His anxiety is making me anxious

Separation anxiety. Paul's got it bad. This is new territory for me. From a young age, Ben never had a problem with saying sayonara to me. While sometimes that gave me pause (hey, Ben, you could be at least a little sad!), Ben's freedom seeking was much preferable to the situation I'm in now. It started in fall when I brought him to the church nursery for child care during my Friday moms' group. He would sob and carry on in the car all the way to church. Once I got him in and snuck out of the room, he always settled down fairly quickly.

It's gotten worse. I signed him up for vacation bible school in June, thinking there was maybe a 30 percent chance that he would finish out the week. Nothing doing. About an hour after I dropped him off, I got the call: "Is this Paul's mom? Yeah, he's been crying since you left. You should probably come get him." In the time it took me to get there, they moved Paul into Ben's classroom, and, no surprise, he was just fine. However, after that first day, I considered VBS a failed experiment. It was then that my anxiety began to set in about how hard it would to send him to preschool in the fall. It's only two hours a day twice a week, but I'm picturing panic, kicking and screaming.

Unbelievably, the situation has declined further since June. We went to Great America a couple weeks ago. He would only go on rides if I could ride with him. And I'm talking the tamest of kiddie rides: little boats and helicopters, rides he has gone without pause plenty of times at Bay Beach. When I tried to cajole him into going on the boats with Ben, he planted his feet and threw his body to the ground as if I were threatening to tie him up and strap him into the scariest ride in the park. Sleeping over at Grandma and Grandpa Ceman's house always has been a favorite treat for Ben and Paul. Lately Paul has been getting crying when Mark and I try to leave. Movie, popcorn and treats usually fixes that pretty quickly, but still.

I know this is a phase that will pass as quickly as it came. Someday I'm sure he will be fully independent and I will look back on this time and wish he were a little more like he was. (I can picture me throwing myself at Paul's feet when he leaves for college: Paulie, don't leave me!) Until then, I've decided this much: Mark is bringing Paul to the first day of preschool.

Orally fixated

I know all kids Gus's age go through a phase of putting things in their mouths, but I've never seen a child quite like Gus. Keeping a vigilant eye and preventing those chubby little mitts from inserting junk into that cute mouth of his is a full-time job.

Foolishly, I had pictured the idyllic summer I would spend with the boys enjoying the beauty of the outdoors. I would be able to lead Ben and Paul in fun and enriching activities while Gus sat closeby and amused himself quietly. Of course, as soon as summer began my little fantasy went the way of my idea of what being a stay-at-home mom would be like (unlimited reserves of patience, leading in the kids in fun craft projects - I lose it almost daily and stink at crafts). What I had not imagined was that Gus would be walking already and that I would have to spend much of my time chasing him and trying to wrench contraband from his hands. Pebbles, grass, sand, mulch, you name it, he's tried to consume it. It's pretty sad when to get a respite I set him in the sandbox with the thought that him eating a small handful of sand or two isn't as bad as the possibility of him swallowing a stone. What really scares me is knowing how many outdoor plants and flowers are poisonous.

Inside is easier but not by much. One of Gus's many talents is the ability to quickly locate the smallest item in a room and stuff it into his gob. Certainly it doesn't help that he has older brothers who have toys with small pieces. But that I can manage fairly well. The biggest inside battle is paper. He can rip it up and get in his mouth in record time. Many times a day I catch sight of his little jaws masticating and it is time again to go on a fishing expedition to remove bits of paper and other junk.

The only thing that gets me through is his naptime and the fact that this too shall pass - someday. During my little breaks, I rest up and prepare again for mouth watch.

The swift passage of time

I'm not one to cry easily, but there's nothing like watching one of my kids perform to get the waterworks going. So if you hear sniffling while watching Ben's dance routine on the last day of kindergarten, that's probably me. (Check out the video on our share site: http://benpaulandgus.shutterfly.com/237. That's Ben in the straw hat and plaid shirt.) The day was an emotional one for me. Yes, I'm delighted to have a whole summer to spend with all three of my boys. But this milestone was a reminder for me of how quickly time passes. Sure, Ben's first day of kindergarten was a tearjerker, and I had the added benefit of fresh post-pregnancy hormones to spur along the sorrow of turning my firstborn over to the school system. This last day of school took on a whole different poignancy. How is it that I have an almost-7-year-old sleeping in the bed down the hall from me? It doesn't seem possible. Ben has morphed into a considerate, intelligent, creative kid. It is a privilege to watch him grow.

Now it seems that Ben's little brothers are hot on his heels. In this house, it seems that we're always on the verge of some milestone. Paulie will start preschool in the fall. Gus is almost walking and will turn 1 in less than two months. My baby! I guess my only choice is to sit back and enjoy the ride. And cry at the appropriate times. Sniffle.

Best friends

When my brother, Mike, and his wife, Kelly, found out they were expecting a boy, the fifth grandson in our family, the trend became undeniable. Those XY chromosomes run strong in these genes. At this point, it seems like a miracle that my mom ended up with even one girl. When we found out with Gus that we were having a third boy, I was pretty excited. With his cousin, Kelan, just nine months older, I anticipated that the two could become lifelong friends. Now it looks like that is coming to fruition. Of late, Gus definitely has become enamored of his cousin, attempting to copy Kelan's every action. Just look at these photos.












And speaking of best friends, these two are pretty tight, too - that is when they're not driving each other nuts.

Take 31

In our ongoing journey to find discipline that works with our kids, Mark and I once took a class called 1-2-3 Magic. The idea is that when your child is misbehaving, you give him three chances to stop. (That's a 1, that's a 2, that's a 3 - take 3.) The child would then take a three-minute timeout. We always thought it made sense for our kids to sit out one minute for each year of age, so Ben would get six minutes, Paul three.

Not for the first time, I got to thinking how great it would be if I could take 31 (OK, so it would be almost 32 - there would be a reason to appreciate getting older!). I just read somewhere that you shouldn't discipline your kids when you're angry - you'll end up saying things you don't mean and making threats you have no intention of keeping. I think this is great advice. Makes perfect sense. But the calming down part would be so much easier if I could go to my room and take 31. Too bad at this stage in my life, it's an impossibility. Taking a timeout while caring for a 3-year-old and 9-month-old is out of the question.

Oh, but how I could have used a take 31 today. We're having a tough time with Paul's sleeping habits. He usually doesn't take naps anymore. However, on a typical day he's likely to catch a catnap in the car or on a stroller walk. Yesterday he fell asleep on the 10-minute drive to Target early in the afternoon, and when we got home from Ben's baseball game around 6 p.m., he was so sleepy, I could barely rouse him to eat supper. This, of course, was enough to mess with his going to bed for the night. He was in and out of bed, completely restless. He finally succumbed around 8:30. Of course, this morning he was up bright and early at 6 a.m. Clearly, nine and a half hours is not enough sleep for a 3-year-old.

So, today I put my foot down. I told him he needed to take a nap. He was going to do it, and he was going to do it on my terms. This nap would be early enough and just the right length so as not to interfere with bedtime. After lunch, I told him it was time. He was having none of it. He acted silly, he got up, he lay there and kicked the wall. Me? I tried everything. Rubbing his back and trying to help him to sleep eventually gave way to anger, resentment and threats. He would lose treats and cartoons if he didn't go to sleep. I would take away his guys. It didn't take long for those threats to rear their ugly heads. Finally, I had to come to grips with the fact that I had lost the battle. He laid in his bed quietly for 30 minutes but never slept. That was the best I was going to get. Score another one for the kids.

If only I could have taken 31, maybe at least I would have been able to save myself from the shame of those empty threats.

He's from Bah-ston

When my niece, Nora, was about Paul's age, my brother- and sister-in-law used to joke that she was from Boston because of the Northeastern-sounding accent she affected at the time. One day, Steve and Sara got a postcard from Boston, and Nora said, "Hey, that's where I'm from!" It must run in the family, because Paul's developed the Bah-ston-speak too.

As someone who had a speech impediment well into middle school and who hated to be made fun of for it, I shouldn't tease. But since Paul's only 3 and I fully expect him to outgrow this, I figure I can joke a little. Besides, I truly think it's chah-ming. The other day, he said, "Mommy where's my Stah Wahs chaht?" "Your Star Wars shirt?" I said, thinking he was asking about the t-shirt he would wear every day if I let him. "No!" he said, frustrated. "My Stah Wahs chaht!" Hmmm ... what was he getting at? "Oh! You mean your Star Wars chart?" I said. "Yes!" (He was looking for the behavior reward chart I had created for him. He's trying to earn a light saber.) Unlucky for him, chaht and shaht sound very similar, you see.

Now if you'll excuse Paul, he's going to pahk the cah in Hah-vahd Yahd.

Springtime fun