toddlers and the superpower of time management

So let me start by saying I have never been very punctual. To me, time has always seemed like a fluid thing, kind of an "on time is when I get there;" an abstract notion in the universe. The problem with that attitude is that everyone else expects you to be on time for ______ - appointments, school, work, special things like your wedding or your parent's 50th anniversary party. I do try to get ready and be to things on time, and sometimes I succeed, but not always. It's the cause of numerous fights with my husband, and I can probably count on one hand how often I was on time to work in the past month. 

I was not prepared, however, of the need to be super-time-manager (who knew it was a superpower?) when my son was born. I was OK at the beginning. I remember sitting on my bed, double breast pump action going while applying my makeup and petting the poor neglected dog with my foot. I prepared dinner while the Midglet rested comfortably in the Baby Bjorn. I cleaned and wrote thank you notes and even got out for lunches. I absorbed the superpower and was winning the battle!

Then he got a little older and then mobile and then was walking, and we needed to rethink our exit strategies. Somehow my super-time-manager power wore off and the super-late-for-everything power kicked back in. And then things kind of tapered off as we got into a routine. Mornings weren't so tough anymore, we were able to leave the house without SWAT intervention, and it seemed OK. Any parent reading this who still has an infant - be prepared. This is simply the calm before the storm. Because then your little one enters toddlerhood, and all bets are off. And I mean, off. You will sit and wonder how you were ever a self-sufficient, efficient, functional, contributing member of society. And how you ever were able to jump in the shower, get dressed and go somewhere in T-minus 12.4 minutes flat. You start believing you toddler is possessed by demons, because in a matter of 30 seconds the tornado of destruction that hit your living room, of course immediately after everything was put away and tidied, could certainly not be caused by your sweet, adorable little munchkin. 

You realize you may never be on time for anything ever again. You look around you and just gaze past the trucks strewn everywhere, the cat licking the cream cheese off the couch next to where a half-eaten bagel lays, the Play-doh stuck to the underside of your shoe. You can't think about it, because if you do your head might explode with the frustration. And then on the flip side of that, you come home immediately panic that someone broke in while you were away, never mind that you had to unlock the deadbolt coming in, and while they didn't take anything they sure made a huge mess!!

These are my mornings. This is my living room. It seems like it's every morning and that it's never going to be any different. I look at my son, and he's so sweet and delicious, and then his head spins around like Linda Blair and he's off on a path of mischief-making. While we don't know always what sets him off (that's another post, for another time), it's certain that whatever poor time management skills I had before he was born are just emphasized daily by him and the constant unpredictable nature that is toddlerhood. And every time (no pun intended) I think I've got a handle on it, I realize he's smarter than me and will always win. Always. 

Look at that sweet face - does he look like he could be the cause of so much chaos??

I call this "Reasons I'm late now that I'm a parent," or "It's because of the kid I'm always late."

1. Poop. Always with the poop.
2. “No I don't wanna wear that!"
3. I forgot the stroller in the garage. I'm already driving and 10 minutes away from home.
4. “NO I WANT MY BOOTS!"
5. Potty. Potty. Potty.
6. “Mommy, I want chocolate milk to bring."
7. ME: "Did you get the diaper bag ready?" HIM: "No, I thought it was ready from yesterday." ME: SIGH (insert eye roll and inevitable argument here)
8. I forgot my car keys.
9. "Put your shoes on. Why are your shoes off? Didn't we just put them on?"
10. “Mommy, my tummy hurts." Commence with the potty routine.
11. I locked myself out. With the toddler screaming about juice or food or a toy I inevitably forgot to grab on my way out the door, only to leave my keys inside with said item.
12. WTF is all over my shirt?
13. "Mommy, I want juice to bring."
14. "Oh no, my frozen yogurt is broken!!!"
15. I can't find my shoes. Where are my shoes? Oh, there they are, shoved under the bookshelf. Because that's where they belong.
16. "Mommy, I need to go potty!!!"
17. "I didn't get to push Daddy out the door!!"
18. Mommy just can't take it and needs to sit down for 2 minutes.
19. "Put your jacket on. Why is your jacket off? Didn't we just put it on?"
20. I dropped my car keys in the recycling bin in the garage. And then spent 20 minutes looking for my keys everywhere but the recycling bin.

Trucks and Tutus

This is my son, affectionately referred to as The Midglet. He's almost 3. He loves trucks, cars, tractors, construction equipment, and just about anything with wheels. He also loves tutus, tiaras, barrettes, makeup and nail polish.

 One day, picking him up from school, he refused to take off the "tutu" from the costume station (really, a pink skirt) until I reminded him he had this tutu at home. He relented and removed the school's costume in favor of immediately getting his tutu at home.

He then wore this tutu for days, over his clothes, pajamas, even on a 6 hour car ride to visit his Nani & Pops. He was so proud, spinning around and telling Daddy & Pops he was a ballerina or princess. 

My husband and his father were not the most supportive of these developments, my father-in-law even said to my son he didn't understand what the Midglet was talking about when he was wearing the tutu, and that lit a fire in me. I don't understand why or how it matters that a 2 year old boy shouldn't be allowed to dress up however he chooses. Fortunately the Midglet didn't catch on to the meaning under the words because he was too busy twirling. Later that same evening, my son got all dressed up as a princess when we were spending time with some other friends & their kids. Dress, barrettes, tiara, dress-up heels, jewelry - the works. He was so excited and all the other kids didn't say boo about it. My friends and I thought it was fabulous as he was so happy!

He is a boy - he loves all things "boy" and then some. He wants to help me with my makeup in the morning and loves going through my cases (as a makeup artist I have a lot of products) and there are even times I'll give him some foundation or BB cream or finishing powder to play with because as I see it, what's the harm? 

My husband worries - he doesn't want him to get made fun of or bullied for choosing to go outside the box. My response? He's 2. He spent most of his first 2.5 years surrounded by women and his little BFF is a girl 4 months younger. He doesn't see the stigmas associated with dressing up in "girl" clothes, and why should he?

He loves to run and play and pee in the bushes (a byproduct of potty training during the summer). He also loves cooking and "helping" in the kitchen. He loves race cars and pirates and big trucks and monsters. He also loves Tangled and The Little Mermaid. He might live outside if we let him, while getting dirty and learning about nature. 

I'm proud he doesn't have to worry about what other kids or parents think about his choice of play. He loves that tutu, thinks it's the best thing ever one day, then doesn't look at it for another month. If he wants to dress up as a princess, I'll be first in line to help him find the costume he wants. I tell my husband not to worry - "He's just 2," I say. "There's nothing wrong with it," I say. 

I worry, though, too. I worry the Midglet will lose his innocence and one day recognize the message of "boys don't dress up in tutus." I worry he'll come home crying and upset because a less tolerant child (or parent) makes a comment that wrecks his sense of self and independence. I worry that I won't be able to kiss it away and that he'll stuff that tutu in the corner of his closet. I can only hope that my drive to instill in him his individuality and self-protection is enough. That he responds to someone less tolerant with a simple "I like it, and that's what matters." That he encourages that other child, or parent, to think outside the box. That he keeps teaching me what it is to embrace the not-so-obvious needs of a well-rounded parent.