He IS a Boy Afterall

Irish1 was playing out in the yard this morning. I went out to check on him and I found him crouched down, looking intently at something on the driveway.

“Onsie,” I call (‘cus that’s his nickname of course.) “Whatcha got there?”

He looks over in my direction. “Sbleh bleh,” he says standing. (Most of what Irish1 says sounds like Sbleh bleh, it’s a pretty versitle term, kind of like smurf or dude.)

“Sbleh bleh?” I ask as I walk over to him.

“Sbleh bleh,” he confirms crouching back down and pointing.

I peer intently, my gaze following his finger.

“It’s a spider,” I say.

Now I am female but I find that I don’t get all that worked up over spiders. In fact I had a very live and let live attitude even toward spiders in my house until I found a black widow. A big black widow. On my mop handle. About half an hour after I finished mopping (it had, very obviously been on the mop since I pulled it out to mop that morning). When I was six months pregnant. Since then I kill the arachnids in my home. But I still don’t get too worked up about seeing spiders.

And this is the smallest spider ever. It is the size of an ant. Not one of those big ol’ army ants, one of those teeny tiny itty bitty ants that you almost can’t see. How this thing ever attracted the attention of my two-year-old son I have no idea.

“Sblehbleh,” Irish1 repeats. (Obviously he was saying sblehbleh rather than sbleh bleh, silly mom.)

“Did you find a spider?” I ask.

“Yeah.” (Probably the only word he says that someone who doesn’t live with him would understand.)

“Is he a little baby spider?” Of course I’m talking in high pitched baby talk voice.

“Yeah.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like that little spider?” I ask innocetly.

“Yeah,” he says. And then stands to his full hight of nearly two and a half feet. He lifts his cute little size 6 sneaker. And stomps on the spider.

*sigh*

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In other news Irish2 slept from 11:30 until 9:00 last night!

If only Irish1 hadn’t gotten up 3 times…

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

My kids don’t sleep.

It’s only in the last two years or so that we got the Princess and the Pea out of our bed (I was pregnant with Irish1 and we started locking the basement door because just locking the bedroom door wasn’t effective) but now we’ve got two more kids who think that my bed is their bed.

We’ve tried the whole “you can sleep in my room but not in my bed” thing but I ask you what do you do when you finally pull yourself to full consciousness and realize that you’ve been horribly uncomfortable and sleeping very badly for the last two hours because your child ignored you and climbed into your bed anyway and they now have a foot in your armpit and a finger in your eye?

I’ve already been up twice to feed the baby, three times to put the baby’s pacifier back in his mouth and once to make the initial “sleep on the floor” pronouncement. Which was met with weeping and wailing and not a little bit of gnashing of teeth. I could do it again but there’s sure to be a repeat performance, probably with the same underwhelming results and it’s 4:00 in the morning and all I want to do is sleep.

We’ve tried taking them (well, him really, Irish2 still sleeps in our room) back up to his own bed but first of all, we sleep in the basement, he sleeps upstairs. Stairs in the middle of the night? Seriously? I’m completely blind without my glasses (as in can’t read the bedside clock form the bed, blind) and I can’t find them in the night (because I’m blind) and I’m not really known for my coordination even when I can see, quite the opposite really. And he won’t stay unless we do and his floor is really hard. And even if we do stay until he falls asleep and quietly sneak out (a feat in and of itself given the volume of trains, cars and dinosaurs on the floor of the bedroom he shares with the Pea) and get back in bed, he’s sure to be down again in fifteen minutes or so. Just enough time for me to start to fall back to sleep…

So sometimes I just let it go. In the middle of the night I so desperate for them to sleep that I ‘ll let them do whatever works. Play with knives? Sure If that’ll do it. Guns? Will you sleep? Run with scissors? If you promise to fall down from exhaustion. I’ll even let them sleep with me.

Oh well, I suppose it could be worse. This woman‘s kids puke all the time, and this one can’t potty-train to save her life. (love you, Mel) But I’m getting really tired

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