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Babykins was taking pictures with my phone tonight.  Most of the pictures were of the TV, which was playing her favorite movie, Tinkerbell's Secret of the Wings, which we have watched approximately 5 gazillion times in the last 4 weeks.

As she was taking a particularly artsy picture, she states, "This one is going on Facebook!"

I didn't even know she had a Facebook account!

My Hero

We were watching In the Night Garden before bed the other night, and I started combining our names with the characters' names.

Me: You're Babykins-Daisy!  And baby brother's Babyroo-Piggle!  And I'm Mommy-Packa!

Babykins was giggling away.  Then...

Me: And Daddy is Dad-liboo!
Babykins: No!  Daddy is Superman!

Altogether now...Awwwwww!!!!!

Woof!

I've decided that if Babyroo were a puppy, he'd be a lab.  He's good natured, sweet, and happy.  He loves to play and often has a big smile on his face.  He's soft and cuddly and good with kids.  Yep, definitely a lab.

Let's just cross our fingers that he doesn't turn into Marley as a toddler...

My Little Ramona

I loved the Ramona books growing up.  As an adult, I often thought they should be required reading for every parent.  I was always fascinated at how Ramona would do something, and it would make perfect sense to her, but the adults would look at her actions and find them completely inexplicable, and she would get in trouble.  Whenever Babykins does something that just seems completely baffling to me, I try to stop and think about how Ramona would have explained it.

Which brings me to our story.  The daycare Babykins goes to is split into two sections.  All of the 2-year-olds are on the top floor of the building.  The 3- to- 5-year-olds are on the bottom floor.  Babykins has wanted to move downstairs for ages.  As soon as she turned 3, she became very excited because she was finally old enough to go down with the big kids.

Unfortunately, the daycare didn't have room downstairs, so Babykins had to stay upstairs.  She was upset, but I thought it was just because her best friend was downstairs and they wanted to play together.

Then, one day, as I was explaining to Babykins once again that she would go downstairs soon, but they just didn't have space down there, yet, she looked at me and said, "But mommy, if I stay upstairs, I might turn 2 again!"  The look of distress on her face was heartbreaking.  Here, this whole time, she had been worried she'd turn back into a "little girl" if she stayed upstairs too long.

I gave her a big hug and explained that now that she was 3, she would never turn back to 2 again.  And I reminded myself to check out a Ramona book or two from the library.

Characters

Lately, Babykins is all about The Little Mermaid.  We can both literally sing all of the words to all of the songs.  So, the other night in the bathtub, she's pretending to be Ariel.

Me: Who's Daddy?
Babykins: Prince Eric!
Me: Who's Connor?
Babykins: Max! (Max is Prince Eric's dog.)
Me: And who's Mommy?
Babykins: Ursula! (She's the evil sea witch.)

Hubbykins definitely got the best end of that casting call.

Why?

We are firmly in the middle of the "why" phase.  For those of you not familiar with this phase, it goes something like this:

We're walking home from town yesterday, and Babykins points to a random man walking ahead of us...
Babykins: Mommy, where's that man going?
Me (umm...I'm supposed to know where everyone's going?  Ok, he's wearing a suit and walking into a residential area, so I make an educated guess.): He's going home from work.
Babykins: Where's his home?
Me (Seriously?  Where's his home?): I don't know, Babykins.
Babykins: Why?
Me (Why?  Does she want to know why I don't know?  Or have I missed a transition in the conversation?): I just don't know, Babykins.  I don't know where everyone lives.
Babykins (Thinks about this for a second, then takes a breath, and...): Why is he going home?
Me: Because it's getting late.  It's time for everyone to go home for dinner.
Babykins: Are we going home for dinner?
Me: Yes.
Babykins: Why?
Me: Because it's getting late.  You and Babyroo need to have dinner, then a bath.
Babykins: Why? (Then she fully comprehends my last sentence.) But I don't want a bath!  Why do I need to take a bath?
Me: Because you've been playing all day and you're dirty.
Babykins: Why?
Me: Look!  There's our house!  How about some TV?

And for once, Babykins didn't ask "why".

My Baby's Got Sauce

Babykins can occasionally have a bit of a stubborn streak.  And because she's 3, when I try to reason with her and explain that being stubborn is holding her back from something wonderful, I usually (let's be honest, ALWAYS) fail.

A recent example...

Babykins has decided she doesn't like sauce.  She doesn't like tomato sauce (Australian for ketchup) on her meat pies.  She doesn't like pasta sauce on her pasta.  Apparently, sauce is gross.

So the other day, I asked Babykins if she would like some ice cream.  She yelled, "Yes!" and ran for her chair.  She had been especially good that day, so as a special treat...

Me: Babykins, would you like chocolate sauce on your ice cream?
Babykins: No.  I don't like sauce.
Me: Listen to what I'm asking you.  Do you want CHOCOLATE sauce?
Babykins: I don't like sauce!
Me: But, this sauce is made of chocolate!  You like chocolate.
Babykins: I DON'T LIKE SAUCE!

Good enough for me.  Babykins proceeded to have ice cream with no chocolate sauce, and I spent the rest of the evening marveling over 3-year-old logic.

Sorry about your breakup...

People often talk about gender stereotypes.  When you look at Babykins, it seems like she's been swallowed by them.  She dances around the house dressed all in pink, waving her magic wand, and holding her Cinderella doll in her hand.  But there's nothing wrong with a little pink and the belief that you're a princess.

Lately, I've been much more concerned about the stereotypes for boys.  I'm not talking about playing with trucks here.  I'm talking about the disturbing number of sentences that start with the phrase, "Just like a man..."

So far, I've heard, "Just like a man...

• Always fussing
• Never happy with anything
• Always making a mess

The list goes on.  And though it's always said as a jest, it's never a positive statement.  

Seriously?  Babyroo isn't anything like a man.  He's everything like a baby.  And I'm sorry that at some point you had a bad breakup with a wretch of a man, but please don't put that baggage on my 4-month-old.  He's wonderful and sweet, and we plan on raising him so that he stays that way.

Why Did the Cockatoo Get on the Ferry?

With the addition of Babyroo to the family, Hubbykins and I decided that once a month Babykins should get a special day out with mommy or daddy without Babyroo. We were hoping this would help keep some of the jealousy at bay. Much to our surprise, when we told Babykins last month that she could have a special day out with just mommy, she looked at us and said, "Okay, but can daddy and Babyroo come, too?"

Which is how we all ended up on a ferry ride to Cockatoo Island. There aren't any actual cockatoos on the island, but Babykins still had a wonderful time.

Then yesterday, as Babykins and I were leaving the house, we heard a really loud bird squawk. We looked up, and I pointed out to Babykins that it was a cockatoo. Babykins nodded wisely and informed me, "It's probably getting on the ferry, mama, to go to Cockatoo Island."

Can't argue with that logic.

Dreams Really Do Come True

Every once in awhile Babykins comes out with something that takes me completely by surprise. Last month, Babykins was on a Cinderella kick. We watched that movie everyday for two weeks. Babykins had every song and word memorized. We eventually had to take it back to Blockbuster, and I didn't give the movie another thought.

A week later, I was talking to Babykins at breakfast about her dreams. She said she'd had bad dreams the night before and got really upset. I tried to reassure her that they were just dreams and there was no need to be afraid. She wasn't convinced.

We kept talking about dreams, and finally Babykins looked at me and said, "But mommy, Cinderella sings that all of your dreams will come true!"

Ahhh... And I spent the next 5 minutes explaining that Cinderella only meant that your GOOD dreams would come true.

Darn you, Disney, and your ambiguously cheery songs.

And Puppy Dog Tails

Babyroo is going through the hand-chewing phase. He loves nothing more than to shove his entire fist in his mouth and chew until the drool is dripping and his little fingers are red.

Occasionally, though, his hand will get away from him. The other day he was lying on the floor playing with his hands, when I heard him start to growl. I looked over to discover that his hand had decided to stay on the floor and he was desperately trying to turn his head far enough to the side to reach it with his mouth.

I watched for a minute to see if he would realize that he could just move his hand closer. Instead, he gave a frustrated shout and pushed with his feet, lifting his lower body off the floor and allowing his mouth to get closer to his hand, which was still firmly resting on the floor.

At this point, I took pity on my red-faced little boy, walked over, and moved his hand to his mouth. He chewed contentedly for a minute before removing his hand, flinging it back onto the floor, giving a loud growl, and moving his head in a frantic effort to get his mouth closer. He looked for all the world like a puppy chasing its tail. But then, that's what little boys are made of.

Editor's note: Last weekend, Babyroo was so intent on getting his mouth to his hand that he actually rolled from his back to his tummy!

Role Reversal

For most of Babykins' life, my biggest challenge as a stay at home mom has been her short attention span. When she would only focus on an activity for 5 minutes at a time, filling a 10 hour day is a challenge. Even taking out 2 hours for nap, that's still 96 activities required to take us through until daddy gets home.

Recently, though, I've been having the opposite challenge. Babykins got a dollhouse for Christmas, and she has a looooong attention span when it comes to playing with it. We're talking a good hour, at least. Maybe longer. The problem is that Babykins isn't content to play with it on her own. I have to play, too. And my dollhouse attention span is roughly...5 minutes.

In an effort to be a good mommy, I can last for a half hour. But I never thought I'd see the day when my toddler's attention span outlasted mine.

My Future Actor

We spent the holidays at my in-laws house.  At one point while we were there, Babykins didn't get her way and she put on a big show of being sad.  Later, when she was out of the room, we were discussing her excellent ability to put on the sad face at will.

In the middle of that discussion, I hear Babykins calling me from her room.  I go in to find her crying again about the same incident.  I picked her up and started talking to her, but after a minute she interrupted me.

Babykins: Mama, I want to see it.
Me: What do you want to see?
Babykins: I want to see in the mirror.
Me: Why do you want to look in the mirror?
Babykins: I want to see my sad face!

So not only does she know how to put on her sad face, she knows she's doing it!  I don't stand a chance...

Good guess

A little while ago, we took Babykins to a carnival.  They had a used book table, and at the end of the night, they handed out bags and gave away the remaining books for free.  We picked up a few books that we thought Babykins would like and headed home.

A couple days later, Babykins was flipping through her new books, when she suddenly got very worried...

Babykins: Uh, oh, Mama.
Me:  What's wrong?
Babykins: Someone colored in this book!
Babykins (Thinks about it for a second and lowers her head, looking sad): It was probably me!

It actually wasn't her.  The book came that way, and as soon as I explained that someone else had colored in it, she looked instantly relieved.  But it's funny to know she automatically assumes she's the culprit!

Tattoo

The other day Hubbykins was sitting next to Babykins with his shirt off, and she noticed the tattoo on his back.  Babykins has seen his tattoo before, and even commented on it, but this time she was fascinated.  After chatting about it for a few moments - What is it?  How did it get there? - Babykins announced that she would be getting a tattoo, as well.  The following conversation ensued:

Babykins: I get tattoo on my back!
Hubbykins: Little girls can't get tattoos.
Babykins: Ok.  I get tattoo when I a big girl!
Hubbykins: You can get a tattoo when you're the same age as daddy.
Babykins (Not realizing she will never be the same age as daddy):  Ok!

Since then, Babykins has excitedly told me on a number of occasions how she plans to get a tattoo when she's bigger.  She's planning on a rainbow.

Luckily, for now, she's happy to stick with the wet and wear fake tattoos.  Whew!

Norman Rockwell Moments

Every once in awhile, I'll look around and feel like I have achieved the perfect Norman Rockwell moment with my babies.  These most often come at bath time.  With Babykins in the big tub playing with her toys and Babyroo in his baby tub happily splashing away, the sense of perfect zen happiness is almost overwhelming.  Especially with Christmas coming up, most bath times now involve Babykins and I singing Christmas carols together (I like to focus on Santa Claus is Coming to Town...any song that advocates being nice and not screaming gets my vote).  It is magical.

Then earlier this week, we had finished up round one of dinner (when I feed Babykins the first part of her meal while we wait for Hubbykins to come home).  Babykins was sitting at the table practicing cutting up paper with her little toddler scissors, Babyroo was sitting in the kitchen cooing, and I was washing dishes singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.  And I realized that I have it really darn good.  We had reached perfection.  Happy sigh...

Bodily Functions

Babykins is now fully daytime potty trained.  This process has lead to a lot of conversations about bodily functions.  The other day I was chatting with her while she was sitting on the potty.  She looked at me and announced, "I make wee-wee, poopies, and farts.  Mommy makes milk."

Yep.  Sounds about right.

Christmas Confusion

This is the first year that Babykins really gets the idea of Christmas.  She knows that Santa will bring presents, and she made a special request for a scooter.  Every morning when she wakes up, the first thing she wants to do is add a piece to the advent calendar.  And she is now able to sing a good selection of Christmas carols.

But in true toddler fashion, she still finds a few Christmas concepts a little hard to grasp.

Last weekend, we went to Carols in the Park in the park across the street from our house.  There was a barbecue followed by Christmas carols.  In between the Christmas carols, a puppet would pop up, and the pastor would use the puppet to talk about the meaning of Christmas.  One of the things they talked about was how Christmas is Jesus' birthday.  That idea really stuck with Babykins.  Later that week, I mentioned to Babykins that we needed to get a present for her to give to Babyroo for Christmas.  She looked at me and responded, "I can't give a present to Babyroo!  It's Jesus' birthday!  Only Jesus gets presents!"

Interesting.  So I responded, "Does that mean Santa shouldn't bring you any presents, either?"

"No!  I can still get presents!"

Ahh...

Then on Thursday, Babykins had her Christmas concert at daycare.  After watching a roomful of toddlers sing songs and shake bells (absolutely adorable), we had morning tea followed by a visit from Santa.  When Santa appeared, the look on Babykins' face was priceless.  Each child was called up to meet Santa and received a bag of candy.

Babykins came running over to me holding up her bag of candy.  She was super excited, and she immediately recounted for me how Santa had rung his bells and gave her a present.  Then she stopped and informed me, "Santa gave me candy, but I didn't get a scooter!"

Oh, no.  I quickly explained to Babykins that Santa only gave presents like scooters on Christmas.  Before Christmas, he only gave out candy.  Thus reassured, Babykins commenced to tell me about Santa's visit the entire walk home (a 20 minute trip, by the way - it's amazing how many times a toddler can re-tell the same story when they're excited).

I can't wait for Christmas to come.  Knowing how excited Babykins is for the day has re-kindled my own excitement for the joys of Christmas.

Gender Norms

Recently, Babykins and I were talking about work, when she comes out with this statement, "Boys go to work.  Girls don't go to work."  Oh, no.

Now, I have spent 11/2 of the last 2 1/2 years as a stay-at-home mom.  Which means that although I have been home with Babykins a lot, she has seen me go to work.  But apparently this hasn't quite left its mark, so I quickly correct her, explaining that BOTH men and women can go to work.  I remind her that I have worked, and will go back to work when Babyroo is older.

Anti-feminist crisis averted.

Until Friday, when, on the way home from daycare, Babykins suddenly announces from the back of the car, "Boys go to school.  Girls don't go to school."  WHAT?!  Who is putting these ideas in my toddler's head?  It's not like we live in some scary country where girls are banned from education.  I once again correct her, assuring her that both boys AND girls go to school.

Then, over the weekend, we're getting ready for bath time, and Babykins tells me she has to go to the bathroom.  She walks over to the toilet and stands facing it.  "Mommy, boys do wee-wee like this."  Then she turns around and sits down.  "And girls do wee-wee like this."

Finally, a boys vs. girls statement I can agree with.

Permission

Recently, I've seen quite a few people post a link to a blog entry titled, "Why You're Never Failing as a Mother."  The basic point of the post is that you're doing a good job and there's no need to be perfect, so give yourself a break.

It got me to thinking about all of the things that have happened to me as a parent that I was surprised/confused/felt guilty/annoyed about.  Things I usually didn't want to admit to the other mommies at playgroup who seemed to have it all together.  Things that, when I did mention them to another woman, she had also experienced.

So here, as a follow-on to that other blog, is my list of:

5 Things I Hereby Officially Give You Permission To Do:

1. Cry - When you're waking up to a screaming baby for the 5th time in one night...when you're cleaning up pee from the carpet for the third time TODAY...when both kids are crying and screaming at once and you need to triage which to attend to first...when you're hungry, need to pee, teeth aren't brushed, house is a mess, food's burning on the stove, and you look over just in time to see your toddler take a bite out of your brand new lipstick (why do they do this, Lord, WHY?)...go ahead and cry.  You'll feel better.
2. Turn on the TV - There are parents out there who somehow manage to raise their children without letting them watch TV.  I am not one of them.  Turning on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is the only way I am guaranteed 20 minutes each day where my 2 year-old will sit on the sofa without moving so that I can take a shower.  Thank you, Mickey, thank you.
3. Compare yourself to other moms - My hair is in a ponytail every day.  And not just any ponytail...a wet ponytail.  Mickey Mouse Clubhouse only lasts 20 minutes, after all.  I felt bad about this.  I thought the other moms looked like they were much more put together than me.  Then one day, I reallllly looked at the other moms.  And I realized an amazing thing.  80% of them had their hair in a ponytail.  Most of them had dark circles under their eyes.  Some of them weren't wearing makeup.  And the majority of them still had some baby weight to lose.  At quick glance we see what we expect to see....which is usually that others are doing a better job than we are.  But when you look closely, you see that most moms are in the same boat.
4. Give them a vitamin - Most days, Babykins has 3 major food groups: fruit, dairy, and cereal.  On a good day, I can get her to eat a sausage or some chicken nuggets.  I worry.  I fret.  I bribe, cajole, and plead.  And then I remember this sage advice my pediatrician gave my mom when I was a picky little kid, "Is she growing?  Then she's fine.  Give her a vitamin and stop worrying."
5. Pretend not to hear the kids wake up on Saturday morning, in the hopes that your partner will get out of bed first, and you can sleep for 5 more minutes.

There you go.  Permission granted.  Enjoy.