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Browsing Tag: toddlers

Even Though We’re Tired

Cian doesn’t sleep at night. He climbs into the spare twin bed in Quinlan’s room because he, the third-born child, is frightened to be alone. He cries for another hug, for another nightlight, for another drink of water. At eleven o’clock, he comes into our room. At one o’clock, he comes in again. At three o’clock, he’ll appear once more, but we’ll be too tired to notice, so in a few hours we wake for the day to find his little, long form in the bed with us, wedged in between our bodies, one hand resting on a parent’s shoulder.  He doesn’t sleep. Which means we don’t, either. And then, then, after a full day of preschool and playing and chasing Riley around the house, at four-thirty in the evening, when we drive over to the school to pick the girls up from their Lego and creative writing clubs, he talks nonstop. He points out the clouds, and the cars, and asks me if skeletons have teeth. He chats about his classmates, and about Dino Trux, and if…

I Wish I Were Exaggerating

Cian has developed a lovely new trait: If he wants me, for whatever reason, most likely for a reason I can’t ascertain, he stands at my knees and shouts, “MOM. MOM. MOM. MOM. MOMMOM,” patting my leg with his open palm with each bout of hollering. This is how it usually goes, and it makes no sense: “MOM.” “Yes, Cian. What do you need?” “MOM.” “Yes, Cian?” “MOM.” “Cian, what do you need? Use your words.” “MOM.” “CIAN.” “MOM!!!!!” And so it goes, until I finally drive a pencil into my eardrums to make it stop. I don’t get why he does it. I mean, I know toddlers get frustrated if you don’t understand them. I also see that he hates when my attention is on something else (laundry, the phone, the computer, anythingbuthim), but this is getting out of hand. “MOM.” “MOM.” “MOM. EE. MOM.” It’s so funny how, when I was pregnant with each baby, I would dream of the day when my own…

I’m Still Mad About the Cadbury Eggs, Though

The evidence was everywhere, carnage of a sugar rush gone mad, access to all the vices in life consumed at once. It was like Eve not only biting into the apple, but running around Eden with it on the sly, scattering bits and pieces, leaving teeth marks in all the good apples somebody else could have eaten (AHEM), tucking the fruit into hiding spaces so she could go back and get some more, later, when Adam and God weren’t looking. Except this was no Eve. This was Cian, after Easter. And Cian, unlike his sisters, could give Eve a run for her money. The foil started appearing everywhere, starting the day after Easter Sunday. Little crumpled bits of pink in the couch. A flattened wedge of pastel blue on the playroom table. There was a half-eaten milk chocolate egg, wrapper still partly intact, on the floor behind a chair leg. I noticed a smear of something dark on a couch, swabbed at it with a wet cloth, wondered which child had forgotten to wash her hands after playing outside. Then, I noticed the teeth marks in a chocolate bunny, then another. The smudge of brown on Cian…