There is fighting.  A lot of fighting.  Maybe that’s totally normal between siblings that are 3 and nearly 2.  But it’s hard to exaggerate the frustration I’ve felt over sibling conflict in recent months.  I can’t leave them alone together in a room without them hitting and pushing each other over a toy.

Trying to cook dinner in the late afternoons, while they’re both awake?  By the end, no two people in the house are not yelling and/or crying.  Unless I park them in front of the TV for the duration of the time I need to cook, which I don’t feel great about.

This morning, I was trying to pee, and before I could even finish emptying my bladder, they were fighting.  I saw Ben wind his leg up, and I stumbled out of the bathroom with my pants around my ankles, trying to get to him fast enough to prevent him from kicking Maddie.  I was too late.  Maddie fell over into their toy piano and started crying.  I pulled up my jeans and put Ben in time out.  I had the vague sense that I wanted to cry, but I think I was too angry and frustrated to do even that.  I came into the kitchen to heat up mac n cheese for lunch, while Ben shouted from his time out location, “I want my lovey!  I want my lovey! I want my lovey!”  I did not respond until the timer went off.  It was ugly.

Yesterday Nathan asked me whether I liked my job.  I thought about it.  “Yes, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I answered.

Some relevant notes:

I graduated Summa Cum Laude from an honors program in college.

I once hiked through the Peruvian jungle for 6 hours with only half a liter of water and a car battery on my back.

I’ve lived without running water or electricity for months at a time.

I earned a Masters degree.

I’ve pushed 2 watermelon-sized babies out of an opening the size of a small orange.

But those things?  They’ve got nothing on the daily grind of full-time parenting two toddler littles.

Why is it so hard?  My friend Carrie Contey says that yes, very young children are very needy, but it’s extra hard because in the past families belonged to communities, to tribes.  Parents weren’t doing the full-time-care-for-children gig alone.  There were more family and friends around to help than there are now for most young families.

That may be.  I certainly benefit from belonging to moms-and-babies communities.  I meet up with mama friends for playdates, for library storytimes, for time outside at a park.  Those days are often good ones.

For a while, I was a part of a childcare co-op with mama friends.  We left that co-op this Fall, when Ben began preschool (which is also cooperatively-run).  It was the right decision for us, but I’ll admit to missing many of the faces we saw there every week for a year and a half, and to missing kid-free mornings when I could run errands by myself, go to yoga class, read a book, or sit in a coffee shop and try to remember what it’s like to be an adult in the world outside home.

But really?  I think there have to be sane ways to parent my two toddlers at home, when it’s just me and them.  A way for us to enjoy the pleasures of each other’s company, in our own lovely home, without needing to drive anywhere or buy anything.

Our time together, like this, is so short.

I’m thinking on it, I’m working on it.  Another post soon.

It’s a giant mess.  Best to put on jammies afterwards.

This morning, friends came to play with Ben and Maddie while Nathan and I attended Carrie Contey’s workshop on fostering sibling relationships.  Carrie is a parenting coach here in ATX, and a pioneer of the Slow Family Living movement.  She doesn’t have any children of her own.  She wears the hottest, most outrageous shoes.  I think she might be kind of famous.  (I think she was interviewed on Good Morning America or something?)  Carrie is extremely gifted at what she does.  She is changing the world, one family at a time.

I’m still processing all of the goodies we got in our workshop this morning.  But the most significant-for-me ideas we discussed?  Are:

1.  Siblings fight.  There’s nothing I can do to prevent it.  It’s normal, and it’s an important way Ben and Maddie are learning to resolve conflict.  Let me repeat this for myself: I am not responsible for preventing sibling rivalry between them, nor am I responsible for resolving every little scuffle they have.

2.  Ben and Maddie are different little people, and they don’t need (or likely even want!) the same things.  Trying to make everything exactly equal all the time is (a) crazy-making for me; and (b) not even possible.

3.  Oldest children often really do need more attention to keep their emotional cups full.  It’s normal for them to want it, and it’s not going to harm anyone if they receive it, as long as youngers are loved and appreciated in the ways that feel best to them.  This was healing for me to hear as an oldest child myself.

And then Carrie suggested all sorts of playful, concrete ways to diffuse conflicts and meltdowns that I hope I remember at least some of the time in the moment.

Sigh.  It’s just such a relief, you know?  All we have to do is be ourselves.  Be present and honest.  Acknowledge *what is* with each child and appreciate it.  Things won’t be perfect all the time, but they’ll still be good.

We had a fun, smooth afternoon and evening with Ben and Maddie.

Did I mention that yogurt snack cleanup was truly gross?

Me, to Ben:  “Did you read books at co-op today?”

Ben:  “Yeah.”

M: “Which ones did you read?”

B:  “A Treasure.  What a Treasure!.  And Are You My Mother?, Mom.”

M:  “Did you like them?”

B:  “Yeah.”

M:  “I like those books, too.  Did you make a craft today?”

B:  “Yeah.”

M:  “What was it?”

B:  “What was it?”

M:  “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.  I’m asking you what you made.”

B:  “No, mom, I’m asking you.”

M:  “Did you use paper and scissors?”

B:  “No, mom, I used a glue stick (pronounced gwue stick), not paper and crayons.  I used gwue sticks.”  Said as if I’m the last person on the planet to know about gwue sticks.

M:  “Oh, ok.”

B:  “That’s enough questions, mom.”

Nuff said.

But you know, they were right.  My son, our firstborn, is the light of our lives.  And a light in the lives of many others, too.  He runs.  He jumps (with both feet off the ground now!).  He knows many of his letters and numbers already.  He gives hugs and kisses.  He says the word “eyeballs” out of the blue, and then bursts into the kind of unabashedly delicious laughter that for some reason we only indulge in when we’re 2.

Two years ago today I became someone’s mother.  My sweet Ben.  I’m so happy you chose me.

Grandma and Ben enjoyed a view of the canoe and the river bank,

Maddie napped,

Our friend Dave led Ben on a hunt for the wild turkeys that roam the park,

And our friend Rod, who, among other things is a canoeing instructor for the Red Cross, led Nathan and me on a short paddle down the American River, while Grandma played with the babies in the park.  I paddled through my first Class 1 rapids–huzzah!

Nathan came up with an amazing picnic menu of hummus, tortillas, and various veggies, which I was too busy eating to photograph.

Good food, good company, good paddling, good to be outside all day.  Yes.

She coughs;
not separate,
you wake.

and look into the mirror at

my mother’s face

Reading The Nose Book to Ben and Maddie after dinner tonight.

singing, cuddling, walking for hours

these children won’t nap

This makes the third day in a row that it’s taken more than an hour to convince Ben to take an afternoon nap.  He very nearly fell asleep in his booster seat at lunch today and face planted in his almond butter and jelly sandwich.  But after I got him out of the seat, he wouldn’t nap until I had sung several rounds of our usual songs, given him an extra cup of milk, and helped him take off his pants and socks.  (Here’s hoping the diaper’s still on when I get him out of his bed after nap.)

Madeleine rarely naps longer than 30 minutes at a stretch during the day, which may be directly related to having a loud, non-napping older brother.  (At least she sleeps reasonably well at night.)

Good thing they’re so cute, these two.