“No no no Daddy.  It goes like this:
Once upon a time, I had water in my hand.  And it farted!”

Ah, children.

Ryan: “Dad…!  What the heck are you doing?”

A week ago, Michelle went in to check on Alyssa, because Alyssa usually kicks off her covers before finally going to sleep, and then she’s ice cold in the mornings.  Alyssa is also not a very sound sleeper, so she half-woke up when Michelle covered her up.

Alyssa: “Oh… hi, mom.  I was dreaming.  The sprinkles are getting checkmarks.”  (very serious face) “They are getting checkmarks for the rest of their lives.”

Yesterday, Santa Claus called the house to talk to Ryan and Alyssa.  They talked for a while about what Ryan wanted for Christmas, and then:

Santa: “Ho, ho, ho… that’s wonderful.  Would you like to talk to Rudolph now?”

Ryan: (not missing a beat) “I don’t think reindeer can talk, Santa.  They’re not people.”

I’m feeling very blessed these days.

Alyssa was watching me paint my nails, and of course, we had a girly moment and painted her toenails too.  When we were done, I put the nail polish on the counter next to the sink in our master bathroom. 

Today I was downstairs working while the kids were taking a nap.   Stephen was outside washing the dogs, and asked me to get a towel for him.  On my way back with the towel I peeked in on Ryan, who was sound asleep.  I peeked in on Alyssa as well, and found an empty bed!

I started hunting through the house, and finally found her in our master bathroom.  She’d opened the nail polish, and had painted her toes purple.  Then she’d emptied the entire contents of the polish in a gigantic circle on our carpet. 

I stared at her in horror for a minute, and then just turned and walked out.  Emergencies really aren’t my thing, as my brain usually melts into oatmeal and I panic.  True to form, I went straight outside to Stephen and said, “Oh my God, you’ve got to see our bathroom.”  I followed him upstairs.

When I got up there, I found Alyssa standing in our bathtub, with Stephen trying to find something in the closet to work on the giant purple stain.  I waved him off.  We are now doomed with a stain that can’t be fixed.

I’d been toying with the idea of putting ceramic tile in our bathroom one of these days (far down the road).  Looks like today is the day.

Last night, everything seemed to be in order until I patted Alyssa on her back. I missed and wound up patting a large toy that had been in Justin’s room when the three of them went to sleep. Justin’s door was open; Alyssa had gotten out of bed, snuck into Justin’s room, picked a toy that she liked, and smuggled it back into her room.

Cowboys sleep with their boots on so that they’re ready for anything. Alyssa sleeps with toys so that she’s ready to play when she wakes up.

Two laid-back boys came first – happy, genial boys who inherited their fathers’ personalities and skipped right over the worst of mine.  Although parenting was by no stretch of the imagination a breeze for me, it didn’t seem overly taxing.  Neither Justin nor Ryan went through the Terrible Twos, and I didn’t even stop to think about it.

Little did I know what God had in store for me.

Alyssa has a shirt with the saying “I’m Grandma’s Payback.”  It’s perfect.  She is Cranky McFussypants on the best of days.  At two she’s a force of nature, never content with the status quo.  She’s as stubborn as two pack mules, and bossy as they come.  And Stephen says she’s just like me…

This little girl will hold my gaze steadily as she climbs to standing on her booster chair, smiling blithely all the while.  Her standard retort when I ask her to do something is, “No I not!“  The Terrible Twos came upon us at 18 months, and I fear they will be a long time passing.

She’s all Princess.  For example, we have Princess Kisses.  I will ask her for a kiss on the cheek, and sometimes she’ll just offer me her own cheek in response.  We end up pressing our cheeks together – two princesses.

Princess Alyssa

When Ryan first got his “big boy” bed, he would regularly sneak out at night and sit at the top of the stairs, looking down at us.  Alyssa’s foray into a “big girl” bed was nothing short of dramatic.  Instead of sneaking out quietly, she would barrel into Ryan’s room at all hours of the night, flipping on his lights and chanting, “Wake up Ryan!  Wake up Ryan!  Wake up Ryan!”   Ryan would wait for us to come snatch her up and put her back to bed with a stern warning.

This is not to say we don’t discipline her.  She’s a regular visitor of the Time-Out Corner, spending her two minutes there either wailing dramatically or in resigned silence, staring at her feet and waiting for her release.  One day when she was being incorrigible I spanked her.  Tears welled up in her eyes and she said, “Mommy, don’t hit.”  I immediately felt contrite, frustrated, amazed and exasperated.

I am mothering myself.

One Sunday in December, I was sitting downstairs while the kids were taking a nap when I heard noises from their bedrooms.  I crept up to see who was out of bed (again).  Instead of finding a kid (or two) running around, I was amazed to hear singing coming from Alyssa’s room.  She was singing, “Happy Birthday to … Santa.  Happy Birthday to … Daddy.  Happy Birthday to … Wyan.”  She would pause before she named each person, as if deciding who’s turn it was to receive her good wishes.  When Stephen and I snuck in her room to greet her, she was all smiles – no grumpy face in sight.  My daughter was happy.  It’s moments like these that make everything else worthwhile.

But as my sister mused recently as we stood in her kitchen watching the kids play, “Mmm… You’re going to have your hands full with that one.”