Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Little Brother’

How is it that sometimes they can seem so big and so little all at once?

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

We’re all happily home from a wonderful stretch of days visiting my parents in Vermont.   Beautiful weather, (mostly) happy kids, many fabulous outdoor activities, drinks with great friends and delicious meals with family.

Plus, my parents scored some cheap child labor in tending their fields.

Kidding.

But, seriously, how cute are they in those giant tractors?

Really, though, it was a great trip.  A perfect trip.

Well, almost perfect.

Except for a minor blip when I took the boys to a local playground and while I was running a 5K, doing a cart-wheel, rescuing my kids from a rabid dog, (oh, ok…) walking slowly along a wooden walkway, I went down like a ton of bricks.  Just fell.  For who knows what incredibly athletic reason.  (I may or may not have been reading something on my iPhone.  You can’t prove it.)  But anyway, down I went — arms splayed, legs askew, ankle rolled.  Ass over teakettle in my flip-flops.  Suddenly, on the grass looking up at a very worried Big Brother.

Mommy!  Are you ok?

Clearly, I am very graceful.   Swan-like, in fact.

Here, Mommy.   I picked up your phone.  It looks ok.

Mommy of the Year.   Yup, that’s me.   Go ahead and send my trophy to the Manchester Recreation Area c/o Grassy Area behind the tire swings.

So, anyway.   Here’s a shot of the right ankle Friday afternoon back at my parents house.  You know, shortly after I got up close and personal with the playground grass.

You like the pedicure?  You do.  Thanks.

And, here’s the stunning beauty that is my ankle (or lack thereof) today.  Sunday afternoon back at home.

Awesome.

It’s fine, of course.  I’m walking around on it without much trouble and, even though it’s hideous looking, it actually feels better than it did yesterday.

But, really.   Gross.

Yup, just another “sports injury” to add to my collection.

Note to self:  really must slow down.   Ha.

Read Full Post »

Back in the Dark Ages of my youth, I would eagerly anticipate the arrival of the Sears Roebuck catalogue.  Catalogues, in general, weren’t nearly as pervasive as they are today and Sears was the Grand-Daddy of them all.  That baby was huge.  And, with its giant toy and youth chapters, I spent countless hours lying on my belly on the floor of our living room flipping through it page by page by page.

(Yeah, yeah.  Bring it.  Lonely only child?  Perhaps.)

ANYWAY.

I discovered yesterday that there’s a new “Sears Roebuck Catalogue” in town.  For modern-day children.  It’s called the Yankee Candle catalogue and it rocks.  Nearly every page has a “rub and sniff” candle for the kiddos.  I’m not kidding when I tell you that Big and Little Brother spent nearly 45 minutes with it during the horrible post-nap but pre-dinner witching hour.  Rubbing, smelling, taking turns, commenting, flipping the page, choosing favorites and….not arguing.

I’m thinking about ordering a boatload of candles I really don’t need.  In part, as thanks to and recognition for the brilliant smelly pages idea.   In part, to ensure they keep sending me catalogues!

Read Full Post »

A rainy, cold spring Sunday.  Mom, Dad, boys all together in the playroom.  The Bouncy House has been inflated for the first time in almost two years — finally freed from its moving box prison.  PGA tournament on in the background.   Laughter, rough-housing, giggle fits, rosy-cheeked boys and lots and lots of jumping in the foreground.

Then.

Little Brother (from inside the House):   Oh.   Ahsuemay!

Big Brother:  What did you say?

Little Brother:   I say’d Ahsuemay!  Ahsuemay, Mommy.

Me:   What’s that, J.?

Little Brother (frustrated).  Yells out from Bouncy House door.

Ahsuemay, I say’d!

I tooted!

Me (laughing):     Oh!   You’re excused.


Read Full Post »

How the toddler set deals with paparazzi when strapped into those pesky car seats.

Read Full Post »

I wish I could remember which one of my fabulously smart Mommy friends recently heard me complain about the copious amounts of dog hair wafting around in my house and my resulting compulsion to vacuum every twenty-five seconds.  Whoever she was I do know that she, with a knowing smile, suggested I purchase a Dust Buster and turn it over to the small people.

Hallelujah.

I swear, they fight over the thing.  They like it so much I have to charge it nightly.  We have to set a timer so they can take turns every two minutes.  Wouldn’t want anyone to get robbed of their own precious cleaning time!

Gotta go.  Children approach.  Must lift my feet.

Read Full Post »

As I’ve mentioned before (ad nauseum?), I’m an only child.  Sibling dynamics (the rivalries, the camaraderie, the loyalty, the cruelty) are completely lost on me.  I am a reluctant work-in-progress as mother referee to the whole big brother versus little brother battles.  And the battles are endless.

More than anything, I’m floored by how desperately Little Brother wants to be loved by Big Brother.  His first words each day, standing in his crib at 7:15 in the morning, are a request to see his Big Brother.   After a change and some clothes, the worship begins.  He wanders down the hall in search of his brother and spends the rest of the day following him, asking questions, begging to be included in whatever (and I do mean whatever — it could be peeing, I swear) activity in which his brother is involved at the moment.   I, of course, think this behavior is the sweetest thing in the whole wide world.  What I would have given, I think to myself.  How I yearned for a constant playmate! Big Brother’s view on it?  Not quite as rosy.

And, if I look at it from his perspective?  Well, of course, it’s annoying.  A shadow.  No time alone.  Three years of solitude, all Mom and Dad’s attention and then…wham!…along comes this creature and now Big Brother is asked to constantly share and play nice and be gentle and…oh, man, the crying! If there’s one area in which Little Brother excels, it’s turning on the waterworks.  And, I’m sure much of the time it’s just drama.  Regardless, Big Brother gets the brunt of the chaos repercussions.  What happened?! I rant.  Did you push him?  Were you playing too rough?  He’s only two!  I need you to be the big kid, ok?! And, every time I’m just so shocked and sad to see that Big Brother, usually such a sweet kid, can actually be pretty mean sometimes when it comes to his brother.

My husband, a Big Brother himself, completely understands that side of the equation.  He’s all in favor of a “Let them work it out” philosophy.  But, to me?   When working it out involves a David and a Goliath, I just don’t think it’s a fair fight.

And David just wants to be loved.  And included.  And Goliath just, well…Goliath just stomps on the little sucker and walks away?  Nope.  Not in my house.

Sometimes I try to appeal to Big Brother’s not so finely developed sense of forethought.  For example, Just you wait!  Someday, Little Brother could be bigger than you.  And, then how would you like it if he just whacked you? Or, I try a different approach and go with You know, you’re lucky to have a brother.  And, someday Little Brother might just decide he doesn’t want to play with you anymore.  How would that feel? And, to that he answers honestly. That would be great!

Because Big Brother is no fool.  And, unfortunately, he’s learned that if he hurts his little brother a little bit (emotionally or physically), it really doesn’t seem to matter.  Because, Big Brother has discovered that Little Brother has absolutely no short-term memory.  None.  Little Brother cries, runs to Mom, Mom makes Big Brother go to his room for a bit.  And you know what happens the entire time that Big Brother is in his room?  Little Brother is crying to see him.  And, asking when he can come out.   Ultimately, Big Brother is released and asked to come out and apologize and it goes like this:

Sorry for doing that, Little Brother.

To which Little Brother replies “I sorry, too.  Play wit me now?”

Breaks my heart.  Partially because I know it will happen all over again in roughly 15 minutes.

This is my day.

I just hope Little Brother develops that short-term memory at some point.  You know, so he doesn’t wind up like this guy.

Saturday Night Live – Mr. Short Term Memory (click it)


Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »