When Craig got home, he finished his workday on the laptop with a cup of fresh coffee. Other than that, our first tropical storm experience wasn't a big deal.
The stormy weather sent lots of fabulous Atlantic shells up on the beach, so our evening beach walks have been more frequent and eventful.
Many thanks also to kind friends from all over who said an extra prayer for Devon and his sleeping schedule over the past hard weeks. I'm happy to report that things are getting better. Devon usually goes down for the night between eight and nine and sleeps through. I'll take it. I usually wake up to him playing with his trains in the doorway of my bedroom around seven in the morning. It's a pretty enviable toddler sleep schedule, or so say many of my mom friends who have to convince their kids to stay in their rooms past the first ray of dawn.
Naps are going better, too. As evidence, it's four p.m., I'm typing on the laptop, and the house is quiet. It's been a struggle to enforce a late afternoon quiet time. Devon spent a couple of naps whining while I camped out on the couch around the corner listening for him to get out of bed so I could swoop down, tuck him back in, and repeat in the next few minutes. He'd fall asleep long enough for me to pay the cable bill and then pop back up asking for treats. I spent many anxious moments second-guessing my resolve and wondering if this cranky child was The New Devon. Apparently not. I believe those who say that loving and consistent discipline will result in a happy, reasonable child if you stick with it long enough.
It also makes me understand why so many people have the kind of children I see running around Walmart at eleven p.m. on a school night. Consistency is HARD.
It's also hard to make sure these new boundaries don't make Devon feel insecure or unloved. Mommy has really upped her game in the play department so that Devon knows that when he cooperates with his parents and the rules they have made in his best interest, life is FUN! Thomas the Train Table arrived on the scene a week ago, and we've been making figure-eight tracks, helping Sir Topham Hatt direct the trains, and listening to Devon soberly and precisely name every car.
Sodor Line Caboose!
Gold Sifting Car!
Sodor Weather Tracker!
The babies are naturally very interested in Devon's new toy, and can't wait until he goes to bed so they can dismantle the tracks he built and climb on top of the table. They show lots of interest in the table while Devon is awake, too.
"Babies want their nursies!" shouts Devon as Melina sidles up to the table and reaches for a stop sign. "Mommy nurse Carrie-and-a-Rina!" Yep, he knows what will keep them busy and out of his space for twenty minutes.
A month ago when the girls turned one, they were feverish and too sick to have the party we had lovingly planned for them. When they didn't get better in a few days, we decided to cancel and have the party a month late. It was a tougher thing for Mommy than it was for the girls, and I was definitely glad they were too young to understand.
Last Saturday we finally held the rescheduled party at our house. Our kind friends overlooked the inconvenience of being invited to a party, told to stay away because we were too sick, invited again, and then rescheduled yet again to make sure we didn't pass around a two-week respiratory bug with the birthday cake.
In Devon's book, any excuse for more cake is a good excuse.
I am also thankful for the fact that the girls have some new toys in the house. They were really excited, too. They giggled as Teapot sang "Rule Brittania." The pouring noise it makes when you tip it over to pour some tea brought Devon over to investigate.
Then he saw the talking picnic basket and got really excited. He decided to bring out a new word he's been using lately.
"Mine!" he said.
"Not yours," I replied. "It belongs to the girlies!"
"Babies want their nursies," he countered.
Sometimes they play well together, all three of them.
That's the beauty of three kids close in age. They all like the same things. Peekaboo still amazes all of them.
It's also the difficulty. They all want the same thing at the same time.
"I want All Dese Toys!" Devon says. That's his other new word, meaning anything over seven. He knows his numbers up to seven, even though he doesn't always use them correctly. Anything over seven is just too many to count. Infinity.
I'm trying to come up with Rules for Sharing. It's tougher than I first thought. If Devon and Mommy have spent forty-five minutes making a complicated train track, it's understandable for him to be upset if the girls want to take it apart and chew on the pieces. It's also understandable that the girls would be upset if Devon runs around grabbing every toy they've decided on and yelling "mine!" just because they have it.
Thankfully, the girls' new toys have given us a chance for a life lesson.
"Mine!" shouts Devon as he grabs Little People Farm away from Melina.
"You're right," I say, "Little People Farm is Devon's toy." I watch the smug smile spread across Devon's face as I put the babies in the pen away from All Dese Toys. Then I scoop Devon up and carry him around, picking up Teapot and Picnic Basket and Shape Sorter and four new books and all the girls' new toys from the party. I put the new toys in the pen with the babies and let them play with their toys. Devon and I watch from outside.
"You can't have it both ways, Buddy-O. If we never share, then other people won't like to share with us. That's why we share our toys," I say.
You know what they say about turnabout. Devon says he wants to share, so the two of us join the babies in the pen.
So glad you are all safe and sound! -- and everyone is feeling better. Love the sharing lesson. I know I needed it!
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