Transition
Bryce
The Under Six crowd has been pushing the limits like nobody's business around here. We thought, par for the course, that Bryce had been saving his best tricks for us, but his teacher stopped John after school one day and literally said, "what's up with Bryce's attitude?" John blinked twice, distractedly mumbled something like "I have no idea what you're talking about, Bryce is the model citizen, I am insulted," and then ran away.
Bryce's spunky new "I refuse to acknowledge my confusion over this transition and will instead scream my every demand at you" attitude is mostly a painful high-maintenance addition to his already high-maintenance self, but it's made for some entertaining moments, too. At dinner the other night he crunched heartily into a tortilla chip and then gagged dramatically and loudly slurped down the nearest glass of water. Heaving in and out as if his airways had almost collapsed, he announced for everyone's clarity on the situation, "that chip stuck into my throat the way a sword would stick into the side of a mountain!"
Quinn
The bedtime madness has drastically decreased since the kids have had separate bedrooms in the new house, but that is only because Bryce miraculously stays in his bed and goes to sleep. Quinn, on the other hand, is bound and determined to re-live the glory days of puppet master night time control. He gives up more quickly and easily than he did before, because Bryce sleepily tells him to leave his room every time Quinn sneaks in there to organize a rally, but he's up later than Bryce in his rebellion.
The first few nights in the new house, Quinn woke up around midnight with what I can only assume, based on my experience with him and this condition as a baby, was reflux. John and I came up with all sorts of theories about the reflux, and methods for dealing with the reflux, but basically we walked around like idiots with big question marks over our heads until a friend of mine asked if we thought the reflux return might have anything to do with the move. When she asked that, I had a flashback to one of the "reflux" nights when I walked into Quinn's room and he was (while sleeping) sitting up in his bed, wringing his hands, and crying, "I don't want this. Take it away!" Earlier that night at bedtime he'd asked to have his old baby furniture back. Um, yeah, I think the reflux could possibly be stress-related. Maybe, just maybe the changes of losing his pacifier, going to underwear at night, moving out of his toddler bed, moving into a big bed, and moving out of the only house he's known since birth (all in the past six months) is taking a toll on this kid. Most of the time the toll is paid with screams and tantrums on the stairs when I unreasonably request that he come downstairs and ask humanely for help returning his sock from inside-out position rather than screeching and stomping his feet - but occasionally it's paid with night time reflux.
The House
Despite the (expected) challenges, we can't complain about this place. It's huge. John thinks it's enchanted, actually. The other morning while I was in the bathroom getting ready for work, he walked in to get something out of the closet and we rejoiced in the fact that we could both be in the bathroom simultaneously without bumping into each other, or having to wait in line for access to a sink or drawer. "And the food cooks better here!" he said jovially. I looked at him skeptically, but I knew exactly what he was talking about, because I'd noticed it too. He continued, "the clothes dry faster, too! I mean, the way things are going, pretty soon we'll start getting younger and thinner!"
Maybe. But if the enchantment ends with kids incapable of screaming or acting out their deep-seated displeasure with life changes, that would be enough for me.
The Under Six crowd has been pushing the limits like nobody's business around here. We thought, par for the course, that Bryce had been saving his best tricks for us, but his teacher stopped John after school one day and literally said, "what's up with Bryce's attitude?" John blinked twice, distractedly mumbled something like "I have no idea what you're talking about, Bryce is the model citizen, I am insulted," and then ran away.
Bryce's spunky new "I refuse to acknowledge my confusion over this transition and will instead scream my every demand at you" attitude is mostly a painful high-maintenance addition to his already high-maintenance self, but it's made for some entertaining moments, too. At dinner the other night he crunched heartily into a tortilla chip and then gagged dramatically and loudly slurped down the nearest glass of water. Heaving in and out as if his airways had almost collapsed, he announced for everyone's clarity on the situation, "that chip stuck into my throat the way a sword would stick into the side of a mountain!"
Quinn
The bedtime madness has drastically decreased since the kids have had separate bedrooms in the new house, but that is only because Bryce miraculously stays in his bed and goes to sleep. Quinn, on the other hand, is bound and determined to re-live the glory days of puppet master night time control. He gives up more quickly and easily than he did before, because Bryce sleepily tells him to leave his room every time Quinn sneaks in there to organize a rally, but he's up later than Bryce in his rebellion.
The first few nights in the new house, Quinn woke up around midnight with what I can only assume, based on my experience with him and this condition as a baby, was reflux. John and I came up with all sorts of theories about the reflux, and methods for dealing with the reflux, but basically we walked around like idiots with big question marks over our heads until a friend of mine asked if we thought the reflux return might have anything to do with the move. When she asked that, I had a flashback to one of the "reflux" nights when I walked into Quinn's room and he was (while sleeping) sitting up in his bed, wringing his hands, and crying, "I don't want this. Take it away!" Earlier that night at bedtime he'd asked to have his old baby furniture back. Um, yeah, I think the reflux could possibly be stress-related. Maybe, just maybe the changes of losing his pacifier, going to underwear at night, moving out of his toddler bed, moving into a big bed, and moving out of the only house he's known since birth (all in the past six months) is taking a toll on this kid. Most of the time the toll is paid with screams and tantrums on the stairs when I unreasonably request that he come downstairs and ask humanely for help returning his sock from inside-out position rather than screeching and stomping his feet - but occasionally it's paid with night time reflux.
The House
Despite the (expected) challenges, we can't complain about this place. It's huge. John thinks it's enchanted, actually. The other morning while I was in the bathroom getting ready for work, he walked in to get something out of the closet and we rejoiced in the fact that we could both be in the bathroom simultaneously without bumping into each other, or having to wait in line for access to a sink or drawer. "And the food cooks better here!" he said jovially. I looked at him skeptically, but I knew exactly what he was talking about, because I'd noticed it too. He continued, "the clothes dry faster, too! I mean, the way things are going, pretty soon we'll start getting younger and thinner!"
Maybe. But if the enchantment ends with kids incapable of screaming or acting out their deep-seated displeasure with life changes, that would be enough for me.
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