{Evan’s 12 month post} {Caroline’s 12 month post}

So it’s kind of funny. When Evan turned 12 months, I definitely still thought of him as a baby on the brink of toddlerhood. When Caroline turned 12 months, I thought of her as a toddler who was basically a real person.

Today Lincoln turns 12 months and he might as well still be 4 months old.

Don’t tell HIM that – he thinks he’s a human who can jump on the couch and climb stairs and swim in the lake and eat ham at the grocery store and feed his own self and use my phone and set a schedule. He can actually do about half of that stuff, although I try my best to discourage it.

But I still think of him as a tiny baby. He still gets up most nights to nurse and it hasn’t occurred to me to discourage that. I only started putting him in his crib a week or two ago and most of the time he ends up in my bed before morning. I never remember to bring shoes for him, because why would a baby need to put their feet on the ground? I have five bazillion baby wearing devices and use all of them regularly. Every time I say something to him and he appears to actually understand what I’m saying I am SHOCKED. The fact that he doesn’t talk yet doesn’t worry me because babies can’t talk.

I’m not sure how long I’ll be convinced of his babyhood. Maybe I’ll feel that way forever – or at least until there’s a new baby, if there ever is a new baby. The future is unclear. But the right now is full of an adorable, slightly ginger baby who is a joy and a light in our crazy family. We all love him to pieces.

At 12 months, Linc wears 12 or 18 month sizes in clothes and a 5.5 shoe, He has at least 8 teeth. There are some molars back there too and his canines are coming through, but NO WAY do I want to stick my finger in his mouth. He likes both real food and nursing. He never crawls anymore.

Likes include water, sand, eating sand, baby food pouches, cheese, meatballs, nursing, cuddles, giving kisses, dogs, cats, anything with fur, his yellow blankie, naps, blowing raspberries, phones, cords, taking trash out of the trash can, climbing, pooping and smiling at everyone.

Dislikes are being hungry, being told not to kill himself, being rescued from danger and milk from a cup.

Add “being still long enough to have his picture taken” to the list of haaaaaaaates.

‘ ‘

3rd baby, 3rd blankie, 3rd favorite lovie

LASHES

Bye! Leaving!

Are you coming??

Ok, well, you sit there. I have places to go.

JUST KIDDING I LOVE YOU!

Come with me if you want to live…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEET BOY! Everyone who knows you loves you so, so much.

12 Month Milestones (originally from BabyCenter)

Mastered Skills (most kids can do)
Imitates others’ activities – Pretends to talk on the phone, can throw things away, likes to steal people’s chairs. It’s like he thinks he’s a real person.
Indicates wants with gestures – I feel like he doesn’t really have control over his arms most of the time. He screeches rather than points or signs.

Emerging Skills (half of kids can do)
Takes a few steps – Runs. And just learned how to climb onto the couch.
Says one word besides “mama” or “daddy” – He still doesn’t really talk. I don’t have much trouble understanding him, but he doesn’t really say mama or daddy yet.

Advanced Skills (a few kids can do)
Walks alone – I feel like if there’s one thing that applies to all children I give birth to, it’s their advanced walking skills.
Scribbles with a crayon – Likes to chew on markers?
Says two words besides “mama” or “dada” – No. I figure in a couple months he’ll just start talking in complete sentences.

This is not the post I was supposed to be writing today. Right now I am supposed to be taking pictures of my 364-day-old baby so I can post a sweet, heartfelt, sob-worthy birthday post tomorrow when he turns 1. But my baby is blissfully taking a much-needed nap while I get to sit on the couch with a Diet Coke and think about how much needs to be done before his party on Saturday.

Except instead of party planning, I am working myself into a rage for the third time this week over that story out of the diner in Maine. I have spent entirely too much time, energy and furious typing on this story already, so what’s another hour?

Sometimes my children are monsters. I’m sorry. But screaming at them is not the answer.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you can catch up here on Buzzfeed and also read the mother’s account of what happened here. Do NOT read the comments.

Although I am extremely inclined to believe the family over the diner owner, I cannot prove anything one way or another. Even in this age of social media and cell phone videos as far as I know there isn’t any footage to confirm or deny the length of the tantrum. I’ve already word-vomited my feelings about that part of the story all over Facebook, much to the distress of some of my friends’ friends who insist I can’t possibly know what I’m talking about because THEY SEE parents being bad parents ALL THE TIME. I actually hardly ever see anyone being a terrible parent and can’t remember any time vividly enough to recount it for you now. Maybe I’m not observant or maybe my threshold for “terrible parenting” is just wicked high after having three kids. But if that is something ALL these internet commenters experience ALL the time, I cannot deny it happens.

So I give up on all my previous statements, assumptions and conclusions. You are right, people of the internet. Maybe these parents were incredibly neglectful, lazy and selfish and their monster of a toddler screamed at the top fo her lungs for 40 minutes, ruining everyone else’s morning. They are horrible and completely in the wrong for not taking their kid out of the restaurant.

But the part I absolutely WILL NOT concede is that the diner owner should be congratulated or treated as some sort of hero, standing up for the rights and eardrums of all the polite, respectable people who all seem to have raised their children without a single mistake ever or who are doing us all a favor by not having children in the first place.

I will cut a paste a few congratulatory comments so you don’t have to read all 1,000+ of them yourself.

“LOL I really like this owner!”

“owner did the right thing. that’s it!”

“I think the owner had every right when the parents r sitting there making everyone pay for their child’s temper tantrum. If u can’t control a Whiney kid….Stay the hell home! When I go out the last thing I want to listen to is a whaling brat!”

“Ugh. I’d have thanked her right then. Take your shrieking spawn outside please.”

“Restaurant owner is right. Dumbass mother is wrong. Case closed.”

“As for the owner, I applaud her. Simply put, her restaurant, her rules. It doesn’t necessarily matter if she has kids of her own or not either. She acted perfectly fine.”

“I give the owner support for her so-called rude response…apparently that’s the only way to get thru to the parents…the child had given a pure example of that truth! 40 minutes of ignoring your child is rude …BE A PARENT!”

Let me just be clear here: yelling at a kid in this situation does not make you a hero.

Do you know what makes you a hero in this situation? Kindness.

Kindness, patience and sympathy, which all seem to be rarer than unicorns these days. I feel extremely lucky that most of my interactions on a daily basis fall into the “polite indifference” section of the grid rather than “angry hostility” or “crazy screaming person” areas. I appreciate anyone who lets me just go about my parenting and life business without instantly writing me and my kids off as brats, jerks, whiners, life-ruiners who don’t really deserve to be out in public at all.

My heroes are the people who help when they don’t have to. The waitress who sees that I am struggling to keep my toddler in his high chair long enough to eat my meal and brings him apple slices to gnaw on is a hero. The cashier at the grocery store who starts to talk to my whining 4-year-old to distract her is a hero. The nurse at my doctor’s appointment who holds my baby for me so I can get changed is a hero. The lady at the beach who shares her snacks with my kids so they don’t have a hunger meltdown after all the snacks I brought have run out is a hero. My definition of hero here is pretty low, but in all those situations I am as grateful as if they had saved me from drowning. In a way, that is exactly what they are doing.

Those people are heroes because not only are they doing me a huge favor and embodying the idea that it takes a village, they are demonstrating in a real, tangible way to my kids what good behavior looks like. Instead of reacting to anger and frustration with anger and frustration, they are living proof being kind and calm is a real solution. “Oh!” thinks my kid, “She is trying to communicate without throwing a fit! Maybe I should also try that!”

That is how you turn irrational, screaming babies into full-sized good people. You model the behavior you want them to emulate, in private, in public and in diners. It can take a while, years even, but there isn’t really another option. I work really, really hard every waking hour of my day to give my kids the life skills, language and emotional maturity to one day be someone’s employee, boss, wife, husband, neighbor or friend. It is a fact of human survival that babies and children are necessary to create full-grown adults, so we need to allow for them to exist, even if sometimes they are awful. Kindness is how we teach them not to be so awful.

If you tell me that because these are not YOUR kids and YOU didn’t choose to bring them into this world you have no responsibility or obligation to help me teach them to be kind, I cannot argue with you. That is totally true. You are not obligated to do any parenting, so please enjoy doing things like sleeping in, going to brunch and yelling at whoever you want. But try to remember that you – YES YOU – were once a child. If your mother or father is available, call them up and ask them to tell you about their absolute WORST parenting moment. Maybe they can remember a time someone was kind to them while they were struggling, and the next time you encounter a horrible child in public you can pay that act of kindness forward.

No, you do not have to go above and beyond for me just because I have kids. No, I am not asking for special treatment. It is just so disheartening to think that so many people hate my family just because we exist in public spaces, we have bad days, and sometimes we make noise. I swear I am doing the best that I can to raise my tiny humans into people you would be happy to sit next to in a diner. If you can show them a little kindness, you can be a hero.

I’ve been staring at this for 15 minutes now, trying to decide if it’s worth hitting publish when I am fairly certain I’ll get yelled at for my post about not yelling at people. If you feel the need to comment or share, please be kind and give me and my commenters the benefit of the doubt when it comes to judgment, entitlement, parenting styles and anything else.

Item: White t-shirt
Stain: Grass
Treatment: Dab stain with rubbing alcohol. When it’s time to wash, pour some detergent directly onto the stain before throwing it into the laundry.

Item: Pink ballet leotard
Stain: Blood
Treatment: Soak leotard immediately in cold water, then rub with a bar of soap. If it doesn’t all come out, treat with hydrogen peroxide, since a slightly pale spot on the leotard is less likely to get your yelled at by the dance teacher than an obvious blood stain.

Item: Swim trunks
Stain: Sand
Treatment: Wonder how the hell SAND can stain a pair of swim trunks. Leave in the back of your car for 2 days because you forgot them. Throw them in the once a week hot water load of laundry, cross fingers.

Item: Sparkly white tutu
Stain: Green chalk paint
Treatment: Throw it in the laundry with the regular stuff, because it’s just chalk, that should come right out. Realize the stain hasn’t even sort of come out. Spot treat with a stain stick, toss it back in the regular laundry. Realize the stain STILL isn’t out and now it probably never going to. Hide that tutu and hope your daughter never notices it’s gone.

Item: Baby pajamas
Stain: Blueberries
Treatment: Let the naked baby run around the house while you spray all the stains with OxyClean. Baby smears blueberries on everything. Forget pajamas, use a toothbrush and Resolve to scrub blueberries out of the new couch. Vow never to buy blueberries again.

Item: Batman underpants
Stain: Skid marks
Treatment: Throw them away. Kid sized underpants are cheaper than the price of your dignity.

Item: Mom’s favorite shirt
Stain: Salad dressing
Treatment: Curse the fact that you can’t just eat your salad of sadness alone for FIVE MINUTES. Instead, you eat standing in the kitchen where you will always end up with half the salad falling on your cleavage. Try rubbing it with baking soda to draw out the oil, realize it barely even matters because you can’t have nice things.

Item: Brand new Tea Collection dress
Stain: Sharpie WTF WHERE DID YOU GET A SHARPIE
Treatment: Count to 10. Count to 10 again. Count to 10 one more time. Calmly ask daughter to remove dress so you can try to get the stain out. Blot stain with vinegar and pray to every god you can think of that it comes out.

Item: Wool rug
Stain: Pizza sauce
Treatment: Move rug to the other room where the stain is hidden by a couch. Order new rug.

Item: Every pair of shorts/pants your almost 1 year old owns
Stain: Baby poop
Treatment: Give up.

Summer summer summertime! So much summering going on around here.

Sunday:

When there is a sleeping baby on you, you sit.

I tried to tell him biting an inflatable was a poor choice, but he didn’t listen.

Fruit pizza is my new favorite kind of pizza

Monday:

A++++ WOULD RECOMMEND

He’s becoming a Stage 3 leaner

Big kidding big kidding around!

Tuesday:

Making sure we got enough sticks in with the blueberries

Having big kid friends who can read is cool.

My husband made a table.

Wednesday:

Practicing her name while we wait for car repairs

Blueberry almond cakes

Took a walk ALONE because that’s not happening again for a while

Thursday:

Buying a toilet seat LIKE A BOSS

We picked up a friend from horse camp so Caroline could meet some horses

Surfer Dude

Friday:

Linc smashed it 10 seconds later

Cool kids wear hats

The view from the hill behind my house

Saturday:

Lake…

…Target…

…Ice cream. REPEAT.

Linc turns 1 on Thursday and I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. His party is Saturday, and I have a bazillion things to do before then, including create a menu. I have never been this unprepared to feed my guests. I’m keeping my everything crossed that we have beautiful weather for the party, because I am counting on the bounce house and some bubbles to keep the kids entertained all afternoon. I don’t know what I’ll do if we have to be inside.

If you need me, I’ll be keeping as busy as possible so I can IGNORE THE PART ABOUT LINC TURNING 1.

There’s a commercial they play on the radio all summer proclaiming that Ocean Beach in New London is one of the finest “sugar sand” beaches in the country. Having been to New London a couple times, I was extremely skeptical of that claim.

We have some lovely Fresno beaches to visit, but nothing I would call amazing. It can actually be pretty hard to get to the coast around here, since so much of it is privately owned or controlled by the state. The beaches are also a little boring, since Long Island shelters our coast to the point that there are very few waves. It’s nice for toddlers but not so much for boogie boarding. If I want to pay money to sit by still water I’ll stick to my lake membership where I can also drink beer, chat with my friends and let my kids run to the bathroom without worrying someone is going to steal my stuff.

But as much as I love the lake is not the ocean and I am an ocean girl at heart. The idea of living in a state without an ocean coast is unthinkable – if I ever say I am moving to the midwest someone please have my head examined. If living on a sailboat was a viable option with 3 kids and no money, I would do it in a second.

All that info was the lead-up to me saying: We finally went to Ocean Beach! Although I still can’t tell you about the sugar-like qualities of the sand since we never even stepped foot on it. We did enjoy ourselves though, especially the kids. They do a Cruise Night on Mondays, where people bring their fancy/antique/really proud of themselves even though I’m pretty sure that’s just a 98 Miata cars and the oldies station plays classic music. I like old cars and Frankie Valli enough, but what I really like is free stuff. The parking and admission are free, plus the kid rides have an $11 wristband option, so even including the one ride down the waterslide for Evan our entire output for 3 hours was $25. Usually that’s how much they charge just to PARK.

Just a friendly warning in case you wanted to check it out:- the rides are…questionable. At one point I noticed the carousel was powered by an extension cord that ran into the (slight abandoned??) building adjacent to it through a hole someone drilled in a window. I noticed because I was keeping my eye on the SKUNK that had wandered across the path between rides. Skunk. At the beach. Sure, why not? The rides are exactly the same stuff you would find at a smallish town fair, except they live there at the beach all summer so they’re not in tip-top condition. They still looked SAFE, just not…new. The rust was just on the decorative parts.

Listen though, I am NOT knocking Ocean Beach. We had a really great time. The kids were in heaven. After they rode all the rides without waiting in a single line we walked over to the splash pad and they all got soaked for an hour. We never even made it to the mini golf, but we did take our albatross golf just in case, onto the playground or down to the actual ocean. Just being on a boardwalk where they sell over-priced, over-greased fried seafood that sea gulls try to steal out of your hand is all I need.

Linc spent most of the evening on my back so he didn’t get to ride anything. He did like the splash park though. He was born missing the healthy fear of things that might kill him gene. It can be both fun and exhausting. Mostly it’s fun.