Bubba-Lannah

Leah "I wanna watch Bubba-Lannah".
Ryan "What?"
Leah "I wanna watch Bubba-Lannah."
Ryan "You want to watch what?", listening harder this time than last.
Amy "Can you show me?"
Leah walks over to the movie shelf and searches the shelf, but can't seem to come up with the movie she's wanting to find. I use deductive reasoning. She can't find the movie she's trying to tell us. We must not have it on DVD. What did she watch recently on TV? That's when it hit me. Pocahontas.
Amy "Pocahontas?"
"Yes!" Leah says with pride.
I'm brought back to reality that she is still my baby. I get so used to her talking with me like a five year old. She tells me when my phone is ringing. She asks me to paint her toenails. She told me last week that she was going to die. She shares her feelings using feeling words like angry and sad and happy and excited. She speaks so clearly and intentionally. I realize sometimes that she knows a lot for her age. And a lot of times it's not because we've sat her down to teach her. She just picks it up from us or from the TV. Life for a two year old should be happy and light. My mom told me recently that at two, Leah should still believe that life is about happy endings. I think she's right. So I love Bubba-Lannah.

I get grumpy. I don't realize it until I hear the way I talk to my husband sometimes. Poor guy. But he gets grumpy too. He works long hours, every day but Sunday. And even then, we're up early for church and then he works on our house and our yard and our cars. Last week he was playing with Logan and he said, "It's like he sees me for the first time, everytime!" I thought that was very profound! Logan is a happy baby, there's no doubt about that. But really, everytime he looks at me or Ryan, or Leah, or someone else he knows well, he gets as happy as the first time he ever knew he was looking at us. I'm talking about a huge gummy smile, eyes shining, dimples deep and soft and even his nose perks up as to say, "I'm happy to see you!" I can't imagine being so happy everytime I look at Ryan, or him being that happy everytime he sees me. Can you imagine? An ego boost? Yes. It's nice to know someone is thrilled at my very exsistence. Even happier to feel validated that I am funny sometimes. Christi talked about joy on my most special day 4 years ago. She spoke of joy as an inner beauty. Logan reminds me everyday that it feels good to be happy. And I think he's so beautiful.

Fake messes

The terrible twos. What exactly is it? On television, it's defined as a small child being covered in flour, or chocolate sauce. It's shown as a kid tracking perfectly laid mud prints into the house all through the livingroom and kitchen. It's giving the impression that the child makes a mess...which can ultimately be cleaned up.

My experience over the last 5 months with my 2 year old has been quite different. I don't think it's a mess that can be cleaned up with Clorox wipes and Bounty paper towels. I think it's a wire that gets cut.

Up until the age of two, Leah was very obedient. She was an amazing listener. Christmas a year and a half ago, she wowed her grandparents on Ryan's side. We only see them a few times a year, so her newest tricks always seem especially great when they see her. She was one year old a few days after Christmas, and she was showcasing her listening skills. While standing in front of the sparkly Christmas tree, she would, under gentle instruction from me and her dad, touch the ornaments with only one finger. She was very controlled and poised. When we wanted her attention, the first time she heard our voices, she'd freeze and look our way for the next move.

She has always been lovingly disciplined and redirected by her father and myself. All of a sudden when she turned two, the wires got cut. It's like she's had one too many ear infections and can't hear us anymore. Not only can she not hear us, it's like she doesn't understand the simplest of instructions. "Leah, take your fingers out of your mouth." Leah sits with her fingers still in her mouth. I have to pull them out for her. "Leah, stop making that snorting sound with your mouth full of hot dogs." Leah makes one more snort, and this time it's directed at me. "Leah, please stop shouting in the car. Logan's ears hurt and he doesn't like it when your voice is so loud." One more squeal blasts me from the back seat and now Logan is screaming.

It's not so much the little things she's doing that bother me. I can wipe off her fingers, and I can laugh along with the funny sounds. I can even appreciate the loud singing from the back seat of the car. She knows all of the words. The part that is hard for me is that just 5 short months ago, she could follow directions. She took pride in following our instructions. All of that time put in to teaching and praising and redirecting have seemingly been flushed down the toilet...along with my glasses and checkbook.

Now I realize that she's older now, and is more able to make her own decisions. She's testing me and her dad, and she wants a bit of control. I guess I just wish that she'd be as well behaved as she was before.

Although, I have to say, with the loss of some of her listening skills has come a great deal of wonderful traits. She tells me she loves me now, all on her own. She takes herself to the bathroom in the morning when she gets out of bed and doesn't wake me up until after she's finished. She enjoys Bible class now and can tell us what all the kids in class did that day.

She still has that same twinkle in her eye. That same Leah twinkle. Whether she's saying "Mommy, guess what? I love you!", or if she's belting the "I see an animal" song in the backseat of the car. She's still my Leah. And I think that I need to remain patient with her and still give her gently redirection and patient discipline. It would be very easy to yell and spank and get frustrated and give up. But she's so special. I want her to always know that I like all of her.

Plus, raising a child isn't as easy as wiping up a mess with a Clorox cloth or with Bounty paper towel. Those commercials are wrong. And I certainly don't look like those mom's they portray in the commercials. I only do my hair once or twice a week. Fake moms. Fake kids. Fake messes.