplace last week, he opted (with my blessing) to stay home, so the kids and I made the 250-mile trek without him. Shortly before arriving, my dad called and suggested that we meet them at a local Mexican restaurant – my favorite back when Mr. Andi and I lived in the area (they still remember me eight-plus years later!) – rather than going straight to the house.

It seemed like a great idea at the time.

Six hours after we left our house, we finally arrived at Papa and Bebe’s. My dad carried Nathan in and set him down, not realizing he had started walking several days earlier (my dad doesn’t do email or the web, so you guys knew it before he did!) Papa was surprised and delighted when Nathan took off (his PT was right when she said he could have started a long time ago – he looks like he’s been walking for months).

The first area hit by Hurricane Nathan was the TV table that Bebe had been using (as best I could tell) to address Christmas cards. Envelopes and boxes went flying. While I was cleaning up that mess, he dove for the remotes. My heart began to beat a little faster when I realized, to my horror, that Papa and Bebe had quite a few more tchotchkes than I remembered. The path of destruction would probably have been more widespread had Nathan not spent a good deal of time just walking around saying “Ooo!…Ooo!…Ooo!…”

So many things – he wasn’t sure where to start.

This visit was our first official Christmas gift-opening occasion, so Sarah Kate was eager to head to the tree in the formal living room. The next danger zone that greeted me was a lovely nativity scene, lying on a bed of greenery on the coffee table – the perfect height for a little dude. Said nativity boasted a single candle burning behind it as a star. I could see the wheels turning in my little guy’s head.

It took me a minute to realize that the top of the coffee table was actually a glass tray that slides off. Glass AND flames – fabulous. The candle was quickly snuffed out and Bebe attempted to redirect Nathan’s attention with a gift. Predictably, he showed zero interest in unwrapping anything, and very little intrigued him about the contents of the packages once I’d unwrapped them, either.

Sarah Kate, meanwhile, was tearing through paper and boxes like her life depended on it, chattering away about the items inside (“Look, Mom!”). At least that’s what I think was happening. It’s all a bit hazy in my memory because I had spotted a collection of ceramic bells that appeared very antique-y on a shelf exactly at Nathan’s eye level and was doing my best to prevent him from noticing them, too.

All the while, Papa laughed.

As quickly as it had begun, the gift-giving was over and I grabbed a second to visit the restroom while Nathan was distracted by his new John Deere tractor. I was relieved that SOMETHING other than knick-knacks and fire had grabbed his attention. Unfortunately, the break was short-lived. When I emerged, I found myself in Phase Two of Toddler Christmas Hell.

Papa had installed batteries in Sarah Kate’s new remote control car.

Thank you, Papa.

The powder-blue bullet careened down the halls and through the kitchen, ramming into walls, doors, and furniture. Nathan may have liked the John Deere tractor when it came out of the box, but he isn’t stupid: John Deere is to Remote Control Car ~ as ~ Stuffed Animal is to Real Puppy!

Nathan chased the car all over the house – on foot, one, and/or both knees. Sarah Kate squealed whenever he got close to it, feigning concern that he’d snatch it up. We tried distracting him with limited success – the only item that held his interest at all was an old round cake pan that he had pilfered from the kitchen cabinet when I walked out of the room.

After a number of tries, he managed to swipe the car, and when he did he headed down the hall with it clutched to him like a star running back headed for the goal line.

You’d never guess that kid just learned to walk a week earlier.

And all the while, Papa laughed.

Ultimately, the RC car was put away for the night, and it was getting late, so I hauled Nathan upstairs to get him outfitted for bed. Papa helped me carry our things up, and then stood by and watched while Nathan writhed and wriggled and squirmed so much that I’m pretty sure I’d have had better luck putting footy pajamas on a greased pig.

My dad, of course, found this scene just about the most entertaining thing ever.

I triumphed in the end and we went back downstairs for a few minutes of down time before bed. It was getting chilly out, so my dad turned on the gas logs.

As you might expect, those gas logs lasted less than three minutes. But never fear – we didn’t need an actual flame for the boy to be entertained by the fireplace – the tiny rocks in the bottom were enticing enough in their own right.

And all the while, Papa laughed.

So, in the spirit of the holiday season, I’m going to offer you a couple of pseudo-wise thoughts –  takeaways from the weekend, if you will. Christmas is still five days away, and, should you now or sometime in the future have a rambunctious toddler, I urge you to keep the following two things in mind:

1. Cake pans are way more fun than real toys. Bonus: they don’t require batteries and are impossible to break. You might be in trouble, however, if Bebe needs them to bake cinnamon rolls in the morning.

   

2. Grandparents should come to YOUR house for the holidays when you have a toddler, as I’m pretty sure there’s a fine line between thinking it’s cute that Papa laughs at everything his only grandson does and wanting to smother that laugh with a pillow while he’s sleeping.

You just finished Holiday Road: Lessons in Grandparents, Holidays, Toddlers, and Cake Pans originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

On Monday, I’ve got the whole week ahead of me to do what needs doing.

On Monday, I start to regain order in the house after the chaos of the weekend.

On Monday, I am (usually) more well-rested than on any other weekday.

I don’t hate Mondays.  It’s Wednesdays that I have a problem with.

Wednesday is Laundry Day.

Wednesday is the day that I check my To Do List for the week and realize there is no way I’m getting it all done.

Today is Wednesday.

Today, Sarah Kate got up complaining that her ears hurt.  I told her she was fine, mumbled something about The Boy Who Cried Wolf, and sent her on to school, only to receive a phone call from the school nurse a few hours later.

Today, Mr. Andi called to tell me that because of the severe storms in the northern part of the state last night, he may need to take one of his crews and go up there to work for several days to restore power.

Today, I was smiling to myself (while I folded the laundry) because I heard the sound of the Roomba starting her cycle.  I meandered toward the sound, expecting to surprise my sweet boy, who would squeal and clap, causing me to laugh at his clever antics.  Instead, I found him sitting on the laundry room floor eating dryer lint he had pulled out of the garbage can.

Wednesdays are my Mondays.

You just finished Wednesdays Are My Mondays originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

We gathered at the start line with a few of her friends, but I knew that once the race got underway we’d probably be on our own. When the field took off, Sarah Kate tried, as she always does, to go with it. This time, however, a girl I’ll call CW stayed with her. CW is one year older than Sarah Kate and her parents are friends of our family. I was touched that CW had decided, on her own, to walk with Sarah Kate. After a few minutes, the girl who lives next door to us, who was not far ahead, checked up and she and her mom joined us.

The three girls plodded on together. CW’s older brother ran by (it was an out-and-back course) and we all cheered him on. CW and Neighbor Girl continued on with Sarah Kate until the half-mile turnaround point, then they picked up the pace and headed to the finish. I was happy that they had stuck with us as long as they did, but knew that we still had a good distance to go.

We continued on our way with Neighbor Girl’s mom. It’s been in the 80s here for a couple of weeks and the Gulf Coast humidity is like nothing else. I was pleased that Sarah Kate didn’t seem to be as tired as she had the previous year by this point, in spite of the steam bath we were experiencing.

A few more minutes passed and I noticed a boy about Sarah Kate’s age coming toward us. He came right up to us and told Sarah Kate that he had already finished but wanted to come back to help her. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure who this boy was (Sarah Kate told me later that he is in her class – clearly, I am not very observant, and you know of my aversion to field trips and being room mom). The fact that an eight year old boy would do that completely amazed me.

Potential Future Son-in-Law stuck with Sarah Kate all the way to finish line, where CW and Neighbor Girl were also waiting to escort her in. Her time was 23:35 (last year she did it in 24:57).

When Sarah Kate was a baby, I used to worry that kids would make fun of her when she was older. Certainly, that has been the case on occasion, but more often than not her specialness has been embraced by her peers. Before she started school, I would have expected the girls to be the ones who would be most nurturing, but there have been a few boys along the way who’ve been her protectors, as well – at least one in her class in every grade so far.

It’s days like these that remind me not to worry so much about whether or not my children will fit in with their peers. They don’t have to fit in with everyone; they just need a few good friends to support them. It’s a lesson I’ve learned in my own life as a special needs mom. I have lots of acquaintances – good people that I know – but only a few close friends, because not everyone can relate to my non-typical life. But that’s okay, because I appreciate those friends all the more, and I have faith that my children will, like me, always have a few good friends.

You just finished A Few Good Friends originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

I know, and freely broadcast to the world, that Sarah Kate is more like her peers than she is different. She is more like ME than I care to think about, in fact – some of the very traits that drive me most batty are the ones that I know are Just. Like. Me.

Nathan, on the other hand, is different. As much as I love him, I don’t understand him. He is foreign and unfamiliar to me. Sometimes I look at him and think to myself, “I don’t think I can handle this. What is life going to be like when he is older?”

Nathan isn’t like me.

Nathan isn’t like his sister, either.

Nathan is…a BOY.

I should have known he was different before he was born. He kicked and squirmed like nobody’s business while in the womb, and never let up once he was out. He’s into everything these days – the dog food, all manner of things in Sarah Kate’s bedroom, DVD cases, and (as of yesterday) the bathroom trash can and the water in the toilet.

It isn’t Nathan’s diagnosis of Down syndrome that scares me. It’s his raw, unbridled, rough-and-tumble maleness.

And so the adventure begins…

You just finished Different originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

Our neighbors down the street had a baby last Wednesday – their first child, a boy named Jackson Henry.  I haven’t been over to see him yet, as I want them to be able to breathe for a few days before I pounce, but I did run into the dad tonight.  Nathan was being a super-grump so I had decided to take a walk with him in the sling to calm him down; Neighbor Dad was pulling his garbage can out to the street when we came by.

First, there was the inevitable “Wow!  He’s getting so big!” (Smile – nod – “yes, can you believe it?”)  Following that, Neighbor Dad said, in reference to Nathan and his son, “Oh, they’re going to be best friends!”  (In my head I am thinking “oh, I so hope that is true…”) A little more small talk about how far he’s come in just four months of life, with me launching into talk of therapists and early intervention and developmental milestones.  Then this gem from Neighbor Dad:  “He’s perfect.” (Beaming)

Yes, I do believe that Nathan and Jackson Henry will be the best of friends.

You just finished Perfect originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.