Imagine my horror when I opened this week’s shopping list for the cleanse and saw….
An Enema.
Two of them.
I should have known. I guess that’s why they call it a cleanse.
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Love the Alfie Kohn in the New York Times this week.
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Tonight I breastfed a frog, a lizard, a cheetah, a cat, a doll, and a toddler.
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Total weirdness: On the day Henry was born, Buehrle pitched a no-hitter. Today, the day HW was conceived, Buehrle pitched a perfect game.
And my maiden name was Pitcher.
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I should never have laughed at the story where Matt crawled up in his older brother’s bunk in the middle of the night and bashed him in the forehead with a metal dumptruck. When I picked up Henry from school today, I was informed that he hit a 4-year-old over the head with a shovel and the boy had to get stitches. And in the time I was being told this, he picked up a basket and threw it at a girl’s face and she started crying.
I guess it’s time to go spend this week’s paycheck on koosh balls so we can practice throwing soft objects vs. throwing hard objects. And throwing into space vs. throwing at people’s heads.
Our pediatrician always tells us how little boys are way more difficult than little girls and that by the time our friends who have girls start freaking out, we will be in the clear. But this man has three boys himself. Is he just trying to make himself feel better? Because then our boys will be driving. Thank goodness I never laughed at *those* stories about Matt.
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As I was leaving the doctor’s office today, I glanced at the bottom half of the checkout sheet: “Diagnosis: weight gain & fatigue.”
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It seems Henry has learned something that took me 32/33 years and countless therapy sessions to realize. Actually, it’s a work in progress for me, still. I’d say 90% of the tantrums occur when we are coming or going—transitions are a real bitch. We were getting ready to leave for the morning, and the screaming started. Henry pulled his placemat out from underneath his dirty dishes and they broke into a million pieces. He stopped for a second to look at the mess, looked up at me and said, “I’m frustrated, Mama!” I asked him what we do when we’re frustrated and first he went and hit the door and cried even harder because it hurt. But then he remembered and went to the couch and started hitting the pillows. I joined in and then he looked at me and started laughing. And we had a truly awesome rest of the morning.
Thanks, Carrie and Bernadette!
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Well, I wonder what they would say about a 25-month-old who has probably not napped 1/3 of the days of his life already:
No Nap Days Spell End of the World For Your Child
Henry is actually happy and incredibly focused (read: tenacious). Except when he won’t nap on command—and then it’s really just me who’s unhappy and anxious.
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Henry and I took a little walk after dinner last night, and we saw two very fat cats sleeping in a neighbor’s front yard. Of course he wanted to go kiss them, and I told him that the kitties felt like being alone right now. He furrowed his brow, nodded, looked at me and said “The kitties need their space.”
Rest assured I will be repeating this back to him when he’s begging for boobies at 2am.
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