Back to Isabel

So where was I? Oh yeah...Shane was going to Thunderbird and Isabel had just started slamming her head onto the floor.

Thunderbird is an incredible place. People from all over the world go to school there, and the really cool part is that they bring their families with them. We had just moved to Phoenix and I didn't know anyone so I focused on spending time with Thunderbird families.

I had the opportunity to befriend women from Mexico, Brazil, Taiwan, Korea, India, China, Russia, Turkey, Greece, and Germany. The European women were beautiful. I mean gorgeous! They have a whole different level of skinny and sexy and perfect then we do here. And they nearly all had perfect breasts. It made me wonder if boob jobs were covered under their socialized medicine over there. Because, if they are, then Shane may get his dream realized after all (huh hum...the one about living over seas some day!). I lost 30 pounds of old pregnancy weight hanging with these girls.

These women put together a play-date sort of club for all the kids (they called it ThunderKids) and I thought it would be a fabulous opportunity for my kids to hear different languages and play. Alden had started pre-school so I figured it would be okay to take Isabel and Cale on a play date there. It did present some difficulties because I was nursing. Even though I could nurse openly around these women, I still worried that Isabel would horrify people with her head banging (which she did every time I nursed Cale).

When we got there, all the kids were making art projects. I put Cale down with the other babies and tried desperately to engage Isabel in making a project. She insisted, instead, on running around the room, getting in people's faces, and ripping other children's projects out of their hands and tearing them up before we could stop her. The little darling. When confronted she...you guessed it...started slamming her head onto the concrete floor that had the world's thinnest layer of carpeting on it. Right then, Cale started to cry because he needed to be nursed. So much for hearing other languages. We had to go home so I could feed Cale and hope that Isabel didn't knock herself out in the process.

I tried a few times to go to Thunderkids with Isabel and Cale. I tried making sure she wasn't tired, making sure she'd eaten at just the right time, and making sure we hadn't gone to the grocery store or anywhere else first (anything done in public wore her out fast) before we went. I was lonely in Phoenix and wanted desperately to make friends with other mothers from all over the world. I mean, who in the hell gets an opportunity like that? In the end, we stopped going to Thunderkids. I simply couldn't manage Cale and keep Isabel safe at the same time.

We ended up avoiding public places altogether with Isabel. If I took her to the grocery store I would run to grab everything we needed because I knew it was coming. Some well-meaning person would inevitably look at her and say, "Hi sweetie," and give her a little wave. In response, she would scream at the top of her lungs and start slamming her head into the bar on the front of the grocery cart.

I tried going to other clubs a few times. I did manage to do cooking club fairly successfully as long as it was at my house. The other women accommodated. They would agree to coming to my house for their cooking sessions and did so quite a few times. Isabel would slam her head, they would look at her horrified, and I would learn how to cook new things.

There were so very many things we couldn't do. They would have these big International Nights at the school. One month it would be China and they'd all dress in traditional Chinese attire, make Chinese food, and dance with the big wiggly dragon. They did a different country every month. We took the kids to one and remembered why we don't do that. I missed all the rest of them and I started to resent Isabel.

Baby Cale

Baby Cale

Sometimes I get mad at my baby. Not a fast, lose my temper kind of mad. It's more of a quiet and deep-seated "it wasn't supposed to be this way" kind of mad. Why? Well, mainly because HE'S NOT A BABY. He's three and a half. THREE AND A HALF. But he acts like a baby. Actually, that's not even really a good description because one can communicate effectively with a baby.

I just got done scrubbing fruit smoothie of of my walls, molding, table, chairs, and kitchen blinds because he threw an entire glass of it into the wall which promptly exploded onto everything within smoothie spray reach.

The words, "He's functioning at the level of an 18 month old," rang in my head as I scrubbed. This is somewhat acceptable behavior for an eighteen month. The difference is that a fairly loud, "NO," will usually produce enough bad energy that a normal child gets the idea. It doesn't usually stop the behavior right away but it does eventually. I've been telling Cale, "NO," (and using a variety of other disciplinary techniques) to throwing food (and other things) for two and half years now.

When I got done scrubbing, I heard the water running upstairs. Someone left the bathroom door open again so I ran double step up the stairs to stop him because he doesn't feel it when the water is hot. I've found him, before, sitting in a sink of water that was uncomfortably hot for my hands. I've got locks on the outsides of all the bathroom doors now but sometimes my other two kids go potty and forget to lock the door back up. I pulled him out of the sink, left his wet clothes on him (because maybe one day he'll get the freakin' picture), and then went back downstairs to sweep the floor (he had dug the dirt out of a plant earlier and it was all over the living room).

Mid sweeping I found him on the table again digging dirt out of the same plant (I had just swept there). I put the plant up in my room and locked the door and came back downstairs to find him up on the counter. He likes to climb onto the counter and throw glasses (and anything else that might shatter and make interesting sounds) onto the floor. His diaper was poopy so I took him upstairs to change him.

He'd destroyed his room at nap time. The changing pad was on the floor buried in stuff. He'd pulled open all his drawers and his toy box, spread his stuff out all over the room, and pulled his closet doors off their sliders again. I dug through the stuff (wrestling with him so he didn't escape me) and found his changing pad. I put it back on the dresser, put him on it (still wrestling), and pulled open the drawer (one handed, the other hand hanging on to him) to quickly get out wipes and a diaper. There was nothing in the drawer and I burst into tears.

Eighteen months is my least favorite age in a child. It's because, by this age, they're physically fairly sophisticated. Yet, mentally, they're still babies. They don't quite have a sense of safety awareness and they need almost constant supervision at all times.

By two and a half, they're usually well on their way out of this stage and verbal communication is in full swing. Even if they don't talk well yet, they can still understand you almost perfectly. Well, Cale is as physically advanced as that of a three year (he can open doors, climb, and really destroy things). Mentally, though, it isn't really even fair to compare him to an eighteen month old because you can communicate with an eighteen month old.

Cale doesn't understand differences in emotion. He can feel the intensity of an emotion, but doesn't understand the difference between angry and really playfully happy. Even really yelling, "NO!" and slapping his hands is consistently met with laughing. And it isn't a defiant laughing. He really, genuinely, believes that I'm playing with him. He looks at me with his sweet smile and bear hugs me. He's very sweet and very snugly but he NEVER stops moving. He also gets frustrated and rips kitchen cupboard doors off their hinges.

Sometimes I say to God, "Thank you for giving me such a sweet baby." It's really an honor that God thinks enough of me to think I can handle kids like this. Other times (like right now), I say, "I've had babies for six and a half years straight. I didn't sign up to have a toddler for the rest of my life."