1 + 1 = 15

Over the weekend, Alec went over to a grandparent's house to play and spend the night. Immediately after he left our house, something very strange happened. My day became amazingly easier.

Now before you start thinking, well duh!, let me continue.

Obviously it's easier to take care of one child than it is to take care of two. But the strange part was that it felt like a whole bus-load of kids had left the house, not just one.

I had time to do laundry; I had time to play with Chase (like actually play with him - for more than 30 seconds); I had time to clean and do dishes; and when that glorious time called "nap time" came for Chase, I even had time to skim a few pages of a magazine and relax for a while.

I felt like in just a few hours with one child I had accomplished what normally takes me at least a few weeks to accomplish with two children.

I don't know about other moms with more than one child, but in my house I feel like I have about 15 kids, not just two. I mean, I know I'm outnumbered if Chad isn't home (and even when he is home we still feel outnumbered). But I'm only outnumbered by one tiny person. And sure, Alec and Chase each have their challenging moments, but overall they're both really good kids. So how can it really be that much harder to take care of two kids than it is to take care of one?

One sweet little boy

 +

One more sweet little boy

 =

Seriously? I left the room for a minute. ONE MINUTE! The only toy that we keep in the dining room has been scattered all over the floor. Chase has found and is playing with something he shouldn't be (a mute to Chad's trombone). Alec has located and turned on the central vac and is attempting to suck up his little brother. And where did Chase's pants go? There HAVE to be about 13 other little boys hiding somewhere. That is the only explanation as to how all this could happen in just ONE MINUTE.

Take laundry, for example. Doing a load of laundry with one boy is easy. He helps me sort the lights and darks into piles and then helps me put the laundry in the washer. When I'm folding, he plays nicely with his train table.

But add my other boy to the mix and it's a whole different story. I have laundry of all colors flying everywhere while the boys fight over who gets to put the clothes in the washer; then I have Alec pushing buttons on the washer while Chase runs around sporting Alec's (dirty) underwear on his head proclaiming he is Captain Hook. By the time I'm ready to fold the laundry, I realize that a red bathing suit has managed to find its way into the load of Chad's white dress shirts that are coming out of the dryer.

And how about those toys? When I actually take the time to straighten up the basement playroom, it takes my two boys all of 30 seconds to have every single toy out and thrown on the floor. Forget playing with the toys... The mission is simply to destroy the basement as quickly as possible. But with only one child around, the basement actually looked fairly neat for a whole ten minutes!

Bedtime was another time where I really noticed a significant difference.With Alec gone for one night, I was amazed at how easy bedtime seemed. Even with an extra ten minutes of snuggling Chase, I was still downstairs in time to catch the final round of Jeopardy. I think Alex Trebek was probably in his 40s the last time I saw this game show.

So what gives? Obviously one plus one does not equal fifteen. So why does my life get fifteen times harder when both kids are around? Why does having two children around make me feel like I'm responsible for caring for an entire football team of toddlers?

I suppose I can only hope that the pink dress shirts, destroyed basements and sacrificed game shows will all pay off in a few years when my two boys will be making my life fifteen times easier by helping around the house. Apparently Alec already has a passion for vacuuming, so that's at least a start. Hey, I can dream, right?

Forcing a Bird to Fly

Summer is about half over now. Translation: there has been no school for over two months. On one hand, I can't believe we're already nearing the end of July. On the other hand, the boys and I are starting to be around each other just a little bit too much. With my summer survival plan in full effect, we've made it this far...but we still have a long way to go.

We've been keeping busy with things like swimming, making chocolate covered bananas, picking blueberries, visiting the many playgrounds in our area and vacationing in Florida. And I've spent plenty of time playing with my boys at home too... We play "Go Fish" and hide-and-seek; we build Lego trees that cats get stuck in and need to be rescued by the fire department; we have dance parties and animal birthday parties; I make alphabet scavenger hunts out of sidewalk chalk.

Chase enjoyed the chocolate covered bananas that we made

Alec loved the alphabet scavenger hunt

So it's not like we've just been sitting around the house all summer. But the times when we are sitting around have started to turn into a nightmare. The boys start jumping on me and fighting with each other; I start yelling at them to get off of me or to stop fighting; and after all the jumping, fighting and yelling, I'm too exhausted to actually play with them, so they get bored and start jumping on me and fighting again. This happens over and over again, and no one really has any fun. Jump. Fight. Yell. Repeat.

So yesterday, after I had become the boys' personal trampoline for about the tenth time, I decided I had had enough. So I did something that I never thought to do before. I made them go play.

Yes, you read that correctly. I made my children play.

I gave them a choice. They could go to the playroom in the basement to play, or they could go upstairs to their rooms to play. I didn't care where they went, but they had to go somewhere and find something to do that didn't involve injuring each other (or me).

It was like a lightbulb went on for me. Ok, so maybe it was more like a gigantic chandelier with a blinking, neon "ON" switch right in front of my eyes. I mean here are two kids, in a house full of toys. Kids love to play, so why had I never thought to do this before?

But the reaction I got was one that I would have expected if I told them they couldn't have a bedtime snack. They whined; they complained; one of them even started crying. Are you kidding me? What kind of kid doesn't want to play?

I even made sure to reinforce that they were not in trouble and that they just needed to find something to do other than clobber each other. They still weren't thrilled about the idea, but finally Chase reluctantly retreated to the basement and Alec stomped up to his room. They had about as much enthusiasm about going to play as I have when it's cleaning day. Well at least they weren't demonstrating their WWF abilities on each other anymore.

I was just looking for a 10 minute break from the fighting, but what came next was nothing short of a miracle. Once they boys got over their whining and pouting, they actually started playing. They played. And played. And played. And played. They played together, and they played on their own. And they just kept playing like it was the first time they had ever seen their toys. The two boys who just moments earlier couldn't go more than two minutes without picking on each other were now playing better than I had ever seen them play. And all I had to do was force them to play.

Somehow, forcing a child to play just doesn't seem to make sense. I don't have to force my kids to eat vegetables. I don't have to force them to drink milk. I don't have to force them to brush their teeth. Usually. But for some reason I have to force them to play. Seriously? That's like forcing a ball to bounce... Or forcing a dog to fetch a toy... Or forcing a mom to take a night off to go see Magic Mike. But I digress...

I think you get my point. Playing should come naturally to children. They should want to play. They shouldn't need to be forced to play.

But maybe it's more like forcing a baby bird to leave the nest. Birds are meant to fly, but until the mama bird forces the baby to try it, they baby won't leave the nest. Once the baby realizes it can fly, it opens up a whole new world.

Well, I have forced my baby birds to fly. And they have discovered a whole new world. Sure they've played with their toys before. But it took a little pushing for them to discover this new world and really want to play on their own.

Now that they have discovered this world, I'm hoping they will continue to explore it. I'm sure there will still be plenty more jumping, and fighting, and yelling. But when that starts to happen there will be more forced playing...or should I say forced flying.