Note to self: when your son's stomach starts to rumble loud enough for you to instinctively look for a freight train, you should immediately go on alert. When it does it a second time, you should check him before you pick him up and hug him.
Little Man was sitting in his chair happily eating away; a spoon in each hand to maximize the wonderful mess mommy will have to clean up but why stop with face, hair, and floor? Been there. Done that. Time to up the ante.
The first rumble didn't register with me right away. The second rumble caused a raised eyebrow but the look of shear joy and huge belly laugh wiped away any concern. Um, hello. You have a BOY. Listen to the stereotypes woman. They came about for a reason.
I pick Little Man up and give him a hug as I always do when a stench begins its assault on my olfactory receptors. Once that registers, I realize my boob is now wet. I extend my arms and am about to ask my adorable offspring if he pooped when it I realize I am about to be awarded the grand prize for asking the obvious.
As I've mentioned before, my son has never been one for spit ups or blowouts but when he does, he excels at them. I am not sure what award he is going for but he definitely took it tonight. Is there an Oscar for best blowout?
It is all the way up his back and half way up his front (not to mention also now on my front BLECH!). I carry my adorable yet revoltingly smelly and dirty offspring upstairs by holding him as far away from me as my arms will reach. I am not sure "pissed off" properly conveys the look I received. I quickly realize that there is no way I can use the changing table unless I want it spread to his hands, feet, face, hair, and of course, the walls. So stink boy gets unceremoniously dumped in the tub. The daggers shooting out his eyes are now joined by his spot on impersonation of a banshee.
I strip the socks and the shorts and am stunned by a horrific discovery. My son is wearing not a polo shirt but a polo onesie.
"Shit. Shit. SHIT! Literally and figuratively SHIIIIT! By the way dear, now is NOT the time to start imitating what you hear come out of mommy's mouth OK? SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT! How the hell do I get this damn thing off of you without getting it on your face and in your hair? DAMN IT! Why the HELL did I not install the damn detachable shower head? Hmm, would the neighbors be horrified if I took the hose to you outside?"
As the banshee screams increase I decide that maybe too scarring so I somehow manage the incredible feat of removing a onesie that seems to have shrunk instantly without getting it in his face or hair. I got it all over my hand and arm instead. Have I said BLECH yet?
The one time I am glad my son is too upset to sit down in the tub. It made cleaning him easier. I've never scrubbed him so clean. Ever. Have to remember to stop by CVS tomorrow and grab some more bath wash for him. I went through most of the bottle. Don't worry. I stopped short of reaching for the bleach.
So my son is now spit-shine clean and smelling like aquaphor. My hand and arm are scrubbed raw and smelling like rubbing alcohol (again, stopped short of reaching for the bleach. My arms are white enough). A pile of clothes, a ton of washcloths and towels are in the wash and his tub has been scrubbed, bleached and then bleached again for good measure.
I hope this a one time deal but the freight train rumbled again. SHIT! I tell you I am incredibly slow sometimes. My son's pajamas? A FREAKING ONESIE! I think of this now. SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT! This better be a one-time thing. I can already hear my husband's response at 2 AM: "I have to go to the office tomorrow. You are working from home. All yours. Besides, you are the one that put in back in a onesie".
Oh Sweet Mother...
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Phases of the Moon
I understand that a child goes through phases, preferring one parent over another. Little Man is no exception. He changes loyalties with the phases of the moon. When it is time to switch from mommy to daddy, mommy appreciates the break and takes no offense (OK, at times I've cheered maybe a little too loudly). When the moon phases, he comes back to mommy just as the twinges of jealousy start to rear its ugly head.
Daddy phase began last week just in time for the weekend. This means I get to gently nudge my husband awake at 6:30 to go get Little Man while I roll over and go back to sleep. Hmm, maybe I should adjust part of that last sentence or someone will be calling bullshit on me.
This means I can elbow the shit out of my husband until he jumps up crying "what the fuck?" while shooting daggers out of his eyes at me. I smile sweetly. Let him know that his son wants him, roll over and go back to sleep.
Saturday morning I elbow my dear sweet husband and without question (but not without a few choice and maybe well-deserved words for me. Maybe) he goes and gets Little Man who proceeds to walk into our room and have a very loud conversation with me. Loud conversation and sleep do not go well together so I ask the little munchkin with the lungs of a T-Rex if he's hungry; would he like to go downstairs.
Yes, yes, yes! If he nodded any harder his head would have rolled off. I didn't have my bowling pins set up so I told him to go with Daddy who would be more than happy to get him breakfast.
You would have thought I dangled his breakfast just out of reach and refused to give it to him. T-Rex decided to imitate a banshee. Has the moon phased that quickly? Does he only want mama again? Again with the head nod. So I drag my tired ass out of bed, take him downstairs and get him breakfast. Once he is content in his chair shoveling food in faster than a starving squirrel, I proceed to the espresso machine where I start on my first of two double-shot espressos. I need to prepare for the mama only day in front of me.
I don't even get my second double-shot down my throat when Little Man decides he is done so down and off he goes. To Daddy. To Play.
The moon hasn't phased. My son has not swung back to his mommy-only phase. He has donned his Robes of Justice (hmm, future Supreme Court or League of Justice?) and decided to put mommy in her place. Daddy's job is to entertain him, play with him, and make him laugh until he hiccups. Mommy's job is to feed him, clean up after him, change him, and what ever non-playtime related task he can think of. Think you are going back to sleep? Well before you do - let me fill my diaper first - all mushy and disgusting and a PITA to clean up. OK, now can you get me some milk? Nah, I want Cheerios. Nah, I want....
I apologize to my darling husband. I will fore go the elbow to the ribs. I will drag my tired ass out of bed and have breakfast with my son.
Until I can find a spa retreat I can afford...
Daddy phase began last week just in time for the weekend. This means I get to gently nudge my husband awake at 6:30 to go get Little Man while I roll over and go back to sleep. Hmm, maybe I should adjust part of that last sentence or someone will be calling bullshit on me.
This means I can elbow the shit out of my husband until he jumps up crying "what the fuck?" while shooting daggers out of his eyes at me. I smile sweetly. Let him know that his son wants him, roll over and go back to sleep.
Saturday morning I elbow my dear sweet husband and without question (but not without a few choice and maybe well-deserved words for me. Maybe) he goes and gets Little Man who proceeds to walk into our room and have a very loud conversation with me. Loud conversation and sleep do not go well together so I ask the little munchkin with the lungs of a T-Rex if he's hungry; would he like to go downstairs.
Yes, yes, yes! If he nodded any harder his head would have rolled off. I didn't have my bowling pins set up so I told him to go with Daddy who would be more than happy to get him breakfast.
You would have thought I dangled his breakfast just out of reach and refused to give it to him. T-Rex decided to imitate a banshee. Has the moon phased that quickly? Does he only want mama again? Again with the head nod. So I drag my tired ass out of bed, take him downstairs and get him breakfast. Once he is content in his chair shoveling food in faster than a starving squirrel, I proceed to the espresso machine where I start on my first of two double-shot espressos. I need to prepare for the mama only day in front of me.
I don't even get my second double-shot down my throat when Little Man decides he is done so down and off he goes. To Daddy. To Play.
The moon hasn't phased. My son has not swung back to his mommy-only phase. He has donned his Robes of Justice (hmm, future Supreme Court or League of Justice?) and decided to put mommy in her place. Daddy's job is to entertain him, play with him, and make him laugh until he hiccups. Mommy's job is to feed him, clean up after him, change him, and what ever non-playtime related task he can think of. Think you are going back to sleep? Well before you do - let me fill my diaper first - all mushy and disgusting and a PITA to clean up. OK, now can you get me some milk? Nah, I want Cheerios. Nah, I want....
I apologize to my darling husband. I will fore go the elbow to the ribs. I will drag my tired ass out of bed and have breakfast with my son.
Until I can find a spa retreat I can afford...
Friday, June 26, 2009
Defective Babel Fish
Me: Where's the fish?
Little Man points to Elmo's feet.
Me: No baby, those are feet. This is a fish. Now where is the shell?
Little Man points to the shell. Success!
Me: Good job. Now where's the beach ball?
Little Man points in the general vicinity so he gets a check mark for that one as well.
Me: Where's the fish?
Little Man points to the fish and says: blagagla (or something to that effect).
Me: That's a fish.
Little Man: Blagagla (pointing a tad more emphatically)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! (one strong jab at the fish)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! Jab, jab - I'll stare you down Mama!
Me: Yes dear.
Little Man points to Elmo's feet.
Me: No baby, those are feet. This is a fish. Now where is the shell?
Little Man points to the shell. Success!
Me: Good job. Now where's the beach ball?
Little Man points in the general vicinity so he gets a check mark for that one as well.
Me: Where's the fish?
Little Man points to the fish and says: blagagla (or something to that effect).
Me: That's a fish.
Little Man: Blagagla (pointing a tad more emphatically)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! (one strong jab at the fish)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! Jab, jab - I'll stare you down Mama!
Me: Yes dear.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
The arrival of the Babel fish
Little Man and I were leaving the house this morning. He pointed to the door and said:
“Go. Bye-bye. Go.”
Go would be the second word my son has spoken that I have understood. Whoever slipped the Babel fish in my ear, I thank you; about freaking time but thank you.
“Go. Bye-bye. Go.”
Go would be the second word my son has spoken that I have understood. Whoever slipped the Babel fish in my ear, I thank you; about freaking time but thank you.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Mommy Milestone #2 (The Big One)
I've said this before: for all I know my son is having a conversation that would make Steven Hawking proud but short bus mama here can't understand a word of it.
Tonight after he put his bath toys away, we drained the tub. He did his usual - clap and wave good-bye to the water. And then, while waving, he clearly said: buh-buh. Not once but twice.
My son spoke. He said a word and miraculously I understood him. My son said bye-bye to the water.
I'm so happy I could cry. There is hope for me after all. I just may graduate from the short bus after all.
Tonight after he put his bath toys away, we drained the tub. He did his usual - clap and wave good-bye to the water. And then, while waving, he clearly said: buh-buh. Not once but twice.
My son spoke. He said a word and miraculously I understood him. My son said bye-bye to the water.
I'm so happy I could cry. There is hope for me after all. I just may graduate from the short bus after all.
Baby on Board
Baby on Board
The one small little sign can send my stomach into all sorts of upheaval.
Obnoxious but what do you expect about a Yuppie fad?
I could rant for hours about the (stereo)typical people who put these signs on their cars but George Carlin went there, did that and why mess with a good thing.
I won't go there. I will; however, go here:
To the obnoxious, faux-SUV-driving Bimbo who had the nerve to put a Baby on Board sign on her car: If you are that concerned about your child's safety, put your makeup on BEFORE you leave the house. Not while you are driving at 45 miles an hour. I wish I could have followed you. I would have moved that damn sign from the back window to the front where YOU could see it.
The one small little sign can send my stomach into all sorts of upheaval.
Obnoxious but what do you expect about a Yuppie fad?
I could rant for hours about the (stereo)typical people who put these signs on their cars but George Carlin went there, did that and why mess with a good thing.
I won't go there. I will; however, go here:
To the obnoxious, faux-SUV-driving Bimbo who had the nerve to put a Baby on Board sign on her car: If you are that concerned about your child's safety, put your makeup on BEFORE you leave the house. Not while you are driving at 45 miles an hour. I wish I could have followed you. I would have moved that damn sign from the back window to the front where YOU could see it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Evolution Continues
I've never had a green thumb unless it was a cactus. I do great with cacti. My dream was to rip the front bushes out and replace them with cacti. I have a friend who lives in the desert. Her dream is a backyeard filled with lush green grass, bushes, and flowers. I think we should switch locations.
Unfortunately cacti are not kid/toddler friendly so I've placed that dream on the back burner. The easy solution to my green thumb issue was to leave the bushes we have in the front of the house. They require no work outside of some pruning which my man is so kind to take care of. But we hate them. They are ugly. The gaping hole my husband accidentally cut into the middle of one doesn't help lessen the ugliness.
So I ripped them out and traipsed down to the local nursery where the woman there convinces me that I too can have a green thumb. I too can have a lovely garden like my neighbors. She then proceeds to show me all sorts of lovely bushes, perenials, and annuals.
That was 2 weeks ago. I still haven't replaced the bushes. I thought I had decided but then realized the cockscomb I have my heart set on will not look good with the Nandina. Yes, I am planning bushes around anuals not the other way around. I am not sure I should be in charge of the garden.
So there is a bare spot in front of the house. I should have ripped out the azaleas first. At least I an 80% sure I am replacing those with a crepe myrtle. Well maybe more like 70% sure.
However I am the proud owner of 6 hanging plants. The bareness of the front of the house didn't phase my mom at all this weekend. Nope - it was the bareness in the back of the house, you know, the part of the house 99% of the people who pass by never see - that part bothered her. So instead of buying bushes and cockscomb this weekend (man did my mind just dive into the gutter) I came home with hanging plants.
I don't have a clue what 2 of them are but they are pretty (leave it to me to grab the ones that didn't have the little tag with name and instructions on it). One is a vibrant red fluted flower. The other is small purple and yellow flowers. Then I picked a purple verdana (sp?). The other plant in the back of the house? A PINK impatiens (again - sp?). PINK!
And I LOVE IT!
Ok now that you have digested that let's move to the front of the house. Mom bought the 4 plants for the back. While we were looking for those I remembered that there are hooks in the front porch and some hanging plants there would be perfect. So I decide to buy 2 plants for the front. I am not sure I should be admitting to what I purchased.
TWO FUSHCIA PLANTS. You do realize that the flowers are half pink? PINK! That I picked myself!
I blame the Pink Ninja. I am not sure how but this has to be her fault.
Now I am looking at my pink and purple flowers hanging over the area where my new bushes will be planted and I realize that the cockscomb may not look to good with the fushcia so I am back to keeping my empty garden plot. By the time the Fushcia start to bug out on me it will be too late to plant anything else but then it will almost be Christmas. So I'll stake the 3' plastic Christmas tree we have in the back of the closet and surround it by potted pointsettas. When planting season rolls around next time, I have a friend whom I can fly in for an pink intervention. Unless the Pink Ninja gets to her through her daughter...
Unfortunately cacti are not kid/toddler friendly so I've placed that dream on the back burner. The easy solution to my green thumb issue was to leave the bushes we have in the front of the house. They require no work outside of some pruning which my man is so kind to take care of. But we hate them. They are ugly. The gaping hole my husband accidentally cut into the middle of one doesn't help lessen the ugliness.
So I ripped them out and traipsed down to the local nursery where the woman there convinces me that I too can have a green thumb. I too can have a lovely garden like my neighbors. She then proceeds to show me all sorts of lovely bushes, perenials, and annuals.
That was 2 weeks ago. I still haven't replaced the bushes. I thought I had decided but then realized the cockscomb I have my heart set on will not look good with the Nandina. Yes, I am planning bushes around anuals not the other way around. I am not sure I should be in charge of the garden.
So there is a bare spot in front of the house. I should have ripped out the azaleas first. At least I an 80% sure I am replacing those with a crepe myrtle. Well maybe more like 70% sure.
However I am the proud owner of 6 hanging plants. The bareness of the front of the house didn't phase my mom at all this weekend. Nope - it was the bareness in the back of the house, you know, the part of the house 99% of the people who pass by never see - that part bothered her. So instead of buying bushes and cockscomb this weekend (man did my mind just dive into the gutter) I came home with hanging plants.
I don't have a clue what 2 of them are but they are pretty (leave it to me to grab the ones that didn't have the little tag with name and instructions on it). One is a vibrant red fluted flower. The other is small purple and yellow flowers. Then I picked a purple verdana (sp?). The other plant in the back of the house? A PINK impatiens (again - sp?). PINK!
And I LOVE IT!
Ok now that you have digested that let's move to the front of the house. Mom bought the 4 plants for the back. While we were looking for those I remembered that there are hooks in the front porch and some hanging plants there would be perfect. So I decide to buy 2 plants for the front. I am not sure I should be admitting to what I purchased.
TWO FUSHCIA PLANTS. You do realize that the flowers are half pink? PINK! That I picked myself!
I blame the Pink Ninja. I am not sure how but this has to be her fault.
Now I am looking at my pink and purple flowers hanging over the area where my new bushes will be planted and I realize that the cockscomb may not look to good with the fushcia so I am back to keeping my empty garden plot. By the time the Fushcia start to bug out on me it will be too late to plant anything else but then it will almost be Christmas. So I'll stake the 3' plastic Christmas tree we have in the back of the closet and surround it by potted pointsettas. When planting season rolls around next time, I have a friend whom I can fly in for an pink intervention. Unless the Pink Ninja gets to her through her daughter...
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Making a meal out of
My son is pretty well-behaved. Once we left a restaurant prior to dinner being served because he didn't want to behave. I have rushed to leave a couple of times because I wasn't eating fast enough for him but in general, we don't have a problem. He is always very sweet in public if not overly coy on occasion.
We were in the shoe store yesterday. The clerk screwed up my purchase and then couldn't figure out how to correct it (you need to credit my charge card buddy). Thankfully my mom was with so she took care of that part while I made sure Little Man remained sweet and happy. His attention span was waning. I wasn't sure he was going to make it through the credit v. debit explanation. Another clerk stepped in and helped entertain him. Crisis averted.
Mom gets everything straightened out on my charge card. I go to sign when I feel something pinching my arm. I yelped and looked at my son. He is wearing a look of complete shock and utter innocence. Any mom worth her salt would have immediately been on alert. I can be a tad slow. I thought he accidentally pinched me and it was time to cut his nails again until I looked at my arm. Those weren't nail marks. Those were TEETH marks. He BIT me. My son BIT me.
Lets go back to the whole any mom worth her salt for a second. Approximately two weeks ago this kid kept trying to gnaw my knee. Gnaw. Not bite. I told him no then repeated myself once. It stopped. Yet here I am two weeks later in utter shock the my son actually bit me.
I am now feeling like I am the main course at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. My knee is too bony. Bicep - apparently too much muscle (hey he isn't even two yet so forgive him for not recognizing true muscle yet OK?) because today he moved on to my thigh. He gnawed it twice. I guess he wanted to make sure it was just right before moving in for the kill. You could have just asked kiddo. Now if you are sure that's what you want I'll go prepare it for you.
We were in the shoe store yesterday. The clerk screwed up my purchase and then couldn't figure out how to correct it (you need to credit my charge card buddy). Thankfully my mom was with so she took care of that part while I made sure Little Man remained sweet and happy. His attention span was waning. I wasn't sure he was going to make it through the credit v. debit explanation. Another clerk stepped in and helped entertain him. Crisis averted.
Mom gets everything straightened out on my charge card. I go to sign when I feel something pinching my arm. I yelped and looked at my son. He is wearing a look of complete shock and utter innocence. Any mom worth her salt would have immediately been on alert. I can be a tad slow. I thought he accidentally pinched me and it was time to cut his nails again until I looked at my arm. Those weren't nail marks. Those were TEETH marks. He BIT me. My son BIT me.
Lets go back to the whole any mom worth her salt for a second. Approximately two weeks ago this kid kept trying to gnaw my knee. Gnaw. Not bite. I told him no then repeated myself once. It stopped. Yet here I am two weeks later in utter shock the my son actually bit me.
I am now feeling like I am the main course at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. My knee is too bony. Bicep - apparently too much muscle (hey he isn't even two yet so forgive him for not recognizing true muscle yet OK?) because today he moved on to my thigh. He gnawed it twice. I guess he wanted to make sure it was just right before moving in for the kill. You could have just asked kiddo. Now if you are sure that's what you want I'll go prepare it for you.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Reverting
Little Man has apparently decided to take a breather from popping new teeth. Poor kid gets constipated whenever he teeths. This past week he's been anything but. Talk about a cleansing. I haven't used diaper cream on him in the longest time and now I am getting ready to buy stock in the maker of Triple Paste.
I've been lucky since day one with this kid. He was never one to spit up and his blow outs were rare if not ill-timed. Husband is away on a business trip. You go like mad the night before to make sure everything is ready to go but you still end up running late. You are just about to walk out the door when the child decides to have a blow-out, ruining either your freshly washed sheets or worse - your only ironed outfit.
We get back from the park today. I am cooking dinner and realize its probably been a tad too long since Little Man's last diaper change so I ask my husband if he would be so kind. It doesn't take long before I get the "Oh, oh, I need help. A little help here!" Yup, we have a blow-out and with Little Man's squirming it will definitely take 4 hands to keep it from turning into abstract art all over the rug. The kicker? He's wearing a onesie that says: Red Sox shirt. Yankees diaper.
"Figures. They can't handle shit".
I've been lucky since day one with this kid. He was never one to spit up and his blow outs were rare if not ill-timed. Husband is away on a business trip. You go like mad the night before to make sure everything is ready to go but you still end up running late. You are just about to walk out the door when the child decides to have a blow-out, ruining either your freshly washed sheets or worse - your only ironed outfit.
We get back from the park today. I am cooking dinner and realize its probably been a tad too long since Little Man's last diaper change so I ask my husband if he would be so kind. It doesn't take long before I get the "Oh, oh, I need help. A little help here!" Yup, we have a blow-out and with Little Man's squirming it will definitely take 4 hands to keep it from turning into abstract art all over the rug. The kicker? He's wearing a onesie that says: Red Sox shirt. Yankees diaper.
"Figures. They can't handle shit".
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Mother's Milestone
We have a babysitter. We have a baby sitter. We have a babysitter.
Yes, I am singing and dancing right now. This is a major milestone that only took me 17 months to attain. How so soon you ask? My sweet, wonderful, loving husband bribed me. With Red Sox tickets. He's a Yankees fan so the man is either:
a. desparate for a date night
b. truly, madly, deeply in love with me
c. all of the above.
I'm going to go with the #1 Test Taking strategy and choose C.
This wonderful young lady came by the house tonight to hang with the little guy so he'd have a chance to get comfortable with her and I would have a chance to get some cleaning done. He interacted with her from the get-go. Granted the first 10-15 minutes he played with her while sitting in my lap but he was playing with her.
Thankfully his stomach got the best of him soon after so I was able to set the bribe into motion. Feed this kid and he loves you forever. After dinner he played with her and didn't bat an eye when I walked upstairs. Never walked to the stairs calling "BAH. BAH. BAH". Yes, I am now BAH. If someone can figure that one out, please clue me in.
Any how, it went great. The kid didn't miss me. He may actually let me walk out of the house without too much of a meltdown come game night. I am a proponent of the whole don't sneak out on your kid thing. So um, does waiting until he's eating and waving good-bye to the back of his head count?? I like this girl. I want her to continue to babysit for us. There's a new Transformers moving coming out soon. I won't tell you what the last movie I saw in the theater was. It depresses me when I think about it.
So I won't. I have a babysitter. I have a babysitter. I have a babysitter.
I'm so happy I could kiss a Republican...
Yes, I am singing and dancing right now. This is a major milestone that only took me 17 months to attain. How so soon you ask? My sweet, wonderful, loving husband bribed me. With Red Sox tickets. He's a Yankees fan so the man is either:
a. desparate for a date night
b. truly, madly, deeply in love with me
c. all of the above.
I'm going to go with the #1 Test Taking strategy and choose C.
This wonderful young lady came by the house tonight to hang with the little guy so he'd have a chance to get comfortable with her and I would have a chance to get some cleaning done. He interacted with her from the get-go. Granted the first 10-15 minutes he played with her while sitting in my lap but he was playing with her.
Thankfully his stomach got the best of him soon after so I was able to set the bribe into motion. Feed this kid and he loves you forever. After dinner he played with her and didn't bat an eye when I walked upstairs. Never walked to the stairs calling "BAH. BAH. BAH". Yes, I am now BAH. If someone can figure that one out, please clue me in.
Any how, it went great. The kid didn't miss me. He may actually let me walk out of the house without too much of a meltdown come game night. I am a proponent of the whole don't sneak out on your kid thing. So um, does waiting until he's eating and waving good-bye to the back of his head count?? I like this girl. I want her to continue to babysit for us. There's a new Transformers moving coming out soon. I won't tell you what the last movie I saw in the theater was. It depresses me when I think about it.
So I won't. I have a babysitter. I have a babysitter. I have a babysitter.
I'm so happy I could kiss a Republican...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Mom is a genius
We arrived home this afternoon and did the usual: grab my stuff; grab Little Man; head into house to dump my stuff and listen to Little Man throw a tantrum because we aren't outside. I start to wonder if his memory just isn't that developed yet (we go outside every day after I put my stuff in the house) or if he associates tantrums with being allowed to go outside.
I refill my water bottle, check for keys and out we go. Since I didn't get to the polls this morning, we walk down the street to the polling station so I can vote and walk back. I planned on continuing our outdoor exploration when the skies started to blacken and the thunder rolled (for the 50th time today). National Weather Service lied again. The storm watch was supposed to end 30 minutes prior. So I snatch up the little guy and in the house we go.
Full blown tantrum. Arching back, flailing arms and legs, full throttle scream. Oh yippee. Try explaining to a non-verbal toddler that a thunder and lightening storm is not the time to be outside.
"I'm sorry sweetie but it is about to start lightening outside. That means we run the risk of being electrocuted. Electrocuted means electricy coursing through your body causing lots of pain and making your hairs stand on end".
"I understand completely mama. I'm sorry. We'll play quietly inside for the rest of the night".
Yeah, even the Twilight Zone couldn't conjure that one.
Distraction works for approximately 10 seconds and then he is back at the front door throwing a fit. I am running out of things to distract him with. My nerves are starting to fry and my head is starting its own rumbling when I am struck by an idea that is sheer genius. I am almost tempted not to write it down. I need to trademark this idea. The money I could make off this. Its incredible. Amazing. Awe inspiring.
Prior to the full-blown storm bearing down on us (read - no lightening yet), I pick up said flailing, arching child and take him outside. The wind gusts alone are enough to terrify him so we don't make it off the covered porch into the pouring rain.
Problem solved. He now understands why he can't play outside. He scampers off to continue his destruction of the living room.
60 seconds later he is back at the front door, arching his back, flailing his limbs and screaming full-throttle.
I refill my water bottle, check for keys and out we go. Since I didn't get to the polls this morning, we walk down the street to the polling station so I can vote and walk back. I planned on continuing our outdoor exploration when the skies started to blacken and the thunder rolled (for the 50th time today). National Weather Service lied again. The storm watch was supposed to end 30 minutes prior. So I snatch up the little guy and in the house we go.
Full blown tantrum. Arching back, flailing arms and legs, full throttle scream. Oh yippee. Try explaining to a non-verbal toddler that a thunder and lightening storm is not the time to be outside.
"I'm sorry sweetie but it is about to start lightening outside. That means we run the risk of being electrocuted. Electrocuted means electricy coursing through your body causing lots of pain and making your hairs stand on end".
"I understand completely mama. I'm sorry. We'll play quietly inside for the rest of the night".
Yeah, even the Twilight Zone couldn't conjure that one.
Distraction works for approximately 10 seconds and then he is back at the front door throwing a fit. I am running out of things to distract him with. My nerves are starting to fry and my head is starting its own rumbling when I am struck by an idea that is sheer genius. I am almost tempted not to write it down. I need to trademark this idea. The money I could make off this. Its incredible. Amazing. Awe inspiring.
Prior to the full-blown storm bearing down on us (read - no lightening yet), I pick up said flailing, arching child and take him outside. The wind gusts alone are enough to terrify him so we don't make it off the covered porch into the pouring rain.
Problem solved. He now understands why he can't play outside. He scampers off to continue his destruction of the living room.
60 seconds later he is back at the front door, arching his back, flailing his limbs and screaming full-throttle.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Pony?
A friend’s daughter has a pony courtesy of me. Another friend’s daughter is about to. You see, I told these girls if they did something specific, I would buy them a pony. And you thought toddlers didn’t listen. For someone who loathed my Little Pony when it appeared on the market, I am finding lots of use for them now.
My son now has a pony. The only problem is “my” and “little” do not appear in front of his pony. Actually, I am not even really sure it is a pony. I think it qualifies as a horse. I am contemplating putting a saddle on it. Maybe attach some rollerskates and my son can ride it.
I thought one of my girlfriends was paying me back. There is a small group of women out there who hold that right and don’t think for a second I would put anything past them. That’s why I love ‘em. They can take it and damn can they dish it. Luckily for them, they are all innocent. This time.
Turns out my husband started this one and my ILs finished it. Never underestimate a grandparent. The conversation went something like this:
Husband: “You know your grandfather loves you a lot. He would do anything for you. He’d even buy you a pony. Would you like a pony?”
Little Man: Nod nod nod!
Husband cracks up laughing and calls his parents. He proceeds to tell his father that Little Man would like a pony. Thankfully, we have speakerphone so they heard me when I said the pony was to stay at their house.
Apparently there is a little clause I was unfamiliar with. It is the Grandparent Prerogative Clause as in it is their prerogative to ignore my plea.
So Little Man is now the proud owner of a horse larger than he is and one that does a damn good job of making mama jump every time she catches a glimpse of it peeking around the corner. I am thinking of positioning it near the front windows and putting up a sign on the front lawn: Beware of Horse.
My son now has a pony. The only problem is “my” and “little” do not appear in front of his pony. Actually, I am not even really sure it is a pony. I think it qualifies as a horse. I am contemplating putting a saddle on it. Maybe attach some rollerskates and my son can ride it.
I thought one of my girlfriends was paying me back. There is a small group of women out there who hold that right and don’t think for a second I would put anything past them. That’s why I love ‘em. They can take it and damn can they dish it. Luckily for them, they are all innocent. This time.
Turns out my husband started this one and my ILs finished it. Never underestimate a grandparent. The conversation went something like this:
Husband: “You know your grandfather loves you a lot. He would do anything for you. He’d even buy you a pony. Would you like a pony?”
Little Man: Nod nod nod!
Husband cracks up laughing and calls his parents. He proceeds to tell his father that Little Man would like a pony. Thankfully, we have speakerphone so they heard me when I said the pony was to stay at their house.
Apparently there is a little clause I was unfamiliar with. It is the Grandparent Prerogative Clause as in it is their prerogative to ignore my plea.
So Little Man is now the proud owner of a horse larger than he is and one that does a damn good job of making mama jump every time she catches a glimpse of it peeking around the corner. I am thinking of positioning it near the front windows and putting up a sign on the front lawn: Beware of Horse.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Perspective
4 days away from my Little Man was painful. A phone call is not enough. I wanted to hug him, rock him and lay him to bed every night. Friday I managed to fight rush hour traffic and make it to the airport in record time but not record enough to catch an earlier flight. My scheduled flight will not have me home until midnight. That means I only get to look in on him, not actually hold him, hug him and kiss him.
I drag myself through the airport lamenting my misfortune when I realize a good portion of the travelers are men in uniform, mostly Army, one female. The vast majority are practically babies themselves, barely in their 20s. They are going. Not coming.
And I wonder, how many are leaving babies behind? How many are leaving pregnant wives behind? I was gone for 4 days. They will be gone for months. What right do I have to complain?
They have signed on the dotted line and by doing so, have agreed to give their life, if necessary, in defense of their country. They do this willingly. Our military is voluntary. They weren't drafted. They volunteered. Volunteered to dodge bullets, RPGs, and IEDs.
Their wives (and husbands) have volunteered to become single parents; to raise children alone; to convince the children that daddy (or mommy) is doing a very brave and wonderful thing but also trying to convince the children that daddy (or mommy) is not in any danger. While they themselves wake up every morning wondering if this is the day. They go to bed every night giving thanks that it wasn't.
My husband was a single parent for 4 days. I've done it for 2 weeks. Could either of us do it for 6, 12, 18 months? My husband and I are raising our son with no family close by but we have each other. How many wives (and husbands) are doing it alone with no family nearby?
Little Man woke me at 6:20 this morning with a huge smile and dancing feet. He draped himself over my shoulder, gave me a squeeze and then snuggled with me for at least 10 minutes. I kept hugging him and wouldn't let go. Because I could and not everyone can.
To those of you departing: be smart; be safe and come home in one piece. You'll have a lot of hugs to dole out upon your return.
I drag myself through the airport lamenting my misfortune when I realize a good portion of the travelers are men in uniform, mostly Army, one female. The vast majority are practically babies themselves, barely in their 20s. They are going. Not coming.
And I wonder, how many are leaving babies behind? How many are leaving pregnant wives behind? I was gone for 4 days. They will be gone for months. What right do I have to complain?
They have signed on the dotted line and by doing so, have agreed to give their life, if necessary, in defense of their country. They do this willingly. Our military is voluntary. They weren't drafted. They volunteered. Volunteered to dodge bullets, RPGs, and IEDs.
Their wives (and husbands) have volunteered to become single parents; to raise children alone; to convince the children that daddy (or mommy) is doing a very brave and wonderful thing but also trying to convince the children that daddy (or mommy) is not in any danger. While they themselves wake up every morning wondering if this is the day. They go to bed every night giving thanks that it wasn't.
My husband was a single parent for 4 days. I've done it for 2 weeks. Could either of us do it for 6, 12, 18 months? My husband and I are raising our son with no family close by but we have each other. How many wives (and husbands) are doing it alone with no family nearby?
Little Man woke me at 6:20 this morning with a huge smile and dancing feet. He draped himself over my shoulder, gave me a squeeze and then snuggled with me for at least 10 minutes. I kept hugging him and wouldn't let go. Because I could and not everyone can.
To those of you departing: be smart; be safe and come home in one piece. You'll have a lot of hugs to dole out upon your return.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Flying
I love to fly. I still get the same deep-in-your-stomach excitement whenever I go some place new just like I did when I was little. Takeoff brings a grin to my face. A window seat is a must. See the world from 33K feet is one of the coolest things. Cooler would be from space but I don’t think I could pass the physical.
The plane ride today was a special treat. There were clouds over Atlanta. Not wispy, wimpy clouds but full, fluffy, what kind of animals can you see clouds. I spent the last 20 minutes of the flight watching a dog morph into a baby morph into an old man. I saw a giant who was either yawning or screaming. The best? A mini shredded wheat guy with his hand on his back grimacing in pain. I will never look at those commercials the same way again.
I enjoyed my childish day dreams until the clouds cleared and Atlanta came into site. I watched cookie cutter neighborhoods roll by (big houses, big yards but no pools. What’s wrong with these people?). We approached a commercial area and what could have been an office park or shopping area. I was trying to decipher which when I realized the answer was right in front of me. On the roof of one building – yes, the roof – was a big ole BJs and a few roofs down – a big ole bull’s eye. BJs and Target have taken marketing to a whole new level. The Space Station doesn’t have a large enough potential clientele for them so I figure they are targeting the UFOs in the hopes that one will decide Atlanta is a great vacation spot and then spread the word. I wonder if they are angling to be the largest Target in the Milky Way. There is, after all, a Roswell, GA.
The plane ride today was a special treat. There were clouds over Atlanta. Not wispy, wimpy clouds but full, fluffy, what kind of animals can you see clouds. I spent the last 20 minutes of the flight watching a dog morph into a baby morph into an old man. I saw a giant who was either yawning or screaming. The best? A mini shredded wheat guy with his hand on his back grimacing in pain. I will never look at those commercials the same way again.
I enjoyed my childish day dreams until the clouds cleared and Atlanta came into site. I watched cookie cutter neighborhoods roll by (big houses, big yards but no pools. What’s wrong with these people?). We approached a commercial area and what could have been an office park or shopping area. I was trying to decipher which when I realized the answer was right in front of me. On the roof of one building – yes, the roof – was a big ole BJs and a few roofs down – a big ole bull’s eye. BJs and Target have taken marketing to a whole new level. The Space Station doesn’t have a large enough potential clientele for them so I figure they are targeting the UFOs in the hopes that one will decide Atlanta is a great vacation spot and then spread the word. I wonder if they are angling to be the largest Target in the Milky Way. There is, after all, a Roswell, GA.
Letting Go
Little Man started at his new daycare this week. I spent Sunday night organizing and making sure everything was ready to go. Diapers? Check. Wipes? Check. Change of clothes? Check. Paci? Check. Sheet & blanket? Check. Sunscreen? Check.
I stopped myself from packing up every possible comfort toy I could think of. New place, new faces – that’s very scary for a toddler. Hell it is scary for most adults.
5:30 AM: Alarm goes off. I hit snooze once.
6:00 AM: Dressed and ready to go. Walk in to wake up Little Man. I could have had Metallica do a live set in his room and he still wouldn’t have budged. I was just about to pick him up and dress him in his sleep when he sat up and greeted me with half-closed eyes and a big smile.
7:00 AM: Arrive at daycare. Anxiety is kicking in. He clings to daddy for a few minutes but then realizes there is a little boy playing with a ball and down he goes. In no time they are playing catch. A hug and kiss for daddy when he says goodbye. I hang out for a few more minutes to make sure he is ok but I need to leave if I want to be only a little late for work. I call to him to say goodbye. He ignores me. I call again. He glances quickly my way, misses the ball and runs after it giggling. I am an impediment to his fun. I call again and say good-bye. He waves; at the ball. Impediment.
I walk out slowly, listening. No cries. No wails. Less than 5 minutes at a new place and he already has a friend. The anxiety was all for naught even though I did fight the urge to call the center about 100 times to check on him.
When I picked him up he ran to me with a huge smile and a bigger hug and then it was back to the ball. He was happy. Happy to see me but also happy to play. He didn’t want to go home. He actually started to cry when we walked out the door.
One mommy milestone down; one to go. Now I have to spend the next 3 nights out of town. I feel the anxiety rising again…
I stopped myself from packing up every possible comfort toy I could think of. New place, new faces – that’s very scary for a toddler. Hell it is scary for most adults.
5:30 AM: Alarm goes off. I hit snooze once.
6:00 AM: Dressed and ready to go. Walk in to wake up Little Man. I could have had Metallica do a live set in his room and he still wouldn’t have budged. I was just about to pick him up and dress him in his sleep when he sat up and greeted me with half-closed eyes and a big smile.
7:00 AM: Arrive at daycare. Anxiety is kicking in. He clings to daddy for a few minutes but then realizes there is a little boy playing with a ball and down he goes. In no time they are playing catch. A hug and kiss for daddy when he says goodbye. I hang out for a few more minutes to make sure he is ok but I need to leave if I want to be only a little late for work. I call to him to say goodbye. He ignores me. I call again. He glances quickly my way, misses the ball and runs after it giggling. I am an impediment to his fun. I call again and say good-bye. He waves; at the ball. Impediment.
I walk out slowly, listening. No cries. No wails. Less than 5 minutes at a new place and he already has a friend. The anxiety was all for naught even though I did fight the urge to call the center about 100 times to check on him.
When I picked him up he ran to me with a huge smile and a bigger hug and then it was back to the ball. He was happy. Happy to see me but also happy to play. He didn’t want to go home. He actually started to cry when we walked out the door.
One mommy milestone down; one to go. Now I have to spend the next 3 nights out of town. I feel the anxiety rising again…
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