Michael, holding Jenna’s toy phone up to his ear, and pretending to talk to “Bamma” (Grandma)…

“Hello, Bamma!  What are you doing?”

(thoughtful pause)

“Can’t come over right now, Bamma.  Michaels fixin’ some tractors.  Then Michael’s gotta drive Daddy’s Mustang car.”

(another pause)

“O-tay, let’s have some corn.  And straw-dobbies*?  O-TAY!”

(pause)

“Bamma, Michael doesn’t wanna take a nap.  Michael wants to watch home movies.  Michael take a nap tomorrow.”

“Bamma, when Mommy says no Mommy means no.  O-TAY! Bye, Bamma.”

*-Straw-dobbies = strawberries

No, not the Dan Brown book.  Though I will say it was my favorite Dan Brown novel, and the movie was quite good as well, much better than the overly lauded “DaVinci Code.”

What I mean is that Jenna has mostly been an angel and Michael?  Well, this week Michael seems to have been possessed by some kind of horrible, awful, terrible twos demon.  Here is where most other “mommy blogs” (shudder) will shut their cyber traps, choosing instead to only write about the smart, adorable, sweet things their children are doing.

But I, Carolicious, believe I would be doing a disservice to mothers and potential mothers everywhere if I didn’t give you the straight dope.  Two-year olds are wonderful creatures but God Almighty, can they be monsters.  That’s not even a strong enough word.  Saying that Michael has been a monster lately would do a strong disservice to monsters.  Monsters could come and take some monster lessons from this kid.

A month or two after Jenna was born Michael went through about a month long phase where he would constantly hit, kick, throw things, scream, yell, and just be otherwise contrary.  I chalked it up to jealousy over all the attention his new little sister was receiving.  Somehow or another it blew over, and for a few months he was hit/kick/throw free.

But lately he has been unruly in general and particularly mean to his sister, poking, pinching, pushing, and punching.  Some days it seems like he’s in “time out” more than he’s in “time in.”  I’ve read a million different things about disciplining children and tried just about every tactic; time-out, ignoring the behavior altogether, and taking away toys/priveleges.  Nothing seems to work.  We are not proponents of spanking, since it seems totally illogical that I would punish Michael for hitting by… well, hitting.  I also think that spanking sets a “might makes right” precedent, which is simply not how things are done in the real world.

The only time I’ve ever managed to successfully get Michael to stop his actions and show remorse was when, completely at my wit’s end, I absolutely burst into giant crocodile tears.  Michael took one look at my tears, quivered his lower lip, and cried inconsolably for about a half hour, curled up on my chest.  Maybe that’s the key to discipline right there.  Make your child think they’ve pushed you THIS CLOSE to completely losing your shit.

I visited one of my favorite blogs the other day and she wrote, far better and funnier than I, a post about this very subject (except that her son is 4… lord help me).  It’s nice to know I’m not the only one, I suppose.  Internet, if you’ve got any pearls of wisdom, pass ‘em on.

On the other hand, Michael is doing some pretty cute and amazing things, too, such as counting to ten with gusto, singing the ABC song, and just singing songs in general.  The other day Michael saw a photo of Muffin and I on our wedding day, and when he asked what it was I explained to him that Mommy and Daddy are married.  He said, “Daddy married Mommy.  Michael gonna marry Mommy, too!”  Everybody now… AAAAWWWW.

This week Jenna has been as charming and lovely as can be.  Of course, I could just be saying this because she slept through the night last night, a feat she has accomplished only a handful of times in her eight months of life.  Her latest trick is waving AND SAYING “Hi!”  Only when she says it, it comes out like, “HiiiEEEEEEEEE,” confirming that “valley girls” really must just be born that way.  Further confirmation has been garnered by her other new trick, putting the phone up to her ear and  babbling into it.  I don’t know what she’s saying, but I imagine it goes something like this:

“Ohmigod, are you serious?  SHUT. UP.  That is like, so awesome.”

She is also the proud owner of two new sparkly teeth and has taken to self feeding with gusto, particularly foods of the Cheerio variety.

A few weeks ago we had some photos taken by a local photographer, James Olson of Alderbrook Imaging.  He did an amazing job and I highly recommend his services to anyone who lives in our area.  I’m posting a few photos below that I particularly love; the rest, if you’re interested, are posted here.

Up until a few days ago, the Karnofski household had been cruising along healthily no illnesses at all in at least three months.  Then Michael got a cold, then Jenna was teething.

And then, there were chicken pox.  Or at least what we thought were chicken pox.

About a week ago I noticed that Jenna had a little rash on her tummy.  Since she had no fever and seemed fine otherwise, I chalked it up to a fluke thing and decided to keep a watchful eye on it.  By Monday the rash had spread to her back and on Tuesday it looked downright suspicious.  Her regular doctor was naturally too busy to see her (one of the reasons  I am switching her to a different doc), so we took her to the urgent care.  After waiting a while I left Jenna in Muffin’s capable hands because I needed to get to cheerleading practice (!), but promised to keep my phone handy so he could contact me with the verdict.  Sidebar: Muffin could not figure out how to get Jenna’s dress off her for her examination, so he used scissors and CUT IT OFF.  Men.

Anyway, it’s too bad my phone is not enabled with screeching violin sounds, because that’s exactly what I heard in my head when I read the text Muffin sent me: CHICKEN POX.

Now, these days children are vaccinated against the unsightly pox, but they don’t receive the vaccination until one year, and Jenna is only eight months.  I believe, believe, BELIEVE in this vaccination because I had chicken pox at the ripe old age of 15, an age most girls are very conscious of their appearance, and let me tell you, it was God-awful.

I had the disgusting, festering pox absolutely everwhere, including up my nose, in my eyes, under my fingernails, and in every orifice (and do believe me when I say EVERY).  Besides that, I was incredibly sick on top of it.  Fever, chills, aches, nausea, crushing headache.  At one point during the evil pox I actually prayed for death to come and take me.

It was for this reason, then, that I hightailed it to the pharmacy and bought every pox-calming medical solution I could find, went home, and hoped for the best but expected the worst.  And we waited.  And nothing happened.

Jenna seemed absolutely fine, and apart from the rash seemed happy as could be, crawling around, pulling up, babbling, clapping, and playing peek-a-boo.  She didn’t seem at all ill, or itchy for that matter.  Hmm.

When we actually saw her regular doctor he deduced that she did not have chicken pox at all, but instead perhaps some kind of dermatitis or maybe just a heat rash from the feverish few days she had during teething.

Not to worry, though.  Now that I’m coaching teenagers and going back to teaching dance at the studio that is absolutely teeming with biological terrorists children, I’m sure I’ll bring home a good ol’ fashioned illness that we can really sink our teeth into.

An alert reader emailed me recently concerned that I don’t blog very much about my children.  Where are the children?  Are they okay?  Did you trade them to some gypsies in exchange for shiny buttons?

Be appeased, dear reader.  The children are fine.  In fact, they’re out waxing my car right now!  No, not really.  Babies don’t wax cars!

Anyway, I was thinking about the fact that a reader noticed my lack of “mommy” blogging (and that the term “mommy blogging” is SO odious).  It’s not that I don’t like talking about my kids, or that they don’t do a million hilarious, adorable, noteworthy things every day.  Rather, it’s that if I devoted my entire blog to my kids, I would not like the blogger I had become.  In fact, I am not particularly a huge fan of blogs that consist entirely of happy clappy “My kid did this today, isn’t she the smartest, cutest, most FANTASGREAT thing you’ve ever seen?  Isn’t motherhood magical?  My kids never do anything wrong!  My life is perfect!” posts.  It’s just not for me.  So while I will occasionally post stories about how smart/adorable/wonderful my kids are, I also post about how frustrating parenting can sometimes be.  I also post about random crap like cat-nabbing capers and CHEEZ FRICKIN’ BALLS.  I am a mom, but that’s not all.  I am a mom AND MORE.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I have decided that my kids deserve a weekly post all to themselves.

So what are the kids doing this week?  Well, in the “adorable” category…

I recently purchased Jenna her first purse.  I figured that since they are a bevy of boy toys around and nary a pink one in the bunch, something girly might be in order.  It’s a cute little pink plaid number with a black Scottie dog that can sit inside.  Jenna had been playing with the purse the entire afternoon and at the end of the day when I was putting toys away I discovered that she had already learned a valuable lesson about the necessities a woman always needs to carry, for when I looked inside the purse I found a Matchbox car, a pink binkie, and a plastic dinosaur from Michael’s “Go, Diego, Go!” toy set.  Who needs a wallet, change for a phone call, or their favorite lipstick?  PACK THE DINOSAUR.

Michael, on the other hand, has developed a recent fascination with John Deere products.  I think this is because his Opa (Muffin’s dad) has a John Deere “Gator” that Michael takes rides in frequently.  Now whenever he sees the trademark green and yellow or the deer logo, Michael shouts excitedly, “That’s a JOHN DEERE right there!”  I consider this total hick behavior and the Muffin and I had a lengthy discussion about whether to encourage his John Deere fetish, but how can you argue with something that brings so much happiness?  So now Michael has a John Deere pillow and blankie, a little John Deere tractor, and a book about John Deere tractors.  The other day my parents took him to the local John Deere store and let him sit on all the tractors.  Disneyland?  Who needs it?  WE’VE GOT A JOHN DEERE STORE.  Michael also likes to watch John Deere videos on YouTube (of which there are a frightful number).  I was okay with that until he wandered up to me yesterday afternoon and said, “Mommy, guess what?  She thinks my tractor’s SEXY.”  It turns out there’s a country song called that.  And it plays on YouTube.  Looks like I’ve lost this battle.  Advantage: HICK.

But I guess it is kind of adorable…

In the frustrating category:

Jenna has been teething.  Her first pearly white poked its way through the skin just this morning.  Now, I am a total novice when it comes to this teething thing.  Michael didn’t get any chompers until the ripe old age of 13 months, and even then I had no idea he was teething.  There was absolutely no deviance from his happy, charming self.  So you can imagine my surprise when one day I stuck my finger in his mouth and discovered he had gotten four teeth overnight.

Jenna, though, she likes EVERYBODY to know she’s teething, and BY GOD you’re all going to suffer with her.  She has been cranky and drooly and snotty and fevery for the last few days, up at all hours of the night and just generally a mess.  I think the tooth’s twin is about to present itself as well, and I hope for my sanity it does it soon.

On the upside, Jenna is a very good baby otherwise.   She eats everything not nailed down with reckless abandon (a far cry from her brother) and falls asleep moments after being put down awake in her crib.   She is crawling all over and starting to pull up on the furniture (!).

Michael is in the throes of the terrible twos and every day with him has the potential to be wildly wonderful, wickedly awful, or some combination of the two.  He is in the middle of a big DIY phase and doesn’t want anyone to help him do ANYTHING, even tasks he cannot complete himself, such as tying his shoelaces.  You would think that this newfound independence would lead him to want to potty on the potty chair “all by himself,” but no such luck.

At any rate, adorable or frustrating, my kids are doing great.  And okay, they’re more adorable than frustrating…

While at the beach with Michael…

“Look, Mommy!  Seagulls!  Just like Snoopy!”

(Pause.  Think.  Laugh.)

Yes honey, they are seagulls.  But they’re not like Snoopy.  See, a seagull is a type of bird.  And Snoopy is a BEAGLE.  A beagle is a type of DOG.

“OH.  Seagulls are DOGGIES.”

No, seagulls are birdies and and beagles are doggies.

“Beagles are birdies!”

(Sigh) Okay, how can I explain this better?

“Explain this better!  Explain this better!”

Yes, I need to explain this better.  A beagle is a doggie.  Snoopy is a beagle.  A seagull is a bird.  And those birds right there are seagulls.  Okay?

“Okay, Mommy.  I go chase the beagles!”

(Runs toward flock of seagulls <<not the 80’s new-wave one-hit wonders>>, flapping his arms like a bird.)

Currently crossing zoologist off the list of Michael’s future career choices.

In just a few short weeks Michael will be two and a half.  Half a year away from THREE YEARS OLD.  I’ll spare you the obligatory mushy parental musings about how quickly the time has passed, because I think that the very statement, THREE YEARS OLD, is an exclamation point all by itself.

And doesn’t it seem like a boy of two and a half should be potty trained?

A few months ago, after Jenna had burned through all the diapers we received as gifts, I had the pleasure of visiting Costco to buy diapers and wipes for both kids.  My cart had exactly three items in it: two boxes of diapers and a box of wipes.  Yet the total on the screen was over $100.  Gulp.  And I would be back in a month to do this all over again.  Double gulp.

We haven’t pushed the potty training issue much, because according to our pediatrician the worst thing a parent can possibly do when trying to potty train is FORCING the child to use the potty.  Instead, we just suggest it casually and sometimes Michael will oblige.  But he never, EVER suggests it on his own, and he refuses to poop on the potty, period.

To try and help things along I bought Michael some “big boy” underwear, adorable little briefs with Thomas The Tank Engine on them.  Wouldn’t you like to wear these big boy underwear with Thomas on them? I asked.  “No, no.  Michael doesn’t want it.”  (Sidebar: Michael has begun referring to himself solely in the third person. I could give that Elmo such a smack.)

Then we tried “pull-ups,” which seem like a natural transition from diapers to undies, pull-ups printed with Lightning McQueen from Michael’s favorite movie, “Cars.”  If you start telling Mommy you have to go potty, then we can wear Lightning McQueen pull-ups! I told him.  “No!  DON’T WANT IT.”

I have even been consulting various books lately about potty training and have been trying tips to no avail.  Michael just has absolutely no problem with soiled diapers.  I should also mention that my in-laws have a pretty bountiful vegetable garden so we are eating LOTS OF FRESH VEGGIES every day, which is good for the body but BAD for what comes out the other end.  I don’t think I can make it much longer.

So I’m turning to you, Internet, for advice.  How do you potty train a rather stubborn little boy?

This just in…

JENNA.  IS.  CRAWLING.

I give you the kids…

A rare shot with Jenna in a headband; Muffin thinks they make her look like Karate Kid.

Carrots!

"Playing"

As I’ve lauded much on this blog, The Sleep Easy Solution was the answer to our exhausted prayers when we wanted to get Michael sleeping through the night in his own crib (if you’re new here… hi!… you can find those posts here).  The serendipitous thought that struck us after we’d sleep trained Michael was how easy it actually was, and we vowed right then and there to sleep train baby Jenna as soon as possible (the book recommends beginning sleep training when the child reaches five months of age or 15 pounds, whichever comes first).  We’re so there!

So it was with the confidence garnered from sleep training our first child that we decided to start sleep training Jenna last weekend.  Rather than tackling all her sleep issues at once, we decided to address them one at a time.  Here is our progress:

Goal #1: Put Jenna in her crib awake at night and let her fall asleep on her own.  On Friday night we did a sleep routine with Jenna (bath, jammies, bottle, a little song) and put her to bed at 7:45.  She naturally cried, but after our check-backs at 5, 10, and finally a 15-minute interval, she put herself to sleep and all was quiet by 8:20.  In the nights since, we’ve put her to bed at 7:30 and after a few minutes of crying she’s sound asleep.  Score!

Goal #2: Put Jenna in her crib awake for all naps and let her fall asleep on her own.  The creators of the Sleep Easy program admit that the “art of the nap” is much more difficult for parents/babies to master and suggest starting nap training in tandem with night-sleep training.  Luckily, it has gone off without a hitch and Jenna now takes two long-ish (1.5 hour) naps in the morning/afternoon, and a “quickie” nap in the late afternoon, all in her crib, after being put down awake.  Bliss!  The best part of this is that Michael and Mommy get some alone time during Jenna’s morning nap, Mommy gets some alone time when BOTH KIDS take their afternoon nap, and Mommy and Jenna get some one-on-one time before Michael wakes up (he usually takes a 2-3 hour nap).

Goal #3: Get Jenna to sleep an uninterrupted 11-hour stretch through the night.  Our doctor concurs with the Sleep Easy theory that babies this age/size should metabolically be able to make it through a night without waking to eat, and that when babies do awaken in the night, it is more out of habit than hunger.  This is definitely Jenna’s problem.  As the book suggests, I have increased her formula intake today (so she’ll be getting her daily required calories during waking hours, rather than having to “catch up” over night.  Tonight we will begin the process of weaning the middle-of-the-night feed.  In a nutshell, here’s the lowdown:

1.  Wake up Jenna enough that she can drink her regular five-ounce bottle (known as a “dream feed”) ONE HOUR BEFORE she normally wakes to be fed.

2.  On night two, repeat this procedure but with a four-ounce bottle.  Do this nightly, each night reducing the bottle by an ounce, finally feeding only one ounce on the last night.  After that night, the baby should sleep and will have weaned off nighttime feeding.  (In case you’re wondering, the book also details how to wean a nighttime feed if you’re nursing.  Also, if your baby wakes more than once to feed, you’ll have to set a schedule to wean each additional feed.)

Goal #3 is the final step in Project: Get Some Sleep Before Muffin And I Go Completely Insane And Kill Each Other With Our Bare Hands.  I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.  With all the other successes we’ve had with this program, I’m extremely optimistic.

Many, many years ago when I was a kid there were these fun cartoons on television that profiled an adorable little rodent named Mickey Mouse and his colorful cast of friends, including girlfriend Minnie, duck pals Donald and Daisy, dog Pluto, and dog?  Wolf?  Long-eared creature?… Goofy.  They even spun these fantastic cartoons into an entire “land” of Disney.  Remember that mouse?

Anyway, if you don’t have kids you probably haven’t noticed that Mickey and his friends?  Not on television anywhere anymore.  Maybe in some iteration, but not the oldy goldy cartoons of my youth.  Gone.

As such, Michael has no idea who Mickey Mouse is.  For this reason, he was a bit confused when my parents, after a trip to Disney World, returned with a Mickey Mouse t-shirt for him.  I tried to explain and showed him a book or two, and he seemed to accept that there once existed a humorous mouse who wore white gloves.

Now we skip to the part of the story where our cat Buddy (affectionately known by the Muffin as “douchebag”) leaves a dead/partially eaten mouse on the doorstep.  I am unaware of this fact, so when I hear Michael open Buddy’s cat door, as he frequently does when he hears Buddy meowing to get in, I think nothing of it.  A few moments later I went to tell Michael that it was time for lunch, and what do I see?

Michael, playing tenderly with a half-eaten mouse carcass.  He looks up at me, grins widely, and says, “See, Mommy?  It’s MICKEY MOUSE.”

Walt Disney would totally not want his cryogenically frozen head to be thawed if he knew this is the kind of world he would have to face.