I want to dance!

If you are my friend on Facebook or have spent an evening at our home, you already know that we are a big "dance party" family.  We dance after dinner to burn off that last bit of energy before bed, on rainy days when there is not much else to do, and pretty much any time one of our "jam songs" comes on our Sonos.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=3618044686576

To be honest, this isn't something that we do just because we have kids.  Brendan and I have long been known to dance spontaneously - with or without music - much to the horror of our friends and family.

[Really wish I had some video to share here]

Yet despite our obvious affinity for shaking our groove thangs (yeah, I said it), when it came time for dance class sign-up last Fall, I fell prey to the same gender stereotypes that I have tried so hard to avoid in raising my kids (in particular my boy/girl twins).  Without thinking twice, I signed Isla up, and promptly took her out to buy a pink leotard, pink ballet slippers, and shiny white tap shoes. To my credit, the dance schools in our area are almost exclusively for girls ("Tutus and Tiaras," "Bella Ballerina," etc.), so it just didn't occur to me to ask Hayes or Tyson if either one was interested.

So, on a Saturday morning in September, Isla started her ballet/tap/ jazz lessons while Hayes played soccer.  When the soccer season ended, we continued to split up on Saturday mornings -- Brendan would take the boys to Rebounderz, and I would head off to dance class with Isla. She absolutely loved it, and the boys relished their "guy time."

In March, after expressing her disappointment over missing out on soccer with her brother, we switched Isla to a weekday dance class so that she could play t-ball with Hayes on Saturday mornings.  On Wednesday evenings, the boys (often in pajamas) and I would watch Isla's class.

During the second class of the spring session, after the girls had finished up the ballet portion, familiar pop music came on and Hayes looked at me and said, "Can I dance?"  I asked Miss Ashley (dance teacher extraordinaire) if this was ok, and she invited Hayes and Tyson to join in.  I WISH I had taken video of those first moments.  Grinning ear-to-ear, and occasionally pausing to bear hug his siblings, Hayes was the most exuberant had seen him in a while (maybe ever).  And he was GOOD.  He continued through to the tap portion of class, and he had no trouble picking up moves that the rest of the students had been working on for months.  Even Tyson was following along (pretty remarkable for a 2 year old in a 4-6 year old's class), although, if I'm being totally honest, he was really in it for the costumes.

Anyway, when class ended, Hayes asked if he could do it again the next week.  The following week, I signed him up, ordered him a pair of tap shoes, and the rest is history...

Hayes is now one of the only boys enrolled at Bella Ballerina (Tyson is not officially enrolled, but when the tap portion starts, just TRY to keep him from putting on Isla's outgrown white patent leather tap shoes and joining the fun), and Isla is the only girl in the Blast Ball League for Dulles South.  I am so incredibly proud of them and the people they are becoming.  And I am grateful to them for all they have taught me... and I am not just talking about the sweet dance moves.

Monday morning funny

Tyson just came out of the bathroom, a bit frantic, yelling, "Who put corn in my butt?!"

Kid-isms

Some of the things my kids say are too funny to correct (for now).

Hayes:
Take a haircut

Tyson:
I have a clipper, can you nail it? (when he has a hangnail & wants me to clip it)
Corn squirrels (a generic breakfast cereal also known as "Corn Squares")

Isla:
Our chuthers (as in, "We like to play with our chuthers." Or each other.)

Dreams, part 3

This one is mine. I had a dream last night that I was out shopping in the evening with my mom and Isla, and I realized I had left Hayes in the minivan.  When I got back to the car, he was all smiles and totally forgiving, but I was a hysterical mess. I woke up panicked, and I was unable to sleep for the rest of the night.  I am still feeling guilty about it...

Sorry about this post - it lacks a punch line.  Just had to share in the hopes that it would help me shake it off.

Update: I am currently stuck on a bus with no air-conditioning. Not a dream. Actually on a bus. With no a/c. Pretty sure I'm psychic. Also pretty sure I'm going to pass out.

What happens when your siblings won't play with you...

"Mommy! I'm the princess AND the bad guy!"

Brothers

overheard this morning...

Hayes: (to Tyson) I don't want to bite you, because then Mom is going to say "Who's crying," and it's going to be you, and that will be bad.

It's the thought that counts.

This is an old story, but, really, do poop stories ever get old?

Last winter, the stomach virus from hell wreaked havoc on our household five times.  Seriously.  FIVE times.  I had taken some time off from working, so I was with the kids day in, day out -- which meant that we spent a lot of time at germ-infested indoor playgrounds and that I caught every disease the kids brought home on their grimy little bodies.  But my biggest gripe about last winter was not how awful I felt, but rather how much time I spent cleaning up poop.  Because while I, an adult with adequate sphincter control, could - even in the most dire circumstances - make it to the bathroom, the kids just could not.  I'm not sure I am doing this justice.  When the virus struck, they could not make it to the bathroom at all.  Ever.  They crapped their pants every. single. time.

It gets worse.

So it was May, and we were rounding up our last bout of the virus.  The kids were upstairs napping, and I was snoozing on the couch.  I hear a door open, footsteps, and then, softly, "Mommy?  I think I need some help."  I head up the stairs, and there is Hayes -- pantless, with poop-streaked legs, holding a wad of toilet paper.  After surveying the scene, I deduced the following:

Awoken from his slumber with a stomach-ache, Hayes jumped out of bed and tried to make it to his bathroom (about 10 feet from his bed).  He didn't quite get there in time, but he managed to hop up onto the toilet while the diarrhea was still coming out, leaving a trail of poop across the bathroom floor and down the side of the toilet.  When he was done, he made a valiant effort to clean up the mess.  Using an entire roll of toilet paper, he wiped his legs and the floor, leaving the soiled paper in a heap on top of his (also soiled) pajama pants.  When he realized that his efforts were not going to be enough, he decided to come and get me.  So he walked from the bathroom through his room and into the hallway, leaving a distinct trail of poop-prints in his wake, and called out, "Mommy?  I think I need some help."

I never imagined that I would feel worse for the maker of the poop than for the cleaner of the poop.  I think that sums up what it means to be a mom.  Put THAT on a Hallmark card...

Sugar and spice

Earlier this week, while watching the kids on the swingset, I overheard the
following exchange:

Tyson: Hayes, can you push me?

Isla: Tyson! You don't want ME to push you?

Tyson: No, I want Hayes.

Isla: You like Hayes better than me?

Tyson: I like you both. I just want him to push me.

Isla: But do you like Hayes the most?

Tyson: (dismissive) Yeah.

Isla: (incredulous) WHAT?!

Tyson: (backpedaling) I like Hayes the most AND I like you the most.

Isla: (snarky) That's what I thought.

The way they push each other's buttons is astounding - and does not bode well for my future sanity.  A few months ago, Isla came into the kitchen in tears.  I asked what was wrong, and, with a quivering lip she said, "Tyson told me I am out of the family."

He was TWO.














Oh well, at least - before bed last night - I got this...

Isla: Momma, I am going to love you forever.

Excuses, excuses

On Sunday, while on a Wegmans "date" with Hayes, I got a text from Brendan. He wanted me to know that Hayes must have tried to pee into the baby potty, because the potty and the floor were all wet. (Sidebar: I don't know why that thing is still in the bathroom...Tyson used it once on the day he was potty trained, and never again.)

Anyway, I asked Hayes if he had peed in the little potty, and, a bit insulted, he responded, "No, Mom. I'm a big boy. I use the big potty." So I then asked if he had peed on the floor of the powder room, to which he responded as follows:

"Well, I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing and, well, my penis was a little up. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"

Yes, little man. Say no more. Please.

Future Frat Boy

Tyson's new favorite game is "Guess what I have in my hand"

I think we all know where this is going ...

Uterus is a funny word.

My husband and I try hard to be honest with our kids.  We don't shy away from conversations about religion, death, and the like.  We try to give them the facts in language that they - at ages 4 and 2.5 - can, to some extent, comprehend.  We have had some misfires for sure.  For example, when our beloved dog Nellie passed away, I spent fifteen minutes explaining that she had died and that we weren't going to see her again.  When I was done, my then 2.5 year old son looked at me and said, "Am I going to die in a pool?" After taking a few seconds to digest this inquiry, I realized that the whole time we were talking about Nellie, he had thought that I was saying "dived."  So, I started the whole conversation over using the word, "dead."  To this day, the twins are scared of the pool.

Anyway, we are also careful to use the proper words for body parts - a penis is a penis, and a baby doesn't grow in a woman's stomach, but rather, her uterus.  The kids are cool with this.  The boys understand that they don't have a uterus, and Isla knows that she does.  Given this, I have been preparing for the inevitable procreation discussion.  While the question of how a baby gets IN to a woman's uterus has not yet arisen, the question of how it get OUT has.  I explained the two ways that a baby is delivered; the kids seemed to take it well.  Soon after, however, Isla decided that she does not want to have babies.  Assuming that this was the result of my explanation, I told her about adoption.  She seemed to like that a lot more -- although our conversation hit a low point when she asked if she could "return the baby to the baby store."

As I was putting the Hayes to bed the other night, he told me that he wants to have five babies.  He asked me how he could do this since he does not have a uterus.  I told him that when he gets married, his wife can have babies.  He grew very concerned and said, "But Mommy, Isla doesn't want to have babies!"  I replied, "That's ok, because Isla can't be your wife."  He was momentarily relieved, but then his face fell once again. "Mommy, I don't know if Kardynn wants babies!"  (Kardynn is his best friend/ girlfriend)  I explained that this is a conversation he will have with Kardynn at a later date.  MUCH much later.

Dreams, part 2.

Not to be outdone, Tyson's scary dream:

"I had a dream that a bad squirrel took me to the movies.  He bought me popcorn and fruit punch, and he left me there."

Dreams.

Early in the morning last week, Hayes came running into our room.  Jumping up into our bed, I could tell he was holding back tears.  I asked him if he'd had a bad dream, and he shook his head "yes."  I asked him if he wanted to tell me about it...

Hayes: I had a scary dream that a bunny rabbit was yelling at me.

Me: Yelling at you?  What was he yelling?

Hayes: He was yelling, "Give me carrots!  Give me carrots!"

Me: Wow, that is scary.

Hayes: Yeah.  And I was wearing a carrot costume.