I don’t know about you guys but I’m going to hold Punxsutawney Phil accountable as hell for his early spring prediction. I’ve had juuuuuust about all I can handle from this winter. It’s been a doozy for sure. Between illnesses and random doctor visits and dental calamities, I think our family alone is keeping the entire healthcare industry afloat. I’m serious. At this point, I think we’re owed some branded can koozies or keychains or something. Or you know, a clean bill of health or whatever.
Okay, enough complaining. Complaining is for the weak. Which I am not. I mean, just the other day I carried 6 bags of groceries + a toddler from my car to my house without dropping a single thing/person! That’s skillz, my friends.
OMG this gives me an idea… you know what would be so amazing? Parenting Olympics! Right?! Off the top of my head, I’m thinking… a barefoot Lego obstacle course… a child weightlifting challenge… a timed event to see who can find their missing car keys the fastest… and an automatic win to the parent who has the most clever distract-your-kid-while-you-try-to-shower technique.
So, basically these Olympics are just a typical day at my house.
You know what, guys? Crosby is almost 1 1/2 years old. Which is so crazy. Mostly because I thought he was 1 1/2 a while ago, until Casey corrected me. Whoops. I swear, when Cros was a baby I knew exactly how many months/weeks/days old he was. Nowadays I’m like, eh he’s between 1 and 2ish? If people guess how old he is, I usually just say yes no matter what and then congratulate them on their age-guessing abilities. It makes them feel good and I get to avoid having to do math in my head = a win-win.
Anyways, (almost) 1 1/2 is the best! Crosby is so much freaking fun, I tell him everyday that he’s my best friend and I DON’T EVEN CARE if you think that sounds ridiculous. He’s seriously the coolest. But with great coolness, comes even greater holy-shit-stop-freaking-the-fuck-out-ness. And what I mean by that, is that homeboy has straight up mastered the art of the temper tantrum. I know, I know, it’s only going to get crazier from here… so for now I’m just testing the waters of how to respond and deal when he’s in the throes of a meltdown. So far, for us, ignoring it makes it worse, every time. Pacifier works, most of the time. Talking him through it helps, every once in a while. Distractions work, sometimes. And wine helps, every time. Ba-dum-tshh!
One of Casey’s go-to tantrum techniques is to start singing. I’ve mentioned this on the blog before but Casey is a chronic song maker-upper. You never know when he’s going to just bust out with a ridiculous tune that consists of mostly made up words. It’s pretty wonderful… for the most part. I mean, in theory, singing is definitely a clever distraction technique. But realistically, it rarely stops Crosby from crying. And what’s worse, Casey gets so caught up in his song that he doesn’t even notice. So what actually happens is that I end up with a screaming toddler on the floor, a husband mindlessly belting out a song about hooshkadoos, then the dogs throw in a few barks for good measure, and my brain explodes all over the rug.
Welp. That seems like as good a place to stop as any.
Have a happy Shmebruary Humpday, ya muggles.