This kid's outta control

If you had popped into my home this afternoon, you just might have thought I had gone just a little nuts. That's for good reason, because I feel like I'm at my wit's end with my youngest son. At my home you would have found a kitchen table with its chairs missing and a lamp hastily unplugged and set on mine and Mark's bed in a fit of frustration. These are the result of the latest bout of Gus's reckless behavior.

Here's a sampling of some of Gus's latest tricks. His obsession of late has been to climb onto the kitchen table via the chairs, hence the missing seating. The living room lamp? He just won't leave it alone. He's already broken one. Sadly, these aren't even his most dangerous endeavors. The other day he opened the oven drawer and tried to use it as a step in an attempt to reach the stove. Needless to say, that drawer is now taped shut. His pièce de résistance, however, came last week. I was playing hide and seek with the boys. What I saw when I walked into the kitchen took my breath away. The door to the oven was ajar. I had been baking cookies. What kept Gus from getting severely burned, I have no idea. In fact, he was completely fine. I'm convinced he must have a guardian angel. Never had it occurred to me that I would need to put a lock on my oven.

Then again, never have I encountered a child quite like my Gus. Ben was super-curious at this age, and Paulie eventually became a climber (though at an older age than Gus). Gus is both of these combined times 10. He has an insatiable appetite for daring deeds and discovery. Me? I can't stand the feeling of not being able to turn my back for a moment. I expect that the old adage, "This too shall pass" applies here. Until it does, however, my house may look just a little wacky.

Ode to mowing the lawn

I never thought I would be saying this, but I love mowing the lawn. Growing up with three brothers, I was never called upon for yard care. So it wasn't until I was married with two kids that I finally gave it a try. Now, I'll admit that my lawn-mowing skills are nothing to brag about. In fact, I'm quite certain that it looks much nicer when Mark does it. Nonetheless, this summer and fall I've found myself volunteering time and again to take on this task.

Here's why I love it. Unlike most other aspects of my life, lawn mowing is predictable and something I can control. I find it gratifying to see that unkempt expanse of emerald lying before me to tame. When I'm finished, I get the satisfaction of knowing it will look even and neat. After hours unend of being pulled on and beckoned, I find the roar of the lawn mower peaceful. Sometimes I have take the iPod and listen to music, and sometimes I just mow. Either way is fine with me.

Before kids I had found housework and home maintenance tedious. Now, like most parents, what I wouldn't give for more uninterrupted time for these chores. Rare times when I'm kid-free I can spend happy hours cleaning, cooking or toiling away at a sinkful of dishes. I guess this is just one of the ways having kids has shaped me as a person. I'll take serenity anywhere I can find it these days, and mowing the lawn works out just fine.

He did it!

Call me a pessimist. I was all but ready to declare preschool a failure before it even began. But you know what? He did it! Paul not only is surviving, he's thriving. The first day did get off to a rocky start. As you can see in the photo in front of Paul's school, he's not looking too optimistic. Indeed, when Mark made to leave after dropping him off, Paul did throw the tantrum I had been fearing. Mark called me with the not-so-great news, and I spent the next couple hours half-expecting that the teachers would be calling to say that I would need to come and pick up Paul. No such call ever came, and when I picked him up, I didn't hear howling or see tears, I saw a boy who was excited to tell me about his day and show me the craft project he'd made. Sure, the first thing he said was that he had missed me, but he also said he had fun.

After the first day, things have gotten progressively easier. By the second week of class, he had given up crying all together, much to my relief. Last week, one of his teachers told me what a great smile Paul has and how nice it is to have him there. It looks like now instead of fearing the worst, I can look forward to hearing about the daily star person, what Paul ate for a snack and the fun he had with his wonderful teachers and friends. Hallelujah!

Is this how people end up home schooling?

Today is the big day - Paul's first day of preschool - and I must say I'm a bundle of nerves. Here's why. Any hopes I had of him overcoming his fears were dashed Friday morning when we headed to moms' group at church. I've mentioned before that ever since Ben hasn't been with him there, he has been fearful. I did my best to prep him for it, and though he did protest a bit, I figured that he would cry some and then be OK. But as soon as we set foot in the door, he began to not cry, but sob. Snot-running-out-of-his-nose, heaving sobs. "Mommy, don't go!" he wailed. I did my best to calm him, though that really wasn't possible in his thoroughly panicked state. So I made for the door in the hopes that he would work it out and be OK, as he has done in the past. No sooner did I close the door than he opened the door and threw himself at my feet, begging me not to leave. It was at that point I decided we needed to leave.

Utterly bereft, I trudged into the house and began to look for articles on preschool separation anxiety. Of course many kids his age have it. Many of the others at church cried on Friday, though Paul's display certainly was the most, er, colorful. In my readings, I discovered that I did a lot of things wrong. That's nothing new for me. Don't sneak out, one expert implored, it's dishonest and it's only easier for you, not them. Did that. Don't bribe or offer rewards, another said. Did that. Don't cave in and take the child home, or he will think crying works. Oh, dear. I was beginning to lose hope for him and for me. I did find some tips that I hope will work for today. Often it works better for someone besides the mother to drop off the child, hence Mark taking Paul today. Also I let him choose a small toy to keep in his pocket as a security object.

Many wise people have reminded me that this is a phase, that just as all children one day will be potty trained, they all will go to school and do fine. I guess the hardest part for me is seeing him so scared, so upset. And underneath it all is a kernel of doubt in my mind. Sometimes the worry is simmering, others seemingly boiling over. Am I doing this right? Did I do something to cause him to be like this? I question my very decision to be a stay-at-home mom. Has it left Paul ill-prepared to face these challenges? I don't know the answers.

In preparation for today, we've been reading the children's book The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn. It taps right into the anxiety that children and parents alike feel on the first day of school. In it the mama raccoon places a kiss on young Chester's palm and promises that whenever he misses his mom, he will be able to put his palm to his cheek and feel his mother's love (Mama loves you, Mama loves you). By the end of the book when Chester plants his own kiss on his mom's hand and she puts it to her cheek and hears "Chester loves you, Chester loves you," I was a sobbing mess myself, but Paul was smiling. So we'll try it today and hope that it gets us both through.

This one's for you, G

So I'm a little late on writing down my thoughts on Gus's first birthday. What a wonderful, challenging year it was. When I saw Gus's little face on the 20-week ultrasound picture and heard the words "It's a boy," I felt instantly that it was right, that three boys was exactly what we should have. My heart swelled with an enormous wave of love and affection for my boy. Finally I saw him, the actual him, for the first time. He was what the nurses called "a good size," though he looked tiny to me, and he had abundant black hair. I adored my beautiful little boy, and I couldn't wait to bring him home to his brothers and start our life together.

After semi-successfully shepherding two boys through babyhood, I knew bringing up our third wouldn't be easy, but I was confident we would be up for the challenge. Gus, however, decided to give us a surprise. By the time he was a month old, he was extremely fussy during the evening hours, seemingly impossible to soothe during his spells. We made it, though, and the hardship made it all the sweeter when at 4 months the fussiness was flipped off like a switch and he became a delightful, mellow baby.

By about seven months, it became clear that he would walk in the footsteps of his brother, Ben (who walked at 9 months), literally. He quickly found a way to get around, first commando-style, then hands and knees, and finally, at 10 months, walking. He now has the dangerous combination of Ben's curiosity and early mobility and the reckless adventurous streak of 1-year-old Paul. He's an explorer. A climber. Fearless. This ensures that I'm never far behind and nearly never at rest. Thank goodness that with all of this, he still likes to take many breaks for a snuggle with his mom. I love you, my boy. Happy birthday.

A classic Ceman family vacation

My family loves to reminisce about vacations we took when I was a kid. A great many of those include memories of minor disasters that almost always seemed to accompany us. Take the time that my parents had tethered Sean's and my sleeping bags to the top of the car, and they rolled away into oblivion before we reached my grandpa's cabin in Drummond, WI. Or the time when we were driving home from Drummond and a garbage bag full of dirty laundry fell out of the car top carrier and my parents were pulled over for suspicion of improper disposal of garbage.

Of course anyone who knows my family knows that car troubles far and away made up most of our vacation maladies. Driving to my Grandma Flaherty's in Chicago or to Drummond, more often than not something went wrong. Legend has it that Sean was able to diagnose car troubles at the tender age of 8 ("Dad, I think we threw a rod again"). One memorable time the station wagon broke down in Merrill. We needed a mechanic to look at it, but we had to wait for some hours because he was at the Hodag festival along with everyone else in town. No lie.

For all of these reasons, it's ironic that I have any kind of expectations for vacation at all. My mom and I spent hours on the internet last winter searching for a vacation spot. It needed to be waterfront and able to accomodate our large group. Finally we settled on a pretty-looking place in Amery. It would be a long trip but worth it, we were sure. After visiting Mark's brother and sister-in-law in Minnesota, my family and I arrived first. It quickly became clear that the place was not exactly as advertised. The outside was decidedly not well-maintained. Soon we ventured down to the "water" and discovered that the lake actually was a weedy marsh. Despite some lacking qualities, the inside of the place, overall, turned out to be fairly nice, but the absence of water stung.

It didn't take long for hijinx to begin. Wednesday night Mark and I were cooking dinner. Mark went to start the grill and, no big surprise here, it was out of gas and home to some kind of nest. I sighed deeply and preheated the oven and returned to the basement. Twenty minutes later I went upstairs to put the food in the oven. Smoke and the smell of burning plastic were coming from a burner on the stove. Unbeknownst to me, in a bit of morning chaos, my mom had stuck a washer game (a kind of lawn game) in the oven to get it out of the way. Foolish me. I was laboring under the silly assumption that I would not find a lawn game in the oven. Miraculously, the game was only mildly charred, and dinner made it to the table without further incident.

Wednesday and Thursday were terrible weather days. Rain fell in sheets, and the sky stayed a depressing color of gray sun up to sun down. The kids were acting up, and I felt desperate to get out of the house. Friday started out the same way. However, when a break in the rain came, we decided to venture outside and hope for the best. I'm so happy we did. We headed to Interstate State Park. The weather turned warm and sunny, and Ben, Paul, Kelan and Gus finally got a chance to frolick in the water and play in the sand. Suddenly it all felt worth it.

We've vowed to start early to research and find an ideal place for next summer's vacation. No doubt it, too, will contain some unwanted surprises. No matter what happens, though, we'll always have our memories and funny stories.

He just may

Ask Ben what he would like to be when he grows up, and his answer is the same that many boys probably give: a professional baseball player, more specifically, a Milwaukee Brewer. Typically I like to have a little laugh about that because, sorry to drag you into this, Mark, between our contributing genes we don't exactly bring a lot of athletic prowess. What I remember most about my middle school gym days is my classmates shouting, "Come on Ceman, hit the ball!" in a not-so-supportive way while playing my most-hated sport, volleyball.

But Ben never ceases to surprise me. This summer he was determined to play in a coach-pitch baseball league rather than tee ball. Though he was younger than most of his team by a year or more, for the aforementioned reasons, I was surprised to see him hold his own. Last week we took the boys to the annual Menasha Park & Rec summer scamper. Ben had taken first place in his age group the year before and very much wanted to again. The race began, and Ben was neck and neck with a girl from his class at school. I tried to cheer, but every time I watch him perform, I get choked up. He overtook the lead and emerged victorious. (Check out the video: http://benpaulandgus.shutterfly.com/393). Now, I know this is just a small race, but it says a lot about Ben. Whatever the challenge, he brings his unique blend of confidence and determination. (After the race, my dad reported that Ben told him, "Not only am I really smart, I'm also really fast!) A Milwaukee Brewer someday? Maybe so.