Snow Schmow

I've decided to give myself the terrible parent award this week. Some days, I feel like, "yeah, I've got this parenting thing down!" Then there are days like today when I think, "I hope they don't hold this against me when they're older!"

I hate snow. Like really hate snow. This hatred of snow has intensified since moving to the South and having the blissful life of well, rarely ANY snow! Now don't get me wrong, I think snow is beautiful. It has a magical ability of inspiring children to sit quietly watching snowflakes fall to the ground for extended amounts of time, causes deep feelings of wanting to snuggle up together and drink hot chocolate and it gives children in school the heightened drama of snow days.

It also causes mass hysteria at our house and you'd think they've never seen snow. (They have, honestly, a few times). It also causes puddles and ridiculously cold little fingers that refuse to keep mittens on. Snow causes terrible roads, stupid drivers, snow days.

It causes tears. Lots of tears. Tears because we want to play in the snow. Tears because the snow is cold and we don't want to play in the snow. Tears because the snow is melting. Tears because the snow is snowing at night when you can't see it. Tears because you don't know what snow is and it's scary. I can go on and on here.

See? Tears because we don't understand snow.

So, obviously, we had a snow day today. The drama leading up to how much we’d accumulate was exciting and the kids loved watching and waiting to see it start to fall. The idea of being stuck inside without the ability to drive since North Carolinians don’t know how to handle an inch or two of snow did not sound like fun.

Heck, my own driving in snow abilities are lacking since its been nearly three years since I’ve had to regularly drive in the fluffy wet stuff.

Yesterday, as we were running errands before The Storm hit, everyone who saw me and all the kids had to tell me, “Oh, it’s snowing! The kids are going to love it.” And “I bet you can’t wait to play in the snow tomorrow.”

As it started falling and we talked to friends and family, everyone asked: “Have you played in the snow yet?”

I easily passed off yesterday as a bust because it didn’t start really snowing until dinner and by then it was dark and freezing... Coming up with a reason to avoid the snow today, however, was a different beast.

My Facebook newsfeed today was filled with mothers enthusiastically gushing about how wonderful the snow day was and what all snow-type events they would be participating in with their children. Now to save some face here, I would love a good dumping of a foot of snow so we could go sledding and build a real snowman. However, maybe just for the day....so scratch that. I'd rather drive to someone else's large dumping of snow and back to my warm, snow-free home.

But I digress.

I awoke to the sounds of glee coming from Emery and Cohen because the snow was covering everywhere we could see. While we heard the plows working all night, the roads surrounding us weren't deemed busy enough to get scraped, so it truly looked like a winter wonderland.

I had an online meeting for work that I couldn't miss this morning, so in my head, I planned to drag out all the snow gear at lunch and hit the snow in the afternoon after naps were had by all.

By 11 a.m. it was readily apparent that the snow was quickly disappearing and getting wetter by the minute. Road surfaces were visible as snow began melting away, and my dead grass was once again poking through.

By noon, I knew it was now or never. And, despite my deep desire to avoid it altogether, I knew the disappointed sounds of my children and hearing them repeat for the next three days to every stranger we saw, that no, their mother wouldn't let them out in the snow, would be too heartbreaking to listen to.

So the solution? Tell the kids Daddy was taking them out at lunchtime. We sprung that nice little surprise on Drew when we arrived home at lunch, giving him 10 minutes to woof down lunch and change into warmer attire. I banked on the fact that A) He couldn't refuse his children begging him to play in the snow once they were already dressed and ready and B) He's really just a large child himself, and wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to play in the snow.

Cohen was on Drew's heels sweeping up the snow

Em was really excited she figured out
how to roll a snowball this year.

This kid will sweep anything..snow, grass, dirt...

Luckily, I know my husband.  Problem solved. Bundling the kids up and grabbing my camera, we ran outside for 15 minutes of snow time before Daddy had to go back to work. Drew and Emery quickly set out to make Olaf, the snowman from Frozen, our favorite movie right now.

Olaf

Bryn didn’t appreciate being stuck inside at the door, so we brought her out to briefly experience the snow. She ended up not being fond of the experience once she reached the snow. Cohen, likewise, was super pumped to play in the snow until he reached out and grabbed a big handful. Then he screamed like someone dumped coffee on his hands because it was wet and cold.

Almost there!

All in all, our short venture out into the snow turned out as well as can be expected. Two out of three children cried at least twice during the fifteen minute ordeal, a snowman was built, everyone was able to say they "played in the snow," my entryway is littered with coats, hats, scarves, socks and wet boots. I didn't have to actually play in the snow myself, and, smile, the snow is almost melted.

At this rate, school should still be on for tomorrow. No more snow days at this house. :)

EDIT: Sigh...as I posted this, I literally received the email stating school is canceled again tomorrow. At least there's no snow :)

Partners in Crime

I've spent the entire week wondering what the heck to write about and then bam. Today. Everything happened at once, and I gleefully and sadly had something to write about.

Partners in crime...it's already begun.

Some of this stuff you just can’t make up.

This morning, smelling something awry, Cohen finally informs me he has pooped in his diaper. No biggie. It happens every day. The fun part is that he insists on sitting on the potty like a big boy every time AFTER he poops. The concept of pooping on the potty is lost on him. I quickly clean him up and set him on the potty to let him admire himself and play with his wee wee. Nothing productive ever happens with boys on potties, right?

Minutes later, he jumps off the toilet and begins running in circles around me. I had been attempting to have a phone conversation while getting dressed while he sat, so I have try to throw pants on quick and yell at him to get a diaper back on, all while trying to explain why I'm yelling to the person on the other end of the phone. Multi-tasking at its best. 

Instead of listening, shocker, I glance in the mirror to see where he’s gone and in horror, realize my rotten, naked two year old is sitting on my bed, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat. Meanwhile, Bryn is sitting on the floor in front of him clapping and cheering.

“Do Do Mommy.” (Which in Cohen-speak means: Look at me, Mommy).” 

“Cohen!” My panic is rising. “Did you just pee on my bed?”

A look of delight crosses his face right before he concentrates really hard and I yank him off my bed to find this:

Yes. My child forced himself to pee on my bed when I asked him if he had peed, leaving behind a wonderful reminder for me.

I re-dress him, rip off my newly changed sheets to throw back in the wash and return to find the two trouble-makers busy in the bathroom again:

 

Not suspicious at all, right?

She's so proud of her new talent.

Yes. Apparently the bathroom is a new hangout place.  And Bryn has discovered she can reach the toilet paper. I knew it was going to happen. I have a picture of Cohen doing the exact same thing a year ago. But today? When I’m already ticked at having to wipe poop off my bed?

It gets even better. If you see in the background, her partner in crime is shoving the toilet paper, which I later found out was nearly an entire roll, into the toilet and flushing it.

As the water is rushing to the top of the bowl, I’m grabbing two pairs of hands off the rim and yelling at them to take cover because it’s coming over. By some miracle, a large sucking sound, quite possibly the force from me sucking the air out of the room, sucks the large, really, impossibly large roll of toilet paper, down and out our incredibly terrible plumbing.

I know those of you with kids out there are laughing hysterically because you’ve all had days like mine. And those without kids are laughing hysterically because its ridiculous the things that happen each day at my house, but secretly you’re praying your children are more sane than mine.

It was just one of those days, when just an hour later Cohen is laying on the floor of the YMCA refusing to walk or stand because he has to hold my hand. Bryn is precariously leaning forward nearly tumbling out of my one arm holding her in a death grip to my side to watch him, and Emery is running in circles around us singing the songs from Frozen as loud as she can, when someone, innocently, yet stupidly, asks, "Got your hands full, don't ya?" 

I could of punched the sweet man in the face. Or myself in the face. Or left my squealing toddler with him for the rest of the morning. 

Instead, I wrestle both squirming children into my arms, give Emery a look that tells her this is one of those you-listen-to-mommy-days-or-else-something-terrible-will-happen-to-your-ponies days, smile at the man, and say, "Yep. This is just one of those days."

The Flip Sides of a Two-Year-Old

The downstairs creepy shower....their new favorite hideout

Seeing as how its a the beginning of a new year, I made a resolution to try to update my blog at least once a week since the last time I wrote was....yeah. Let's not think about it.

Cohen and I are home today doing laundry while Bryn naps and Em goes to school. If we're together alone much longer, I'm afraid I may loan him out for the rest of the week. Have I mentioned we're in the terrible twos? His vocabulary, while admittedly finally increasing, consists of two favorite phrases: "No, Mommy" and "I wanna play (pronounced pway) Mom."

If I had a quarter for every time he told me this each day, I'd send him to an Ivy League school.  Thanks to the depressing forecast for college tuition prices when my children eventually are old enough to attend, we're thankful he's more into garbage trucks than anything academic right now.

This child is so hilarious and ornery that I simultaneously want to beat and hug him. Talk about paradoxes. Already this morning he has got a brush stuck in Big Sis' braided hair, beat her over the head with her own juice cup and some weird toy stick he got for Christmas, dumped out all the toys in ALL the baskets, had three meltdowns, two timeouts, three spankings, apologized five times to his sisters, dragged his stool to the porch door to try to unlock it to go play in the sub-zero temperatures after I said no, and woke up Baby to give her a binkie in the middle of her nap.

It's 11 a.m., he's running in circles in the basement repeating the word no for no apparent reason, Bryn is now awake and crying in her crib and Emery doesn't get home for two more hours....

At least it's not Monday, right?

While I beat my head against the wall and debate the possibility that I'm receiving karma today of all days for Drew's childhood, I see him transform into this little adorable angel with a high pitched voice. He must feel repentance on some level because his attitude changes and he's now meek, mild and apologetic.

"K, Mommy." "I play with Mommy?" "Mommy, I play with Baby?" "Sah-wee, Mommy."

He's now quietly playing trains behind me while I type, and he wants to finish feeding the stuffed puppy he's placed in a doll high chair its bottle. His own giant blue puppy dog eyes stare at me with that ridiculous gleam in them that I absolutely know comes from his father and ... Poof.

The spell is broken and something is about to go down. I don't understand what the wheels are turning around inside that giant head he's finally grown into, but I know that I wouldn't trade him for the world....permanently that is. :) Anyone need a tornado to hit their house today? By the look on his face, he's up to no good.

See the look? This was yesterday right before he plastered
his hair down and gave puppy binkie a bath in my ice water

Out of the mouth of babes....and sometimes into

I know, I know. It's been a long month-long drought of ridiculous Schlabach family stories. As first trimester morning sickness and pure exhaustion finally slips away, we may be on the rebound. While I have much to share (especially pics!) on our fantastic Disney/beach trip several weeks ago, I thought it high time to start off the blogging with some Emery-isms.

There really never is a shortage of Emery-isms I could share. This kid says something highly entertaining or strange about every hour. Here are some of the funniest from the past few days:

Emery and her ballet teacher, Miss Lucy. Does she not look identical to Jasmine on Parenthood!!??

"Emery! Do not bite your brother's ear!" (as he begins screaming at her. Yes, he's already adept at yelling back at her if she bugs him enough)

"Why?"

"Would you like me to bite your ear?"

"No, I don't think so."

"I didn't think so. Now, apologize to Bubba for biting him and don't do it again."

"But mom, when I bit Rudolph's ear, he started singing to me."

"Oh my. That's silly. Rudolph does sing when you touch his ear, Bubba doesn't. Please don't try it again."

With Bubba down for a nap this morning and Emery playing in her room, I decided to crunch some numbers and get to work on the dreaded monthly budget we always neglect. As I was finishing paying bills, Emery comes in riding Bebe, her pony and wants me to play with her.

"Mom, I wanted to see if you wanted to ride on my horse with me and go on a trip."

"What kind of trip?"

"An adventure kind. I'd like you to come into my heart today mom."

"You'd like me to what?"

"I'd like you to come into my heart today. Jesus already did yesterday."

Meet Hip-Hop Santa Claus and her side-kick Ariel

 While playing at a friend's house today, Emery and her friend Abby were coloring pictures for the fridge before we left to go home for the afternoon. Cohen, always the curious one regarding Emery, kept trying to climb up the picnic table to steal their crayons. Abby, wanting to keep him away, tossed a plastic chair his way to deter him.

Cohen was already on the next prize and nowhere near the chair, but Abby's mom had to get on to her about how we treat our friends and especially babies. I'm across the room watching the interaction with a furrowed brow in concentration. Emery is directly in my line of sight -- although it's not her I'm watching.

In the middle of the lecture, she interrupts:

"Mom, I didn't do anything. Don't give me that look!"

Ha Ha. Yes! I've finally gotten the "Mom look" down.

New favorite place to try to climb and hide from me

Bubba is not without his stories either. This little stinker has quite the personality, and if I had to guess, I'd imagine he's going to be the spitting image/personality of his father -- albeit with bright blue eyes. (Am I right Ruth Ann?)

My little man after his first big boy haircut

Can you tell self-feeding is a hit? He looks like this everytime he eats, but he wouldn't have it any other way...messiness runs in our family!

 He is picking up on funny - but odd characteristics of Emery -- such as laying his head down on my lap or arm to cry when I tell him no -- hanging his head when scolded, and smiling a devilish grin when I ask him where he's going.

He's the explorer of the house right now and if we can't find him, we just listen for the little padding of his hands on all our hardwood floors to hear what room he's in. The two favorites are Emery's room, of course, and the master bathroom with the fluffy bath rug.

His favorite seat in the house

This morning, while rushing around trying to get ready before story time at the library, Cohen is playing in our bathroom with the soft rug, Emery's on the floor next to me putting her shoes on and I'm trying to throw on clothes that still button and match. It gets eerily quiet in the bathroom, so I move to the doorway to see what Cohen is up to.

That's when I see him holding a strange, what looks like wet, object in his hands, about to land in his mouth. As I cross the five-feet between us in a leap, asking him what in the world he has (like he'd answer me!) - I realize with sudden horror and great amusement what it is.

Emery has a habit or going to the bathroom and either A)not flushing or B) not closing the lid or C) both. Apparently the habit was both this morning. Cohen -- in his debut with the toilet -- climbed up the toilet, reached in for a chunk of used toilet paper and had taken it back to his favorite rug to eat. Talk about disgusting!

I swiftly take it out of his hands before it hits his mouth, wipe off his hands and move to flush the toilet. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something waving in the water as it's flushing. What's that, you say? Oh -- just Cohen. He had crossed the tiny room, climbed the toilet again and was swishing both hands in the toilet for more as its flushing -- pure ecstasy was on his face as the water splashed his hands as it went around and around and around .......

Guess what the lesson was today? Yep. No more lids up and flushing is mandatory!


Ey-Ey-Ey...... is it Friday yet?

Over and out --

Tiny Dancer

Nana and Papa got Emery six weeks of dance lessons this summer for her birthday gift. She already thinks she is a dancer and we want to get her involved in lots of activities to see what she is interested in. Since she makes us turn on ballet music (classical station) so she can put on her ballet clothes and twirl around the house, we knew dance classes would be a perfect place to start.

Tuesday was the first day of classes. Some probably read on Facebook, but four hours before dance class, Emery found, opened and ingested an entire Dramamine pill. I was convinced she would be out the rest of the afternoon and miss the class that we had just purchased the tutu-leotard, ballet shoes and pink tights for -- but she managed to miraculously wake up just in time to get to class and still be functional! A normal dose for her of half a pill, which we give during our car trip so she doesn't get sick going through the West Virginia mountains, knocked her out for three hours straight on Monday. I don't know how she didn't sleep all day with a whole pill.

Emery was SUPER excited to go to dance class after we went to the studio earlier in the day to purchase her dance attire and check out the studios. She wanted to stay and participate in the high school students ballet class and it took a bit of convincing to get her to leave so we could come back when her special teacher would be there.

Little Miss Ballerina in her ballet attire

Emery is a good kid, but since I've seen how other children in her class or peer group often behave with or without parents around, I wanted to make sure she knew what I expected of her in class.

"Emery, I want you to make sure that you listen to everything your teacher says today in class, OK?"

"OK. Mommy I will. What bad things can I not do in class then?"

"Well....what bad things are you thinking about doing in class?"

"I don't know. What bad things can I not do?"

"Well, you shouldn't talk when you teacher is talking, and don't be running around when the teacher is showing you how to dance, OK?"

"OK. What good things should I do?"

"You know what good things to do. You're a good girl in classes. Make sure you are kind to the other girls in your class. Raise your hand if you have a question. Say Yes, Mam and use your manners like please and thank you."

"Oh, yes! I know my manners. I will be great at this."

And she will.

Emery in class. This is taken of her in the mirror so she couldn't see me.

 When we arrived at the dance studio -- nearly late like usual -- hyper-active moms and their younger children were all in line waiting to go with their little ballerinas in tow. I'm not much for socializing with other moms. Frankly, they are usually hoity-toity and only want to talk about where they are vacationing and what little Sally and Billy are doing that is so amazing that week. Cohen and I skipped the mom section and hung out by the bathrooms. Never a bad choice with a baby. :)

Emery, on the other hand and luckily at this age, has no concept of rich-stuck-up children, so she immediately walked up to two little girls with her hand swinging behind her back to ask them if they were in her class and to tell them her name. Only one was friendly enough to talk back. It was enough to make Emery's day and she scooted off to class when the door opened and her teacher called them in.

Miss Lucy is Emery's teacher and for those that watch the television series Parenthood, she is a dead ringer for Jasmine. I seriously had to do a double-take to make sure it wasn't really her. (She does play a ballerina on the series).

Happy Buddy stuffed his face with baby cookies the entire time

The studios all have large windows you can watch them dancing through. There were about 5-6 other girls her age in the class. She is at least 4-5 inches shorter than the next smallest girl, as I could see as they lined up by height. Poor girl.

She did wonderful in class. She sauntered in and immediately started listening to Miss Lucy without so much as waving bye or giving me a hug. My baby is growing up! I was relieved that she wasn't one of the ones getting pulled aside to listen, or one of the crazy ones running in circles the whole time. The 45 minutes went by super quick for both of us.

My little dancer after class

Drew was able to come for the last 20 minutes and watch her with me. She saw his reflection in the mirror and frantically started waving at him.

When we got her to the car and were on our way to dinner, we asked her how the class went and what she liked about it.

"What was your favorite part about dance class?"

"Umm...I liked dancing."

Well said, child. Good thing it's a dance class.

As the night went on and even into yesterday, she began telling us more details about what she did and showing us some of her "moves."

I will try to get a video during one of the classes of her dancing. So, so precious.

Who knows. Maybe Emery will get the dancing gene in the family after all.

Over and out --