Tag Archives: libbie

Slightly Frightening

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jessieandlibbie

 

When I posted this on Facebook, it appeared that I’m not the only person scared at how much Libbie and I look alike. It’s sort of crazy! Granted she’s stayed blonde much longer than I did … but otherwise, she’s my carbon copy.

Her vivid imagination is also reminiscent of my own as a child (and, well, I still have it!). I’m never quite sure if she’s telling me something that actually happened or something she’s made up in her head. Her pretend play is vivid and lovely.

(Also, I was bemused when yesterday in the span of five minutes she took her baby to the “nursing room” and pretended to breastfeed her, then put the baby in a “sling.” Not to mention the soothing words she said to the baby doll are awful similar to the things her momma says to Baby Joshua. Hello, are our kids watching us? YES.)

It’s unnerving to realize how similar Libbie is to me – in looks, personality, creativity. I will say she’s an extrovert, whereas I think I’ve always been introverted (or maybe that was just a product of moving to Virginia and being overweight? I don’t know.). It makes me even more determined to help her avoid the issues I’ve dealt with my whole life.

Do you have any “carbon copy” kiddos? 

Blood: 2, Jessie: 0

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“Life's most urgent question is: What are you doing for others?”
source: vanhookc

We had a pretty lovely day: a playdate with some friends up in the Great Metropolis of Soddy-Daisy; lunch at Burger King (yeah, yeah); naps for all three kids after Joshua nursed and cuddled while I watched Call the Midwife on Netflix; I actually swept and mopped our kitchen floor and the kids’ bathroom [MIRACLE]; and Libbie won in two exciting rounds of Go Fish.

So all is fine and dandy in the house of Vanderbilt. Until David starts asking to use the Thomas the Train potty and Libbie starts trying to climb the blinds in the living room. Somewhere in this chaos, Mr. V griped at Libbie about her antics and she went off to her room.

Where apparently she tried to climb the blinds in there instead.

And then came running out wailing with a deep gash in her left leg. I nearly passed out when I saw how deep it was and went into full-out Mommy Panic. AND HOW THE HECK DID SHE GET A GASH THAT DEEP IN HER LEG?

Oh, let me tell you. We’ve had some framed pictures and art in her room sitting against the heating unit while we decided where to hang them. It appears sometime when she and David were doing battle with the curtains (as shown by the crooked curtain rod – argh) one of the pictures fell over and the glass broke in the frame. Not that they bothered to tell us this nor had we noticed it. (I’m assuming it was probably today. Because wouldn’t I notice large shards of glass sticking out of a picture? WOULD I??)

So whilst trying to climb on her heating unit to get to the blinds on her own window – after being reprimanded about doing the same thing in the living room – Libbie sliced her leg on a shard of glass sticking out from the picture.

We’ll call it a draw between whose fault this one was, ours or the kid’s.

So three-and-a-half hours later, we finally got back from urgent care. The nurse only gave me a small eyebrow raise when I told her how the injury happened.  Libbie got three stitches and a good tale for her teachers at Mother’s Day Out tomorrow.

I just hope she doesn’t mention the vagrant glass in her bedroom. Or how Mommy just runs around in panicked circles while Daddy actually takes care of it when there’s an emergency. (Pretty much the same thing happened when David tried to slice off his pinky finger in October.)

So, yeah. How was your day? Visit any urgent cares lately?

Libbie, Four.

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She’s 4, and she’s big but she’s little.

She thinks she’s plenty big to brush her own teeth (including putting on globs of oh-my-so-expensive-flouride-free toothpaste), get her own snacks (spaghetti noodles on the floor), cut and paste and paint to her heart’s content. (Mess. Oh. The mess.)

She’s a little schizophrenic lately. Some mornings she wakes up cheery, cleans up her bedroom before pouncing in our bed with a huge smile and curly bedhead. She’s happy to cuddle and read.

Other days – today, for instance – cuddles and hugs dissolve into screaming fits, temper tantrums, an absolute lack of obedience, provocation of the little man, and Mommy and Daddy nearing insanity.

Oh, Madame Strong-Willed Child. I don’t think your mommy was quite prepared for this journey. I am loving the sweet days we see now and then. I love reading and kisses and honestly, the painting and play-dough messes don’t bother me that much.

But the mean-spirited taunts at David … the absolute refusal to obey … the willfulness that makes you play through rest time each and every day even though you’re tired and we both know it … they make Mommy stop and wonder and cry and pray.

Will it always be a battle? Will we ever truly figure it out? Or is this is a parade to preteendom, never to end? Because in my impregnated, exhausted, mother-to-almost-3 state, I don’t have that much fight left in me.

Day 20: 3-Year-Old Theology

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In the car the other day, Libbie pointed out a cross on a church building. This is nothing new; she likes to bring attention to the cross on our church every time we pull in the parking lot.

But this time, in her little almost-4 voice, she asked me from the backseat:

“If kids obey their mommies, does Jesus still have to die on the cross?”

Oh, child. I didn’t know until recently that I needed a degree in theology to be a Christian parent. (Have I told you about her obsession with where David was before he was born?)

I tried to explain that yes, Jesus needed to die for every sin, and it has already happened, a long time ago.

“Like when I was a baby?”

Much, much longer. Before Mommy was even born. Because you know that is a LONG time.

Then she went through a list of what constitutes sin in her mind. Hitting a brother? Bonking him into something? Yelling at mommy? Did Jesus die for these things?

Yes, baby.

Some days I feel like I am guilting her into obedience, pulling the “Jesus doesn’t like that” card for my convenience. It’s difficult to parent, and even more so to teach about sin and love and grace without teaching legalism.

But Jesus died for my sin, too. For the times I am so impatient I storm to my room like I am the 3-year-old. For the times I cry because I am so relieved to have a few hours to myself when they are in school. For the times I snap and say all the wrong things and dishonor my husband and don’t show anyone even a little bit of God in me.

From the foundation of the world, Jesus planned to die. It was always God’s plan (Rev. 13:8). Sin was not a surprise.

So, for my sweet baby girl and anyone else who needs to know: no matter what, Jesus still had to die. But He did it for you. He wants you that badly. He loves you that much. His grace is that abundant. Nothing you could ever do would change His mind.

clicking on the button will show you all the 31 Days of The Book posts

Don’t Fence Me In, Yo.

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I SO needed this minute after a VERY long day with two little ones fighting all. day. long.

Me (thinking of Pinterest sign with “first day of school”): Libbie, what do you want to be when you grow up?

Libbie: For Christmas I want to ask Santa for things to go on my eyes so I can go under water.

Notes: She means goggles. And we have never had gifts from Santa or really talked to her about Santa at all.

Me: Do you want to have a job when you get big?

Libbie: Oh yes. I want to help people sleep.

Other things she said she wanted to be/do:

  • Octopus
  • Peach
  • Armor
  • Blanket
  • Color
  • Penguin

Then she pretty much gave me the toddler equivalent of “don’t fence me in, yo.”

I needed the laugh today. Really bad.

The Lazy Mom’s Dinosaur Week for Little Ones

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bathtubdinos

Inspired by JessieLeigh’s awesome summer “camps” with her kids last year, I decided this year I’d better make some plans for Libbie. That child is go-go-go; she does not like staying still and she loves every type of craft and activity. Right now she’s craving an extra helping of one-on-one time with Mommy or Daddy, too.

So for the last few months I’ve been Pinning ideas for activities we could do together. Some are well within my abilities, while others (dinosaur terrarium?) look cool but are just too difficult for me to get together.

Here’s what we actually did last week and some of our favorite dinosaur books. You can see more ideas (some more ambitious) on my Dinosaur Camp Pinterest board.

We started off by breaking the dinosaurs out of their dollar-store packaging and giving them a bath outside. Armed with a pitcher of water, a bottle of baby shampoo, and some washcloths, Libbie happily splashed for half an hour.

IMG_1323

We made these No Time for Flashcards-inspired cardboard stegosauri out of cereal boxes. The kids colored theirs and Libbie glued on the eyes. (We both helped David color a little, as shown above.) Then Lib (3.5) painted all the clothespins for the spikes and I cut out the dinosaurs.

Starting one morning, I froze dinosaurs in layers in a bowl of water (froze some dinos in water, then added more water and dinos so they wouldn’t all float to the top). Libbie then splashed in the bath in her swimming suit and “excavated” the dinosaurs from their apparent ice age habitat. She had a blast and then gave them all a bath again in “a million dillion bubbles.” (Yeah, there’s an elephant in there, too. Maybe a wooly mammoth?)

One day post-nap, I set Libbie up with several sheets from this dinosaur tot pack, crayons, markers, a pen, and a snack of pretzels and dinosaur gummies (a RARE treat in our house). She thought the one-on-one Mommy time was divine, and loved tracing the paths for the dinos to get to the volcanos.

We checked out a BUNCH of dinosaur books from the library; here are our favorites.

There are a few more activities I want to do (dinosaur sock puppets, painting, and maybe a trip to the children’s museum to dig for bones) and then we’re on to Ocean Camp!

Do you plan your summer or just go with the flow?

ICanTeachMyChild.com

When Your Best Parenting Isn’t Enough … But It’s OK.

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It’s the incredulous tone of her voice that catches me, makes me stop talking and start listening.

I’ve just admitted to my mentor, E, that the more I read about and see other 3-year-olds, the more I am convinced Libbie’s idiosyncrasies and bad behaviors are just her being 3, not my own fault.

E kind of stared at me and asked, “You didn’t really think that, did you?”

Well, yes. I often wonder if I could have done something different, something better, something more that would have made Libbie an angelic child, obedient to a fault. I feel like I’ve failed her as a mom each time she ignores an instruction or hits in response to something she doesn’t like.

Does everyone not feel like that? E seems to think the answer is no. And she is wise.

It’s then that I relate the story of The Mom Who Saved My Sanity Sunday.

Welcome to Moe's!
source: mhaithaca

Sunday after church we went to Moe’s for lunch. If you don’t know, Moe’s is a restaurant known for burritos, where you wait in line to get to the counter and then instruct those behind the glass on how to fashion your burrito or nachos or tacos.

We probably waited 20 minutes before we even approached the counter. Behind us in line was a mother with her two kids, also an older girl and younger boy. They were around 8 and 5. While we waited, the kids flirted with eye contact and giggles. We made a little chit-chat.

By the time we reached the counter, David was done. He did not want to be held or put down. He wanted to wail. Over his cries, I gave my order. Surely he’d be happy once he was sitting down and eating.

But he wasn’t. Sunday, we were THOSE people. The ones with a baby screaming bloody murder in a restaurant, who are trying every song and dance they can think of to calm the child down to no avail. David was simply inconsolable. After five or ten minutes of dirty looks and intolerable wailing, we packed up our food and dashed to the car.

But as I was leaving, obviously ruffled and near tears, the woman who had been behind us in line looked me straight in the eye and told me, “You are doing a great job. It gets easier.”

Such simple words, but they meant the world to me. It was a pertinent reminder that my kid’s behavior does not always reflect my parenting–sometimes they are simply acting their age, or are overtired, or just in a funk.

Thank you, Lady in Moe’s. You sincerely touched my heart and made my day better. Instead of fretting over how many people’s lunches we had ruined, I took a deep breath, loaded kids in the car, and thought, “I am doing a great job. It gets easier.”

Curiouser, She Gets.

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‘Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English). – Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Life with a three-and-a-half-year-old is nothing if not completely unpredictable.

My friend Leslie told me recently that preschool girls have not developed whatever brain function tells them what is a big deal and what is not. Thus, everything is a TRAUMA OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. I don’t know if it’s technically true, but it sure seems that way, doesn’t it?

One minute, we’re having a meltdown about whether or not she can physically pick up six books and put them away. Five minutes later, she’s twirling in a princess outfit, sing-shouting, “See me dancing! Like a butterfly!”

I’m not sure exactly what I expected age 3 to be like, but here is what I didn’t expect: to hear “Mommy!” from the hallway yesterday while I was reading, just to look and see her naked except for socks, spreading her butt cheeks and asking me if her bottom was red.

Nope. Didn’t see that one coming.

Here is Libbie, at 3.5.

  • She goes through a new obsession every few days. Two weeks ago, Aladdin was her favorite movie in the universe. Last week, The Little Mermaid. Two days ago, I brought out My Dream Bed by Lauren Child, thinking she was finally old enough to play with all the fun pop-ups and tabs and putting the girl on a ribbon into her different beds. She’s asked to read it approximately 3,659 times since then and played with it incessantly.
  • Other favorite books: Yoko by Rosemary Wells, Princess Bedtime Stories, The Jesus Storybook Bible, anything involving Curious George, princesses, or Amelia Bedelia.
  • She loves to dance and put on dance shows. Especially to Bob and Larry Sing the 80s. (How many times can a woman listen to “Gourds Just Want to Have Fun” without her head exploding?)
  • She is going through a jealousy phase. Not just with David (although hello YES with him), but with anyone. If someone compliments her friend Amelia on her dress, Libbie will say, “Look at my shirt!” Anytime I ask David if he wants something, she loudly declares that she wants that exact same thing.
  • I love how she makes up words – mostly turning words she knows into verbs. She says “doos” instead of “duhs” (does) … and I don’t want to correct her because it’s cute. Yesterday she said the firemen have a “stander” on their truck they use to get to animals in trees. She also still calls Belle “Jingle,” and when/if she stops that, I will cry.

She climbs all over us, tries to lift David by his neck, incessantly asks for snacks and juice, picks out outfits that horrify me a little, and drives me insane … but she cracks me up, hugs without abandon, loves everyone, and is turning into a great little person.

We love you, Libbie-Loo!

Libbie, Three-and-a-Half.

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Yesterday I was fairly certain I’d rather be the animal-feces cleaner at the zoo than have to keep parenting.

Every word out of Libbie’s mouth was meant to provoke me, from the moment she got up until at least after David went to bed.

So many weeks of pushing limits. So much discipline doled out: time-outs, toys and privileges taken away, even spankings. And yet she keeps pushing, shoving, her momma teetering over the edge of a complete breakdown.

It’s not the big things that are the worst (although slapping her daddy this weekend was brutal; and had it been me she’d hit, I might have gone ballistic). It’s each tiny defiance piling up, stack after stack on top of my bruised-momma-heart. It’s that she flat-out ignores what I say. It’s how she twists her brother’s hand until it hurts and then doesn’t understand why it gets her in trouble. It’s licking me on the face while I am trying to talk to her seriously.

I am worn thin and ready to try every technique I can think of to help: cutting out food coloring. Trying to create a more calming environment at home. Playing outside as much as possible. No more TV. More one-on-one time. {I do try to do all of these things, but maybe not enough.}

What I can’t give her is what she wants: my undivided attention 33 hours a day.

I fear I’ve let something go too far, but I don’t know what it is. I don’t want to spend more nights crying on the couch, feeling that I’ve failed her somehow. I want to not feel hypocritical for writing a devotional when it feels like my parenting and sometimes my sanity are hanging on by a thin thread.

I kind of want to scream. So instead I write, to the general public, my online shout of frustration.

{Why yes, it IS a good thing she’s cute. And hilarious. And loves books. It’s certainly not that we don’t have good moments … they just don’t seem to outnumber the bad right now.}

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