Snake Noodles and Turtle Socks

by Angela Tadlock
Being a mother of two - two toddlers that is - has taught me a couple of valuable lessons I’ll always take to heart. My three-year-old, Emily, constantly shows me what seemingly goes unnoticed. My two-year-old, Danny, teaches me everything I missed the first time around. Despite the stress accompanied with mothering two toddlers, Emily’s continual lesson in the English language has earned a smile on my face more than once, from "snake noodles" (spaghetti) to "He has issues" (In reference to her brother’s tantrums).
With every day I look for ways to compliment and praise my children. One way to go about this easily, I found, is to allow my three-year-old the gratifying pleasure of dressing herself. But that occasional sock that doesn’t go on quite right can be enough to start an array of frustration, the prelude to any tantrum. The sock becomes twisted. She pulls harder. The sock then catches on her toes and she screams. Regrettably, the turtleneck is much like a sock one attempts to fit over their head instead of their foot.
One day, while my daughter attempted to squeeze her head into the extra-long neck, she became quickly flustered when her head didn’t slip through as quickly as it usually does. Seeing frustration on the rise, I stepped in.
"Emily, slow down and think." I reminded her. "This is a turtleneck."
"A turtleneck?" She inquired calmly. I could see her little nose protruding slightly through the fabric. I find the quickest way to avoid a tantrum is to teach something new. As I pulled the sweater off her head I proceeded to help her dress, confirming that yes, it is a turtleneck and the neck is longer.
By then the sweater was on and I rolled the extra fabric down around her neck. I picked up her pants and she presented me with her newest inquiry.
"My turtleneck?" She asked again. "Are these my turtle pants?"
I permitted a chuckle as I pulled her pants on then went on to her socks.
"And are these my turtle socks?"
The rest of the day was committed to a repeated fashion show of turtlenecks, turtle pants, and turtle socks. I can’t wait to see what new perspectives Danny has in store.

Another Monday

by Angela Tadlock

"Momma! Momma! Danny is playing in the cat boxes again!"
I threw the covers against the wall as I leapt, in one breathless bound, from my bed to the door. My eyes adjusted to the sun light flooding my living room as my brain attempted to grasp the possibility that I just might be out of bed. I made it to my son's bedroom expecting the worse and discovered that it was much worse. I scanned the horror before me.
Handfuls of cat litter had been thrown everywhere. Cat litter covered his bed, the bookshelf, and his toys. His Geo Trak was buried under a mound of litter and beside the mound sat the three year old culprit complete with shovel in hand next to his dump truck. The sight was enough to snap my pre-coffee brain wide awake. The anger in my chest had swollen into my throat as I took in the vast mess before me. Only a couple words were able to break past the anger in my throat.

"YOU! BAD! BATH! NOW!"
I took hold of the boy and began to pull him out of the litter towards the bathroom. Emily followed behind us gleefully dancing as she began to tell Dan how gross he was. Danny had other things on his mind.
"Mommy, you angwy?"
I didn't bother answering him. While I started to strip him in the bathtub a new shriek cut through the air. My five week old newborn was now awake and was looking for mommy . . . That would be me.
I glare up at the clock as Emily shouted from my bedroom.
"Mommy! Elizabeth is crying!"
"I'm with Danny right now! I'll be there in a second!"
A moment later I heard Emily squeaking out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Elizabeth took that as cue to find another level of pitch so high that the neighbor's dog could hear her.

Boy stripped. Water on. Hands washed. Now on to the infant. While I fed the youngest, Emily walked by with the broom.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to clean up Danny's mess."
"No. Mommy has to do it 'cause it's dirty."
"But, Mom. I will clean it and then it won't be dirty."
She turned back toward the litter room.
"Emily! Out!"
"It's okay, Mom. I'm just going to clean it."
"I don't want to give you a bath too!" I gasp! BATH! I had left the water running. I gently, but swiftly placed Elizabeth on the couch and dashed for the bathroom. My son was now in a sea of water that was running out of the tub and onto the floor. I stepped into the pool and turned the water off. Then I pulled the plug.
"NOOOOOO! I wan' the plug!"
I decided not to reason with the toddler and, instead, I headed off to his bedroom to join Emily in cleaning the cat litter off the walls with my Danny screaming behind me.

An hour later I was able to call his room clean. I locked the cat boxes . . . again . . . and set off to pull Danny out of the empty tub. Emily had plopped herself in front of the TV for the past thirty minutes. I hate the TV on in the morning, but that morning I was willing to let it slide.
I entered the bathroom to find that Danny was no longer in the tub. I froze and the knot that clenched my stomach that morning had returned.

I went into the kitchen where I found the boy standing on a chair, naked and covered head to toe in granulated sugar. I screamed. Beyond anger a took a wrist in each of my hands and carried him back to the tub where I held him down and scrubbed him from toe to head to toe again. I pulled him from the tub and walked him to his room where I selected a pair of sweats, held him down, and stretched them over his head and legs while he screamed and kicked in protest. I walked him to the living room where I sat him before the TV in hopes to now mop up the sugar and the bath water.
Just another Monday and I haven't had my coffee yet.

The Spitter

by Angela Tadlock
It's the first day of preschool. Like all parents, I cried when I saw her ready. Armed with Miss Kitty (the white Ty-baby kitten that had been grayed with her love) Emily walked out the door. Thirty minutes later we stood in line with our camera. I couldn't believe three and a half years ago she had been placed in my arms only six pounds and six ounces. Here she was now at thirty pounds excited and nervous to be going to school.When I went to pick her up two and a half hours later I was not prepared to hear that she had spit at the teacher. My mouth fell open. I went into the room and waited a few minutes while the other children left with their parents.At last we were alone with the teacher."You spit!?" I began to shake I was so angry. Her teacher and I began to explain harshly that when mommy is gone teacher is mommy. Tears of anger formed in my eyes. I couldn't believe I was so angry that tears had formed.After an apology we went to the car where I really laid down the punishment."Give me Miss Kitty!" Now it was she who was crying."NOOOOOOOOOOO!""You want her back!? Tomorrow at school you had better be good or you won't see her until next Thursday!"That day she screamed and pleaded for Miss Kitty. I had decided that she would get her back for school (I couldn't send her to school on the second day without some comfort), but at home, Miss Kitty was banned. It was her first night without Miss Kitty. It was harder for me than it was for her.Friday morning we readied Emily for school, I returned the ragged cat just for school and with a warning."If you are naughty at school, I will take her when you get home and you won't get her back until you are good at school."It worked! Later that morning her teacher reported excellent behavior. She received Miss Kitty and my Little Princess was a princess once more.Next Thursday she bit another student at school. Here we go again.