In the interest of telling a story I am also going to open a can of worms. Rather, a bucket of worms in the mommyblog-o-world.

Rusty and I don’t practice spanking or swatting as a regular form of discipline. Lots of thought and reflection, as well as the education that comes with having a bachelor’s degree in psychology have gone into making that choice. I think there is a place for swatting young kids, but I don’t plan on doing it regularly, plus, it would probably end up being useless with Norah.

Once I swatted her hand because she was just being a defiant little booger. She glared at me and then continued with her actions. And once I swatted her butt. She was walking toward the street while I was putting the car seat I ran over to her, swatted her butt (not hard) and said “No! We do NOT go into the street without Mama or Daddy!”

It worked that time. She cried for a long time, and for the next thirty minutes would shoot dirty looks at me before crying again. Jasmine was there, and Isaiah too. It was pitiful and a little bit funny. But that’s the extent of our swatting experience. I use other discipline techniques, like positive reinforcement and redirection. Oh, and time out.

I really thought that time out was working ok. Norah has gotten to where she will sit in her corner until I tell her to get up, and usually she stops doing whatever she was doing that put her in time out in the first place.

However, I am losing my faith in the usefulness of timeout. On Monday I was watching Isaiah at my house. He and Norah were playing with those giant Lego things, and he started throwing them at me. I used all the tools I could think of to get him to stop before I lost an eyeball (he throws hard!) but he wasn’t listening. So I took the block from him and put him in timeout. Before I could even turn around Norah ran up behind me, slapped me in the butt and then laughed and sat herself in time out right next to Isaiah!

So I’m thinking that time out is really not that effective with Norah. She thinks its a game: Slap Your Mom and Sit in the Fun Corner

I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl.

If you pee yourself… It is better to do so while at home being tickled by your son. It is also difficult to explain to said son how big boys don’t pee on themselves.

♥Jasmine

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It wasn’t me who gave her son a small cup of coffee this morning, Carmel Macchiato to be exact.

It wasn’t me who was too tired to dress or diaper him all last week, so he played naked all day.

It wasn’t me who told him that  Jolly Rancher candy was medicine, and only for mommy.

(Isaiah talking to our dog, Noelle)

Isaiah: “Hey Nell! Mommy has baby penis.”

Jasmine: “No son, Mommy has a baby in her belly, in my uterus…girls don’t have penis. Well most girls.”

Isaiah: “Zayah penis!”

Jasmine: “Yes! YOU have a penis because you are a boy, women have a vulva and a vagina. The baby is growing in my uterus… can you say vulva?”

Isaiah: (weakly attempts  to pronounce vulva…sounding a lot like “Bulba”.

(Isaiah looks at Noelle and slaps her on the head) Isaiah: “BAD! Bulba!!!”

Isaiah got up this morning acting like his normal bossy self. He ran to fridge and handed me an egg. This not so subtle gesture represented that he wanted breakfast, and this morning he wanted eggs. I sat Isaiah on the counter and gave him a wooden spoon. I allowed him to help stir the eggs as they cooked. It made me giggle when he reached over to the pinch bowl and sprinkled a little salt over the eggs. We served the eggs on Isaiah’s plate and he began to eat.

At this juncture I  need to mention that Isaiah didn’t sleep last night. Our A/C broke and Isaiah, like his mother, couldn’t sleep in an 89 degree house (we are wimps…I know!). Isaiah played in the dark all night he finally collapsed into sleep around 4 this morning….then he woke up, promptly, at 8.

Isaiah ate his eggs. Isaiah looked at his glass of milk. Isaiah screamed like someone was burning him and hurled said glass of milk across the room. The cup had no lid. Isaiah slammed himself down on the floor kicking and screaming and crying. He rubbed his eyes and rolled around.

I took that as a cue that maybe, just maybe, my son was tired and needed to nap. Alas! He is NOW in his room screaming and crying and throwing things and rolling around…. does someone want to translate what THE HELL is wrong with my child?! Too tired to eat, apparently, and too tired to sleep?

♥  Jasmine   TIRED Mommy

Sit down folks. You thought the poo jokes were reserved for only crude comedians with little material? Nope. You’ll find them right here on The Brokins. I thought “Little Stinky” was a cute blog… didn’t you? I thought I would have respite. You know, maybe have to write about my son’s bowel movements in, say, two or three weeks from now. But Isaiah, being the little version of his mother, wouldn’t leave well enough alone:

This morning started, as usual, with a little Isaiah waking up, screaming at me for “Elmos!” and “Grenik.” I poured his milk and started his morning shows and went about my mom business (Read: read all of your blogs). Isaiah removed his diaper about the time Elmo was asking Dorothy if she brushes her teeth.  I thought nothing of this…because, well, we are just naked people. I roamed to the bathroom with my laptop. I sat down to relieve my poor overworked bladder (thanks Baby #2)….  YES! Don’t scoff in disgust! I read on my laptop while I pee…. don’t act like YOU don’t either!

I digress.

 I hear Isaiah shout “OOOOOOOHHHHH!” He runs in the bathroom, and holds his penis and urinates all over me. Because, DUH MOM! Peeing on the person who is on the potty counts as success. He looked as his puddle (which has showered me, my laptop, the step he uses to climb to the potty, and the bathroom cabinet) with a strange look that said, “hmm… that isn’t right…..?” Then he ran off. Mission accomplished, job done. I didn’t know what to do first! I did stand up and tip toe to the hall to lay my laptop down- praying that Isaiah’s glorious moment had not met the wiring. Isaiah giggled as I peeled my clothes off of my body shrieking “Oooooh sick, damn it! siiiiiiiiccckkkkkk! SICK Pee goes IN potty not ON MOMMY ON POTTY!!!!”  Boy urine has some sort of freaky difference from girl urine, I think, because I was doing my best not to dry heave and die from the spell.   I told this story, right after it happened, to my friend Lindsey while chatting with her on Facebook (HI! Lindsey!)… she laughed her ass off. Well, I wasn’t there- but if I had been, I am sure her ass would have fallen off.

Mr. Wet Jet Antibacterial abated my fears and restored my bathroom to pre- urine war condition. I used FOUR Swiffer Wet Jet pads, because I was just that convinced that I was only spreading the piss around on the floor.

Welcome to motherhood! When life gets boring just watch out, you never know when you’ll get pissed on!

♥ Jasmine

Today Jasmine and I took the babies to lunch, then the mall, then Target.

We’ve done this before, and on previous trips the two were little angels. Both of them cooing and charming the pants off everyone who walked by. Seriously, there are often tons of people walking around pants-less, having been sucked into the Isaiah and Norah Zone.

What can we say? We have damn cute babies.

But today was a little different. Lunch started fine, Isaiah flirted and showed off for a couple at the next table, Norah shoved half of a giant cookie in her mouth before she even sat down. Totally normal stuff. But when we got to mall the idyllic picture of two mamas and their beautiful babies out for an afternoon of shopping erupted into flames of woe and angst.

Norah was in her stroller because she is not a good in-store walker. I prefer to keep her strapped in the stroller where the only thing she can damage is my eardrums. Isaiah, on the other hand, is a great walker. Jasmine and G never used the stroller like I did. They used the slings and now let Isaiah walk. He’s used to it and usually happy to do it.

But not today. Today he wanted “A Seat!”. He was really heart-broken. So we traded. Isaiah rode, happy as a clam, meanwhile, Norah attempted to dismantle a display of necklaces, put on a pair of yoga pants, and escape from me by crawling under the dressing room door.

At Target the flames of woe and angst became full-on hellish inferno blasts tinged with baby poop. Both kids were tired. Both were cranky. Both of them were acting like lunatics. And to make matters worse, they were feeding off one another. So when Isaiah dropped his gum and then proceeded to wail into a dishtowel about hw his life was over, Norah (who had just been happily trying to put an exercise shirt over her head) decided that her life was over too. So she started yelling. A cacophony of baby screams.

Isaiah was having a rough time, so I took him for a trip to the jewlery section so Jasmine could have 3 seconds to think. And again, Norah started crying like she’d lost a limb, even though she had just been fine.

These kids! I can only imagine what things are going to be like when we have four little monkeys with us.

Anyone else experienced this kind of baby dramatic empathy?

Today we unleash the beast. The Brokins are going to start “Bad Mommy Confession Monday.” Today is the day to emancipate ourselves from the guilt and shame we’ve had over the week/weekend about motherhood (or fatherhood)… and maybe get a giggle.

There are really no rules. Just post something that has been lingering in the box of, “did I seriously just say that to my child?” or “I hope his father doesn’t find out I did that…”

I will start!

1. It wasn’t me who took her 2 year old (Read: attention span of a Gold Fish…) to see Ice Age 2, because she actually wanted to see it.
2. It wasn’t me who when returning home from aforementioned movie thought to herself, “well… he had popcorn, root beer, and a pickle…that is dinner,  right?”
3. It wasn’t me who then handed her son a cookie and some milk and considered dinner solved, because pickles are vegetables, and corn (even popped and covered in butter) are vegetables… so technically he had a fancy vegetarian meal.
4. It wasn’t me who considered it a job well done, when not only did he not wake up hungry….there were no night terrors either!

(This morning): Jasmine drags into work…late…and looking very, very tired. Super cute Supervisor greets Jasmine in the hall with a concerned look, “You okay?” she inquires with her fabulous S. Arkansas accent.

Holy Mother Of Pearl!!!

I went to bed early. I fell asleep promptly. I was sleeping comfortably when I suddenly started to toss and turn. This happend when I heard a bloody banshee style shriek pierce it’s way through my son’s bedroom door. Garrett jumps out of bed, ju jitsu style, trying to get to the howling demon before his ear piercing song wrestles me from my slumber (Daddy knows Mommy will die without sleep…  which explains why Daddy woke up with Baby EVERY night for two years… good, good Husband and Daddy). Too late! I was awakened by the shrieks, though I was content to lay in bed and play possum until my lovely husband runs out of ideas. I am not a bad wife or mother, I am just not human at TWO O’CLOCK in the morning. I wanted to spare them my wrath. He did, finally, run out of ideas. Isaiah is in our bed, by this time, kicking and screaming and howling like some kind of monster.  We try a sippee with milk. We try a graham cracker, we try redirecting, holding him standing up, calming him, encouraging him, holding him sitting down, and I (momentarily) consider a syringe of Ativan…..

I attempt to give Isaiah a graham cracker, concerned that his recently acquired selective palate might be the reason he is trying to destroy our eardrums.  This was about the time He drop kicked me in the face and let out particularly atrocious scream. Garrett giggled as he watched all my compassion melt away. “To HELL with it!!!” I scooped up demon child, marched him to his bedroom (still flailing and screeching), and plopped him in his bed.  “Hmph….good night. Scream and kick in your room, in your own bed….” Not even five minutes after I plopped him in his bed, the screaming subsides and all is well in the world.

WHAT?! I marched to the front room for my laptop. I mean, because what else do you do at two in the morning when your kid kicks your in the face screaming for no obvious reason. Go back to sleep? No! I am too hardcore for that!  You consult Dr. Google… that is what you do.

Answer found: Night Terrors. Developmental in nature.

Intervention: None. Insure child doesn’t injury themselves during tantrum (night terror). DO NOT try to comfort or soothe child, as terror can be worsened by physical interaction.

(Back to this Morning): “Well super cute Supervisor” (Jasmine thinks)… “I have a devil baby who apparently becomes possessed promptly after one o’clock in the morning. He shrieks and his head spins in circles and he climbs the walls all while chanting in Latin…”  “Oh!” I reply, “I didn’t get much sleep last night, Isaiah, apparently has been having night terrors.” She nods her head knowingly, “any changes or transitions can cause those, I think they are developmental..” I chortle… her knowing nod indicated that maybe she, too, had experienced this phenomenon…those damn demon babies.

I don’t really know how to end this post but to say; “Go ahead… envy my amazing life” or ” Don’t be jealous your kid isn’t as hardcore as mine or ” Cute two year old boy with Mohawk hair cut for sale…. screams randomly at night, sold as is.”

It wasn’t me who ignored my child and played Guitar Hero.

It wasn’t me who thought, “meh! it’ll come out of the carpet.”

It wasn’t me who gave him ice cream for breakfast.

It wasn’t me who thought about googling the affects of Benadryl to see if she could drug her kid to sleep (listen! He hasn’t gone to bed till 11 the last couple of nights!!)

It wasn’t me that was so tired that she might have put her son’s diaper on backwards.

Today is Friday… maybe next week we’ll start over.