Bed time has become quite the ritual at our house. Lots of screaming. Lots and lots of screaming tonight. No one could console young Robert. First, there was screaming about his teeth. Both toothbrushes were still upstairs, and I, unfortunately, picked the wrong one to “make”. It was so bad that Robbie wanted to walk down the stairs to rectify the situation. I caught him with one foot off the landing…

Things got a little better with a lovely game we call Hop on Pop. For five minutes, Robbie threw himself at Justin repeatedly. And then he found Justin’s belly button. A fun game of “Find the Belly Button” quickly ensued. But then it was time for stories, prayers, and bedtime. Robert was having nothing to do with any of this.

He screamed as we put him in his crib, again throwing himself at me and trying to climb out of the crib. I’m definitely one for letting him cry it out, but I also know when Rob has reached the point of inconsolable. And, boy, was he there. I finally realized the problem: his sippy cup. Zhining asked me not to give him bottles any more because he was throwing cups at daycare and refusing to drink. I tried to oblige, but, desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ve never seen Justin down and up the stairs so fast with a full bottle of milk.

Robbie grabbed the bottle from Justin’s hands and thew himself back into my arms as I rocked. After a few minutes, he sat himself up and put his head on my shoulder to cuddle. We read a few books; we made our way all the way through prayers. I told Robbie we could cuddle for a few more minutes or he could go to bed, and he put his head back on my shoulder and his arm around my neck.

I’m heading up to bed myself now, but, before I do, I’ll check in on the little man. Zhining told me he’s learned to put a blanket on himself before he takes a nap. I’ll be curious to see if he does that here, too. I tried to explain it to him before he fell asleep, but, as far as I know, he only understands these instructions in Chinese…

We are very into oral hygiene. Mostly since Robbie discovered his teeth. As soon as he sees anything to do with teeth, he starts shouting, “Teeth! Teeth!” He cannot be trusted in the bathroom. I have to admit… I’ve pulled Justin’s toothbrush from Robbie’s grasp (and mouth) more than once. I’m not sure Justin actually knows this.

Tonight we reached a new level with Robbie’s teeth. As soon as he got out of the tub, he immediately reached for his toothbrush and began cleaning his mouth. He offered to brush our teeth, which is getting harder and harder to decline as Robbie gets stronger (and grows longer arms). The brushing lasted a good five minutes; Rob is nothing if not thorough.

But don’t think it ended there. Oh, no. My dear child took his toothbrush upstairs while I put his pajamas on. And then he found his other toothbrush on his dresser. So, there I was: barely diapered child double-fisting toothbrushes and footies to put on. Luckily, Robbie was amenable to holding two toothbrushes in one hand for a few minutes. He was not, however, willing to drop either of them for story time and cuddling. This proved to be difficult, as one of us was getting stabbed with a toothbrush at any given moment.

I was somewhat concerned that he’d fall asleep, both brushes in hand. Actually, I was hoping for it. It would have made a great picture. But, I was not to be so lucky. Robbie was extremely irritated that I would dare put him to bed, and he angrily threw both toothbrushes to the ground in protest. And, yes, I picked them up, rinsed them off, and plan to use them again tomorrow.

Robbie is going through a mommy phase like I’ve never seen before. He wakes up saying, “Mama! Mama!” Only he pronounces it “Ma-mah”, with the emphasis on the first syllable, like he’s European. I’m not sure how to feel about it. Some days, I’m mildly amused. Others it irritates me almost as much as hearing “Miss!” all day at school. But, I digress.

Young Robert is none-too-pleased to see Justin walk through his door in the morning. As I get dressed, I hear Robbie continue to chant my name. I do what I can to stay out of Robbie’s line of sight while Justin gets him ready for the day, but all bets are off when the boys return to our bedroom. Robbie instantly becomes attached to my legs, whether it’s holding on with both arms or resting against them as he crouches down to eat cereal. And if I decide to leave the room? Tears. Epic tears. And screams loud enough to wake the building.

And poor Justin. This does nothing for his daddy ego. Just as Robbie can’t seem to understand why I would even allow Justin time alone with him, Justin has no idea what he’s done to deserve the screams of horror that go along with Robbie being left with him. This morning, I offered some solutions. Perhaps Justin should stop holding Robbie upside-down to play. Justin thinks this should be fun (I happen to agree; I loved being upside-down when I was little), but our vote doesn’t seem to count on this one. Perhaps it’s that I bring him food in the morning. Maybe it’s Justin’s crazy class schedule. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t last too long.

After all, although I fully expect to always be Robbie’s favorite parent, it just isn’t fair that he bursts into tears at the prospect of time alone with Justin.

This has been a horrible long winter, and the last week was particularly difficult for me. The days were interminable; I couldn’t even think of anything positive enough to blog on a regular basis. It seemed like spring would never come and my child would never do anything blog-worthy again. But then today came.

We slept with the windows open last night. The sun came out and the sky was bright and clear all afternoon. The snow melted from the front yard. And the back yard. And the circular driveway at daycare, which hasn’t been cleared since late December. It was as good as spring. Except for the 35 degrees. But who am I to complain?

The afternoon just kept getting better: Justin was home for dinner and bath time, something that rarely happens with his work and school schedule. Robbie, however, wasn’t quite sure what to do with both of us home; he spent most of the time before dinner glued to my side. When bath time hit, though, all bets were off. It was all about Daddy.

Robbie thinks Justin is hilarious, especially during bath time. Justin has all sorts of good tricks up his sleeve; one favorite is “opposable thumbs”, where Justin shows Robbie how thumbs work. Today, we thought we’d try to teach Robbie how to give a thumbs up. He gets the idea. But he seems to confuse giving a thumbs up with hitching a ride…

On my way home from morning errands, I stopped by Dunkin’ Donuts for supplies. Mostly coffee. And I did what I always do: I forgot to get a cup for Robbie, too.

I got home, and Justin and I got everything set up for breakfast in just a few minutes. Then Roberto saw the coffee. And screamed and screamed. He did not want his donut. He did not want his milk. No, my child wanted the styrofoam cup. In an effort to stop the screaming and ease the headache I could feel forming at my temples, I got a mug for my coffee and poured Robbie’s milk into the Dunkin’ cup. I leaned back in my chair, happy to have avoided the near-crisis.

Robbie happily grabbed his big boy cup, brought it to his lips, and took a sip. He looked at me, frowned, and said, “Nait nait. NO nait nait.” Justin and I looked at each other, unsure of what to do. We both shrugged our shoulders. I took the cup back, emptied out most of the milk, and poured in a little coffee. It was exactly what he wanted. My nineteen-month-old son had a hankering for a morning cup of joe. I may have to start ordering decaf if he keeps this up…

I used to dread the minutes after Robbie had his pajamas on. There’s the struggle to read a book. The cries of, “Down! Down!” Trying to squeeze in a few words of prayers. And then the desperate tears to not leave him in his crib.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, Robbie curled up in my arms, laid his head on my shoulder, and drank his milk. Tonight, he held on tight while I rocked him and enjoyed a few moments of quiet. I even got all the way through our prayers. Even through blessing the animals.

When I tried to put Robbie down, the tears welled up in his eyes. He grabbed my arms and tried to climb out of his crib. And I fell for it. Hook. Line. And sinker. I knew he would wait for me to get to the rocking chair before he tried to make his escape. Except he didn’t. He just attached himself to me, placing his head on my shoulder and his arm around my neck. Robbie paid rapt attention while I read two books and never made a move to slide off my lap. He gave me kisses before going back to bed and played peek-a-boo before settling down to read himself to sleep.

I don’t know what prompted Roberto to play the role of doting, cuddly son. But his timing was perfect.

I don’t know about you, but I need spring. Like I’ve never needed it before. Open windows. Flowers. Blue skies. Family walks. Grilling out. But, as I fantasize about spring, the snow is still refusing to melt in my front yard. I picked across an ice-covered parking lot and even more treacherous sidewalks to get into school this morning. There was a little hope, though. About an inch of it. The crocuses have started to come up in the front yard. All 120 of them.

I’ll hold on to that little bit of hope as long as it takes. Otherwise, I’ll just focus on the cold I haven’t been able to shake. Or the laundry. Or the toys that litter the floor. Or how fast the water spreads across the kitchen floor when Robbie dumps out the entire water bowl. Very quickly, by the way.

I”m sorry there’s not more to write… My processing is so slow. The other day, while cooking, I had the following thought process: “My thumb hurts. The pan is hot. I need to move my thumb.” I am hardly present enough during the day to think of anything to blog about at night. But, that’s all going to change tonight. Tonight, I am getting ten hours of sleep. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be healthy and well and positive. And tomorrow we will all be one day closer to those crocuses blooming.

You wouldn’t have known Robbie was the same kid today. Well, this morning you would have. He started the fussing and throwing of things as soon as he was half-dressed this morning. Seriously half-dressed. I didn’t even get the onesie buttoned… But, that’s not what this is about.

I still had some major cleaning up to do when Robbie and I got home. I fully expected some sort of meltdown from the little one (he’s nineteen months today, by the way!). Followed by food and/or beverage throwing. Accompanied with destruction of drawers. But none of it happened. Well, a little of it happened.

When I came back inside from letting Barkley out, I found Robbie in the kitchen and the roll of plastic wrap unrolled in the kitchen. There wasn’t much left, and it was interesting to watch Roberto figure out that the cardboard roll made a great horn. He eventually started running around repeating words into it. Amazing how funny “Mama”, “kitty”, and “bath” sound through a cardboard tube.

He didn’t just run around playing games. Oh, no. Robbie had his little helper hat on tonight. He fed the dog, carefully delivering the food bowl from the kitchen to the dining room where Barkley was napping. He found the canister of Clorox wipes, pulled out a half dozen, and began cleaning my kitchen floor. He threw away trash from the linen closet as I handed it to him. And when he felt like he’d worked hard enough? Robbie grabbed a bottle of seltzer, took himself into the living room, hoisted himself up on his little red recliner, and hung out for a while.

He laughed hysterically through bath time. He blew bubbles and threw water on his head. He let me wash his hair AND his face. He brushed his teeth. He even sat through fingernail AND toenail clipping. Something he hates.

God, it feels good to have my little boy back. Even if he wakes up a terror tomorrow morning.

Me. Category? Worst. Mother. Ever. Don’t believe me? Just ask Robbie; he’d be more than happy to fill you in on the horrors of being my child for the past week.

It really all started on Wednesday night during our flights home from Kentucky. Robbie screamed and fussed and wiggled the entire way. I was not patient. I was not understanding. I didn’t care that he had a cold. I didn’t care that he’d barely napped. I wanted him to sit on my lap during take-off and landing. I wanted him to sit in his seat and color during the flights. And, I’ll be honest, I fully expected him to fall asleep on the second flight and be cuddly and wonderful. But you know about all of that…

Thursday night was perhaps the worst night of my life. Other than the night that I spent in labor – but I knew that would end eventually with a fabulous little boy. I wasn’t sure that Thursday night would ever end. Robbie went down around 7:00. He woke up at 9:00 and screamed until 9:50 when Justin came home and took over. Of course, Robbie went right to sleep for Justin. Until 11:00, when he woke up screaming. Again. And at 1:30. Justin brought him into our room at that point, too tired to keep soothing him from the rocking chair. Robbie stayed there, tossing and turning, until 4:30. And then he was over it. We finally put him in his crib and let him scream. And scream. And scream. Until almost 6:00 when he finally wore himself out. I felt like a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mother. But I couldn’t deal with it. He was fed, dry, and warm. And I was going to lose my mind. Justin and I weighed the options and decided it was best for everyone to just let him scream.

I knew it was an ear infection around the second time Robbie woke up. However, as any seasoned mom knows, there’s nothing you can do about it until the doctor’s office opens the next morning. There are only so many times you can try to shove Tylenol down a baby’s throat. Or offer him a bottle and have it thrown across the room. So, we waited. But we were at the doctor’s office when the door opened for the walk-in clinic at 8:00.

I was right. It was an ear infection. Actually, it was two. And a cold. But, lovely child that my son is, he turned on the charm and flirted with the doctor. Me? I burst into tears, so tired of the screaming and not being able to fix anything. Robbie’s doctor told me that I’d done a great job. In fact, she confided that that morning, she’d told her two little boys they needed to get their acts together because, although she loved them, she did not currently like them. This made me feel a little better.

We spent yesterday in New York visiting Justin’s family. It was the first time Robbie got to meet them, and he was a perfect gentleman. He even took his medicine without a problem. Twice. And then it was back to Bartlett Avenue, where all hell broke lose this afternoon.

Robbie didn’t take a nap. He was wound up and, at some point, pooped (we all know the fun of Augmentin, right?). I got him up and tried to clean the house. Robbie wasn’t having it. He knocked down the gate to the bathroom. He tore down the (already broken) linen closet door. He knocked down the gate by the stairs. It was all I could do to remind myself that I was the adult in the situation. And I had to remind myself over and over and over. After he screamed. After he clawed my face. After he tried to choke me.

Eventually, I did the only other thing I knew to do: I took Robbie and left the house. After all, in public, my child is charming and there are witnesses. I have to be the adult in public. We went up and down the aisles. I took my time, sifting through coupons (I saved over $71 with my card and the coupons). Robbie flirted with people in the aisles, the cashier, the bagger, and the people in line behind us.

Then we got home. He screamed for a cheese stick, so I gave him one. Then he screamed for another. As I was opening it in the disaster area that is my house, Robbie opened his mouth and spit out all of the cheese he’d just chewed. Much to Barkley’s delight.

Speaking of Barkley… My other “child” is also on the list. He peed in the house twice today. In the middle of the disaster. But, back to the rest of the day… Robbie tore around the house, pulling items from drawers and throwing them onto the floor. Finding myself at my wits end (again) and without any other errand to run, I put Robbie in his Pack ‘n Play and went to the other side of the house. He ate dinner on his own, too. I just couldn’t bring myself to sit with him while he threw food and screamed.

He screamed his way through dinner. And his bath. And getting dressed. And medicine-taking. He tried to throw the bottle again. He squirmed out of my arms when I tried to rock him. So, I ignored him. Went about my business, putting away laundry. He puttered around for a little while and then got his bottle. He climbed into my lap and fell asleep in my arms after a long talk about how I was a bad mom and he was a bad boy but we were both going to work on being nicer tomorrow. The time? 5:55.

It’s been a long four hours since then. I cleaned our room, sorted through my clothes, bagged up four bags of things that didn’t fit. I dusted and vacuumed. I finally got the groceries (mostly put away). I did a load of laundry (still have to remake the bed). I cleaned up chicken juice from some chicken Justin defrosted – dated December 2009. I purged the fridge of rotting produce. I cleaned up Barkley’s second mess.

Is everything finished? Absolutely not. There are still (non-perishable) groceries on the counter. Only one load of laundry got done. The downstairs wasn’t vacuumed or mopped. But I’m all set. Done. Ready to put clean sheets on my bed and crash. So, I’ll leave you to mull over your less-than-stellar parenting moments. And perhaps not feel so alone in them.

This afternoon had all the makings of a fun adventure. Grandmama is here. Daddy is in class. Barkley was in the mood to play. And then Robbie crashed. He threw a fit when I went out back to clean up the yard. Incidentally, melted dog poop is disgusting. Best just to clean it up before the next snow comes. Roberto threw turkey stew and pears across the living room. He dumped Selsun Blue into the tub, making it near impossible to wash his hair and face.

And then he made his escape from the bathroom, running around the house like a naked maniac. From the bathroom to the living room, where he laughed at Grandmama and turned in a few circles. He looped through the kitchen and then dining room and tore back up the hallway toward me. And then he wiped out. Full-frontal disaster.

I didn’t notice the blood right away. But it was there. All over his face and hands. In his mouth, covering his teeth Probably made worse by the snot dripping from his nose. I couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. Eventually, I was able to wipe his face enough to figure out that Robbie had bit his lip during his face plant. Perhaps it was my lack of experience with blood, but I figured he was doing OK if he was willing to take a bottle. Which he was. The lip may be swollen tomorrow, but at least there was no panicking tonight.