Good, Bad, Ugly, Funny - The Year Has Been

New Year's Eve.... Out with the old. In with the New.

Yes, there is definitely some old I'd like to kick to the curb. 2011 wasn't all glitter and gold. It wasn't all fire and brimstone either. Like all years, it had its moments.

We started the year with John being laid off from work. I'd love to say we've ended the year with him starting a new job but like millions of others, that dream is just that... still a dream but we are in much better shape than others and while it has been brutal on him, I will not complain. We haven't hit our saving yet and still have our home. Compared to so many others today, we are doing well.

I did get a new job which brought me within 10 minutes of our home. For this area, such a commute is nothing short of miraculous. This glorious commute opened up a whole new world for us this summer that included family dinners and family time at the pool. I would pick Little Man up by 4:15 and we'd be home by 4:30. We'd have dinner by 5. The half hour prep was actually a great time. All 3 of us squeezed into our tiny kitchen cooking together. Not only did we discover some great recipes this summer, the time spent together in the kitchen was invaluable.

These early hours also meant that we would be in the pool by 6 several nights a week. More family time that I wouldn't give up for anything. In the beginning of the season, we were lucky if we could get Little Man in the kiddie pool. By the end of the season, we had him in the deep end with us. Here's hoping 2012 brings a kid who is willing to learn to float.

With John being out of work, we dropped Little Man down to 3 days a week at school. It meant more time for John to spend with him and I've seen the results. John's level of patience has increased astronomically (still waiting to hear back if this qualifies as an actual miracle or not). I'd love to say Little Man no longer refers to him as The Monster and no longer runs screaming from him but ya know I'd be lying through my teeth.

The downside to all of this is John spends more time with him. John spends more time talking to his teachers. John knows everything that is going on. And doesn't always remember to tell me. I'm blown away when I see Little Man writing out letters and trying to remember how to spell his name only to find out that this is nothing new. He's been doing it for some time now.

This is one role reversal I'm not dealing well with. No, don't get me wrong - I'm thrilled John is doing all of this. I love seeing him play with his son, work with him on his homework, teach him new things but it's hard to move to the role of secondary parent. Up until John was laid off, I was the one doing all of this. I was the one keeping John apprised of the new accomplishments, hurdles overcome and steps gone backwards.

Now I have to come to terms with a new world order. Personally, I think every woman should have to support her family so she knows the stress most men deal with. Personally I think every father should be the primary care giver so they can understand the stress the majority of us moms deal with.

Personally I'm realizing that switching roles is freaking hard. Personally I struggle with feeling incompetent and half a parent. Personally I finally know exactly how John felt when he was working insane hours and I was primary care giver. It is really nice to see that he's damn good at it though. Not that I ever doubted his mad skills. In a weird way, its a relief knowing I don't have to be primary.

2011 also brought the horrible news that a friend of mine has cancer and it has spread. I met her online when I was pregnant with Little Man through an expecting parents group. She was one of a small group of women I become friendly with over a modem. None of us had met in person but the bonds we forged during those 9 months of pregnancy have developed into an amazing friendship. As it turned out, several of the women lived somewhat in the vicinity so I was able to meet three in person. Our darling Pink Ninja was one of the three. Her son was born 2 days after Little Man. Her friendship has meant so much to me. Mainly because she's an absolutely hysterical bitch and I say that with the utmost amount of love and respect.

I've lost friends and family suddenly and unexpectedly. Now to have someone literally fighting for her life is daunting. It scares the shit out of me because there isn't a God damn thing I can do about it and it pisses me off. I've sat by myself and cried over it but only for a short time because what good does that do? I believe attitude is 90% of the fight against cancer and her attitude is strong. She's got a great network of support and no one is going to let her slide into the abyss of feeling sorry for herself. I don't think she has that in her to begin with but facing cancer head on could make Achilles feel like his heel just became as large as a barn.

So yes, there are definitely some things I'm glad to say good-bye to this year but there were funny times as well. The Pats played the Skins this year. Guess what team John roots for? So of course he decided we needed to make a small wager. He got a new Christmas present which he will be wearing for the next 365 days as a result of that wager:

The sweatshirt was wrapped under the tree but the weather will get warm again so in his stocking was the t-shirt.

I wasn't there when he took Little Man to the park. Another father was out with his kids and almost stopped to talk. Almost. Until he saw the shirt.

Shouting out "I lost a bet to my wife" didn't cross his mind. I'm not sure it would have helped.

Tomorrow is a new year.  A new start. And the Pats play their final regular season game against the Bills. I have faith Tom, Wes, Ocho, and crew will present an exciting and great New Year. I did invite a Bill's fan to watch the game with me. He accepted. He started to get a bit obnoxious. He asked if he should bring me a box of tissue for when the Bills stomped the Pats.

I asked him what size shirt he wears.

Now I must go read a few books and sing a few songs before tucking Little Man into bed. Then, in a few hours, I will raise a glass (actually a goblet filled with Black Velvet because some Christmas traditions should be carried over to New Year's) and make a wish. I will wish for jobs for those who are without. I will wish for my Pink Ninja to be cancer free. I will wish for my son to keep moving in the same direction to which he will reply - I'm trying to mommy but you're not helping my cause.

And I will wish for my own sanity knowing all to well - he's got that cause right where he wants it.

Happy New Year to everyone and may your wishes soar.

Christmas 2011 Part 2

Clean. Dry. In desperate need of some caffeine. Wait a second.... Someone is a tad too calm. Someone should be bouncing off the walls right about now. Hmmm...

Hey, Little Man - what day is it?

"Huh?"

Do you remember what today is?

"Um, I dunno."

WHAT? Seriously? What did you do, force your mother's genes into hibernation?

OK. Let's try this again. Do you remember if someone was supposed to come to the house last night?

Blank stare. This morning is not going as planned. Who'da thunk I'd need a mulligan on freaking Christmas morning. John mentions something about roofs and reindeer.

"SANTA!"

Finally! Sheesh. Now that you are finally bouncing off the walls I can get in a little torture and make you wait for your parents before going downstairs. Well - maybe just a little torture. I'm kind of excited to head down there as well.

Sweet child that he is, he decides we must all hold hands going down the stairs. This proves a bit awkward as the stairs are barely wide enough for two side-by-side but it helps us keep Little Man from taking the stairs in a single bound. So different from last year. Also different from last year was how fast he ripped through all his presents and as he opened each and everyone he would exclaim quite emphatically:

"[insert present]! I NEEDED this. I so needed this".

Even the paper towels received an over-the-top show of excitement and an emphatic declaration of extreme need.

HAH! You thought I was joking when I said I was wrapping paper towels for him? Never, ever underestimate a redhead. Just ask my darling husband. Well - that wasn't really underestimating me so much as just plain old insanity taking the Skins over the Pats but that's another story.

Christmas 2011 Part 1

When  I was a child, Christmas was my favorite holiday. It was the favorite holiday for my brother and sister as well but for slightly different reasons. I turned maniacal over the presents while my brother and sister turned maniacal over torturing me.

Somewhere around 5 AM I would awake and make an immediate beeline to my parents' bed. Upon arrival I would launch myself on my poor sleeping father's chest which I would turn into my own personal bouncy house while peeling his eyelids back asking in rapid fire speech: "You wake Daddy? Daddy you wake? You wake Daddy? Daddy you wake?". Rather than launching me out the nearest window, the man channeled his inner Gandhi and exuded patience as he told me what number the big hand had to be on and what number the little hand had to be on before I could wake him again (man parents have it so easy today with all their digital clocks, cell phones, espresso makers...).  He would also tell me that I had to wait in my own room.

HAH!

That would last about all of 30 seconds and then the slow migration out of bed, past my sister's bed, through the door, into the hallway, around the corner, edge toward his doorway...

"Back in your own room Tara".

Hey - how did you do that with your eyes closed? Of course I did finally learn that trick myself shortly after Little Man started walking.

Anyway, the appointed time would arrive and I would launch for a second time. He would forgo his inner Gandhi at this point and just roll his eyes back in his head. That would send me screaming.

As he headed for the bathroom, I went after my brother and sister. Now it isn't that they weren't excited to see what Santa brought them. They were. Unfortunately for me though, it was more exciting to torment me. You see, we weren't allowed to go downstairs until everyone was ready. We had to go as a family. I know 16-year old girls who got ready faster than the those two. By that time they were ready, I had worn a hole in the top stair with my jumping up and down. I had paced in my room earlier but a few of the floor boards wore through. It's hard to pace when you have to jump a hole every other plank.

So now comes the time where my son is finally of an age where he grasps the concept of Santa bringing him presents - but only if he is good. Oh yes, that threat was used a LOT the last several months. At one point, John pulled out his cell and actually called Santa. Thankfully he managed to hang up before Little Man reached for the phone. Actually - there's a great business to start. What parent wouldn't pay to be able to call up the Big Man and have him explain to him that he isn't getting that train/car/gun/exploding poop bag unless he does exactly what Mom/Dad say right away. But I digress.

So we survive Christmas Eve and Little Man went to sleep relatively well and quick. Of course he ends up in our room sometime in the wee hours but I didn't argue. It couldn't be that soon before we would all be up anyway - it was around 4 AM and I expected him to be wide awake within the hour.  Ya know, The Parent's Curse, payback, Dad's ultimate revenge, all is fair in love and parenthood, Murphy's Law... pick one.

Instead I was the one who was wide awake. I lay in my bed at 4 AM and listened to both my husband and son snore peacefully away. Around 4:30 I lost hope of falling back to sleep and resorted to staring at my son, willing him awake. In my head I'm screaming "how can you sleep? Don't you know it's Christmas! OMG Child - PRESENTS! What is wrong with you?"

I finally fell back to sleep sometime after 6 AM and awoke a little after 8 AM. I awoke not because my son was jumping up and down begging to go downstairs but because my PJs were wet. I thought I was having my first hot flash until I realized the sheet was soaked and Little Man was lying next to me. Aw man. Merry Freaking Christmas to me.

"Everyone UP! NOW!"

Little Man did not appreciate that one and tries to burrow under my pillow as I'm stripping his soaking wet pajama bottoms off of him. Not a great way to wake up so the tears start flowing. I'm trying to apologize for the rude wake up call and let him know it is all OK. It can all be fixed. I get John to take him into his bathroom while I strip the bed and find new PJs for myself.

Never let this kid sleep past 7 AM without a trip to the bathroom.

And never apologize to a child who is more than half-asleep.

He and John return. John is trying very hard not to laugh. Little Man looks like he is about to start a lecture.

I'm not allowed to drink before bedtime anymore and I owe him an apology.

What? What do you mean I can't drink before bedtime? Where is this coming from?

"You pee the bed mommy. You got me all wet. You can't drink before bedtime anymore until you learn".

And that was only the beginning of our Christmas holiday....

The Ultimate Wish List

I love this time of year. I love introducing Little Man to, OK screw it - might as well be honest. I love imposing my favorite traditions from Christmases past onto my child and brainwashing him into thinking they are the coolest thing ever. Last year I convinced him that stain glass ornaments were the hippest thing ever and that his grandparents would love nothing more in the world than a stain glassed ornament made by their most precious grandchild. This year I completely forgot to introduce him to the joy of making color paper chains from construction paper so mental note for next year.

Thankfully John has a better memory than I do. He introduced Little Man to the wonderful world of letter writing today. Little Man completed his first letter to Santa. I have it on good authority that yes, Santa is fluent in pre-schooler scribble. John also helped in address the envelope and after dinner tonight we headed to Macy's to take advantage of their Big Ole Red Mailbox with a direct line to the Big Guy in the Red Suit.

On route to Macy's I quizzed my darling son on his wish list. Having half of my genetics, occasionally he can be quite succinct:

"Trains, paper towels, toys, and presents".

Guess which one has been added to the pile to be wrapped Saturday night.

Worries, Difficulties, and Cares

"You don't worry about me Daddy. You worry about yourself".

"I can do it Mommy. I can do the difficult stuff. I'm doing very well with this. I'm good with difficult".

"Don't worry Daddy. We can care about that later".


And that's all he wrote folks.... for this evening.

Perks, Realms, and Beauty

One of the perks of parenthood is wracking up the guilt points but before one can enter that realm, one must first survive the Payback realm. As in, you must first face the countless phone calls to your own parents apologizing left and right and listening to their never-ending gut-busting laughter as your child does to you what you did to them. It is just one of many steps in the eternal rite of passage that is Parenthood.

Each and every time I think I've managed to put the Payback realm into the annals of my life's history, my son drags me back kicking and screaming. Damn Mini Me.

Back in the days of my own childhood, my mom tried getting me to say not just "please" or even "please Mom" but rather "please beautiful mother".

To say I laughed at her would be an understatement but let's face it, the woman tried this trick on us when we were preteens and teens. There is no way in hell that would work on us.

So, being the smarter and wiser parent I decided to teach my darling son this wonderful phrase earlier in life. My first attempt was several weeks ago.

"Mommy you silly!"

My second attempt occurred the following day.

"BAHAHAHAHAHA! Mommy you so silly. Stop that".

So I took the food approach - you have to feed a child something new at least 10 times before they will eat it. By the 10th time, his response was:

"Mommy you stop saying that word to me!".

Since when did the word beautiful get put on the bad list?

The 30th attempt took place last night. The kid was laughing so hard he gave himself the hiccups in under 3 minutes.

And so the viscous cycle continues.

In 20+ years or so, my son may be blessed with his own child and he too will be the smarter parent. He will start teaching his child even younger.

In 20+ years or so, I will be the wiser grandparent.

And I will be in the Payback Realm.

Beautiful Silliness

“Mommy I used to fall asleep in your lap?”

Yes honey. When you were a little baby, I would sit in that chair and rock you while you drank your bottle and you would fall asleep in my lap.

“Well I growing big now but maybe when I grow small again, I can fall asleep in your lap then?”

I had no idea I had my own Mork.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“No Mommy, I don’t want to eat that. I don’t like it. It has green in it.”

It is pasta, and sauce, and cheese. All the things you like. Try one bite.

“OK Mommy”. Takes a bite and chews a little bit. His little eyes light up and he says: “Mmm. I like it.”

Fast forward 60 seconds.

Baby, don’t forget to eat.

“No Mommy. I don’t like it.”

You just said you liked it.

“I changed my mind.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

“I do it Mommy. I’m a big boy. I can do it all by myself”

Music to my ears kiddo.

“Mommy, you please may I get me some milk?”

You know where your milk is. You can get it yourself.

“No. I too little.”

You just said you were a big boy.

“Yeah, for getting my toys. I too little to go get my milk.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Mommy I have puppy please?”

You want me to get him?

“Yes please. You get him for me.”

OK. He’s right here.

“Thank you Mommy”

Thank you beautiful Mommy.

“You so silly!”

Talk About Taking the Fun Out of Work

My early morning good-bye conversation with my son:

Me: Good-bye baby boy. I love you. Have a good day.

Little Man: Bye Mommy. I love you too.

Me: You take good care of your father today.

Little Man: And you take good care of the people in your office. 'Cause you have to go to your office today. And no hitting anyone in your office. We don't hit. That's not nice.


Good to know kiddo and my coworkers thank you...

Security Blankets 2.0

Potty training has been interesting time. As I've said from the beginning, boys usually potty train between 3 and 4 with the majority closer to 4. From day one, Little Man was, for the most part, pretty predictable with milestones. What ever the average time was for a child to hit the milestone, add 2 weeks and he would hit it. So I figured he would achieve full potty-training 2 weeks after his 4th birthday. That means I have approximately 2 more months of purchasing pullups.

He's had the whole peeing in the potty down for quite awhile and I never once had to resort to the cheerios in the toilet. His aim was perfect from day one. His patience and ability to wait until he was completely done.... that took a little bit. Yes. I bought Clorox wipes and Swifter wet refills in bulk.

He has even (finally) mastered the whole knowing when he needs to poop. That was cause for some major celebration in this house.

Shit we need to get a life.

So all that was left was getting him through the night. The last hurdle. The one thing between us and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

Unfortunately that last hurdle appeared to have the height of the Mt Everest and the width of the Great Wall of China. Can't get over. Can't get around. And no, tunneling under was never an option. I'm claustrophobic.

And its just pullups. We've suffered through worse stages and there will be worse to come (Military school will remain a viable option until he realizes I can't afford the tuition).

And then the unthinkable happens.

This kid has woken up dry 13 nights in a row. A day shy of a full two weeks. It is amazing. It is shocking. I feel the need to throw a shred party so I can tear up the remaining pullups. I can save MONEY! Kiddo you can sleep in underwear. You've done it!

That noise you heard was my darling son slamming the brakes on that idea.

Get rid of my pullups? Sleep in my underwear? Are you NUTS woman? Have you lost your mind? No way in HELL.

I never knew pullups could double as a security blanket.

So we are down to two pullups. I have two nights to convince this kid that it is ok to let go and move on. And if I fail miserably the adult thing to do will be to tell him if I have to keep buying pullups I wont' be able to buy Christmas presents....

Parental Force for Proper Behavior

You’ve heard it before. Kids are sponges. They repeat everything you say. If you want to know what you sound like, listen to your child.  I know this. My child proves the validity of these statements almost daily. It still doesn’t stop me from being caught off guard every now and then by the little imp.

We met friends for dinner one night. It was a last minute plan literally thrown together a few minutes before I left the office. A friend (and coworker) IM’d me shortly before I logged off for the day asking if we could meet for sushi. Thanks to modern technology such last minutes plans were easy to make. He and I got our respective spouses on the phone while we IM’d and made arrangements. A smooth and easy decision that took minutes but it did have one downside: our schedules were slightly conflicted so in order to pull this off, it meant having Little Man up passed his bedtime. We decide to risk it.

Once at home I offer Little Man his choice of snacks to keep his hunger at bay. A hungry picky eater can make a demon look nice and is a guaranteed quick way to be asked to leave a restaurant and never return. The planned restaurant happens to be the favorite sushi restaurant of all who planned on attending. When you are a sushi addict like me and you find a place as good as this, you make damn sure you are never, ever do anything to cause yourself to be asked to leave and never return.  Hungry Demon Child is a sure fire way to have that happen.  So while he’s snacking away I impart the importance of proper behavior and exactly what I consider proper behavior to be.

Too bad he didn’t have that conversation with his dad and me.

We were the first to arrive so we grabbed a table and waited for our friends. Our waitress brought out some edamame and 3 fried dumplings.  Little Man refuses to try the dumplings. Even though I think he would like them I don’t argue. More for me. Eh, except this time it was John’s turn to get the extra dumpling. Yes, I can be nice on the rare occasion. Doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for him. So as the man makes a move to grab what is rightfully his, I try to beat him to the punch. A fake fight over dumpling ensues as our chopsticks battle to the death.

Enter Little Man Samurai.

“YOU KIDS STOP FIGHTING RIGHT NOW! IF YOU NOT STOP I TAKE IT AWAY FROM YOU! YOU STOP IT! NO FIGHTING! THAT’S IT. I’M TAKING IT AWAY FROM YOU.”

And he proceeds to pick up the dish and place it next to him, far away from either of us.

The entire restaurant went silent as Little Man screamed at the top of his lungs.

Silent except for the sound of his parents laughing and choking out the words “Indoor voice kid. Indoor voice.”

“I don’t care. You kids is fighting. There is no fighting at the table. Now you don’t get it. I take it away from you. I told you. I told you to behave prop’ly. I told you daddy. I told you mommy.”

 “Who’s the parent and who’s the child?”

“I the... parent... child... You apologize!”

It’s hard to appear apologetic when you are half under the table choking on your own tears.

My friend’s wife met Little Man for the first time that evening. She thinks he is adorable.  They arrive after his show of parental force.

The best part about it? He’s a mama’s boy. So after he got each of us to apologize and promise not to fight again he decided mommy would get the dumpling.

Help the Cause

"Mommy you get two sticker for playing with me. Daddy you get two stickers for playing with Logan."

Who says Parenthood doesn't pay?

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"Mommy I wear a necklace. That one's beautiful. I want that one. Oh look Mommy, we match."

Mmmhmmm. And Daddy's blood pressure just skyrocketed.

"Daddy, I see your blood? I see your blood preshure?"

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Little Man referring to John by pointing to him with his thumb:

"This kid is cracking us up Mommy".

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John is attempting to read to Little Man who is more interested in throwing puppy at my face so I grab puppy and hide him behind my back.

Go sit down and listen to your father.

"I'm trying to." he tells me as he struggles to pull puppy from behind me, "but you aren't helping out my cause."

Oh Mr. Literal Be Careful of the Phrase

I brace myself for a rough day based on the rough night we had.

In this instance I love being proven wrong.

He had a great day even if he did have to deal with parents who were trying desperately to get things done around the house instead of dedicating 100% of their time to playing with him. As compensation, he was allowed some computer time earlier this evening. He likes the puzzle where you have to place the States on the map.

John was asking him what each State was based on the shape. He stumbled over Massachusetts which he normally gets. John decided to provide a hint:

Where does Amah live?

"In her house."

And Mr. Literal himself is schooled.

Fish House

Talk about an emotional roller coaster last night.

First I spent a good 20-30 minutes trying not to cry with Little Man. He woke around midnight and wouldn't go back to sleep. He had a horrible cough and complained of stomach pains. I kept a Tupperware container handy but luckily, didn't need to make use of it. He sat in his bed crying and there was nothing I could do. Well, the cough medicine helped the cough but the stomach pains had me a bit flummoxed.

This kid was so miserable he said no to coming into our room and sleeping in our bed. He just laid in bed crying "My stomach hurts mommy and I don't know what to do to make it feel better". I didn't know what to do either and was feeling like a failure.

A bottle of water later to help ease the cough and his stomach seemed to calm as well. Now he's feeling good enough to take me up on my offer to come sleep in our room.

I knew that was a mistake.

A bottle of water and pull ups do NOT mix. At least not with this kid.

I finally fall asleep sometime after 2 only to have John wake me at a little after 4. The poor kid had peed through. I'm trying to change him in his sleep but of course he wakes up. I try to send him to his room so I can strip our bed and remake it but he decides he must help. Surprisingly, it went must faster. Less than 30 minutes later we are all climbing back into bed. Less than 30 seconds later my darling son is having a temper tantrum because I asked him to scoot over and give me some room on the bed.

Excuse me but didn't I stay up with you? Didn't I try to make you feel better? Didn't I just change you out of soaking wet pjs? Didn't I let you sleep half on top of me because you weren't feeling well and all the while - coughing in my face? This is how you pay me back? FINE! Here - you may have the WHOLE bed. Well at least the whole that is my half.

And off in a huff I go to the basement completely regretting ever giving up the guest bedroom for his playroom. Incredibly mature, I know but what do you expect on 2 hours of sleep?

2 hours later and I'm still awake. I figure it is enough time for my boys to be deep asleep and sure enough they are both snoring loud enough to be heard at a Metallica concert.

2.5 hours later and I'm up yet again changing Little Man out of another set of PJs and stripping my bed. Last set of sheets so I guess we are up for the day.

I'll admit I wasn't really looking forward to this day considering how it started but off we go to get Little Man some breakfast and the adults some espresso. Little Man comes up to me holding his place mat.

"Look Mommy - it has lots of maps".

Yes dear. It is a map of the United States.

"It's lots of maps Mommy".

Yes dear. It shows all the States. Do you remember which State you live in?

"I live in my fish house."

Mulligan accepted. I can face the day.

Logically Understanding

Usually when I lecture John, Little Man comes running to his defense.

"You know talk to Daddy that way!"

This time, I guess I was able to keep my tone a tad less lecturing as Little Man came running to add his 2 cents and agree with me.

"You have to do it Daddy because you can do it".

How can you argue with such logic?

He loves to tell us what needs to be done and is so rational about it all, so calm yet smacking the back on one hand into the palm of the other for emphasis.

He has great ideas and they must be followed because that is the law.

I love listening to him but every now and then we have a setback as I end up having trouble understanding him. Today he walked down the stairs jabbering away excitedly about going to Bed, Bath and Beyond with me.

What I heard:

"When we go to da effing bomb Mommy".

Dues Fahder

Nothing like coming home to a preschooler's speech to cheer you up after a rough day at work.

"He dues Mommy. He dues!"

He does.

"No Mommy. He dues like this. See?"

He does.

"Uh Huuuhhhh".

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"May I you get me some milk?"

Daddy, will you please get me milk?

"May I you please get me some milk Mr. Fahder?"

Drama King Revisited

We are in the basement watching Monday Night Football when John asks me if the monitor is on. It wasn't. Little Man has some lungs and John's hearing is much better than mine so he was correct when he thought he heard something. Little Man sounded a tad stressed so I ran upstairs to see what was the matter.

The problem? The issue? The dire emergency?

"Mommy, my nails are growing".

How Your Favorite Color From Your Childhood Can Bite

4 years is enough time to realize what needs to be done in a house.

Being forced to live on one income is enough to force the DIY route.

It took TWO years to pick colors and stick with them long enough to get them on the walls in the living room. One color was all wrong and required a redo. We made some mistakes in the execution of the makeover and chalked it up to lessons learned. There is one border which still requires paint and the light fixture hasn't been changed out - mainly because I can't find anything I like.

We jumped from the living room to the guest bedroom which we decided to turn into a playroom for Little Man. Walls painted. Ceiling fan installed. Still needed: finish painting shelves and hang; buy and hang new curtain; take down door, sand, paint and rehang; spray paint closet bi folds.  You notice I said still needed as in hasn't been done. So of course we start looking at the dining room and the hallway. I'd say one of these days we will learn to complete one project before starting the next but I'd be lying.

In our defense, the house, with the exception of 2 bedrooms and bathrooms was all the same boring pale beige. The entire freaking house - beige. The next realtor and/or interior designer who says "neutral color" one more time is having their vocal cords removed. COLOR people (been watching way to much David Bromstad, aw hell too much HGTV period). Seriously, Ray Charles would have a problem with the color or lack thereof, in this house.

We are also still riding the high of the living room. The colors are perfect -yellow with one gray wall and a pearl gray for the trim. I even painted the built-in with the gray and trimmed it with the pearl. The room rocks. It came out great. Once we finish the playroom, we can move the last of the toys out, get some end tables and reclaim the space. Pictures from our travels adorn the walls, inspiring new vacation plans (when we are back on dual income of course).

That high almost came crashing down as we tried to find a color for the dining room that would work with the living room AND a color for the hallway that would join the two rooms. Holy crap is that a freaking nightmare. John jumped to his comfort zone - blue. I let out a high-pitched shriek inside my head. As much as I dislike the neutrals right now, I dislike blue as well. I don't want another blue room. Smurf Attach play room may have ruined blue for me forever.  So I had John pull up the color wheel to see what was opposite of yellow.

Purple.

BAHAHAHAHA!

Hmmm.... well, we used gray as the neutral and I love the pearl gray trim so much I really want to continue it through the house so maybe if we looked at a gray with purple undertones. Off we go to Lowes and we pick two 3 colors. Swatches go up and holy freaking crap that is purple not gray. What the HELL was I thinking?

Even scarier? John liked the color. WHAT? It's freaking PURPLE. I'm talking LAVENDER. I'm talking GIRLIE. Holy shit he's lost his mind.

I told him to step out of his comfort zone so I let him talk me into it. He was convinced it was the right color. We managed to get one wall painted this weekend and believe it or not, I love it. I can't wait to finish this room.

Then my mom reminded me of something from my childhood.

The first time dad decided to paint the house (exterior), he made the mistake of talking to us kids. OK, he made the mistake of talking to me. Being such the intelligent, wise child I naturally assumed that he would automatically take my suggestion because what could be better than a purple house?  So here we are, 20+ years later and I'm finally getting my purple house. Yes, the color we picked for the hallway is also within the purple family. I'm still not convinced but ready to tell John that once again, he was right. I'm sure he'll have the entire house wired for sound so he can capture that conversation for prosperity.

Ah, if only Dad were alive to see this.

Fat Lip #3 = ER visit #2

Shortly after dropping Little Man off at daycare this morning, John received the dreaded call: "You're son has been hurt. You have to come pick him up".

Little Man ended up on the wrong end of a play shovel and by wrong end I mean the shovel ended in his lip. A trip to the ER and 5 stitches later, the child was good to go. Well as good as can be considering it was (and still is) a tad painful. The kid is now on his 3rd official fat lip. He's doing a good job at upping the ante each time. I'm hoping he's done. I'm hoping he no longer feels the need to outdo himself. Just because the ER provided us the name of a local plastic surgeon doesn't mean we need to rush off for an appointment. Don't anyone give this kid any ideas!

I'm sitting here on the couch with him. I keep looking at him and my heart breaks a little each time I look at him. He looks so pathetic with puppy sitting next to him. On the other side of me is my darling husband. Poor guy is stuck watching Berenstein Bears with Little Man while I get to play on the computer. I think he needs to get out of the house a bit more and I quote: "I keep waiting for Papa Bear to go crazy and maul somebody". I'm so glad Little Man is a tad out of it and isn't paying attention to his father right now. He's learned enough bad habits from his parents.

When it came time to stitch him up, the doctor decided to place him on the board and strap him down. It sounds a bit harsh but it is a smart idea considering there were needles involved and they would be working on his face. Too close to his eyes for my comfort considering this kid's strength and ability to break out of the strongest holds.

So picture my darling son, all 3 feet and 40 lbs of him with a bloodied, swollen lip strapped down - my son mind you. Think he's going to lie there quietly and let the doctor do his thing? Hell no. The kid started screaming at the doctor: "You let me up right now. This is not fair. Let me GO! No Fair!"

I wasn't there so I want to know first, how the hell the doctor managed to shut him up long enough to stitch him up and second, how he contained himself and didn't stitch his lips... together.

So I believe the Brown family is now 3 for 3 when it comes to screaming at a doctor. At least Little Man hasn't decked one.... yet.

Remembering

I'm not going into where I was 10 years ago today. Anyone who was over the age of 7 remembers where they were. What they were doing. It is not a day anyone wants to relive but we must honor the innocent lives lost and those who walked into the face of danger without blinking because it was their job; one they did every day without question, without fail.

There is no danger of this generation forgetting. It is seared into our memories. The pain is still fresh. It is painful to watch TV. As it was 10 years ago but I find myself turning to it or the Internet until the emotional pain becomes too much and I walk away. Then the numbness returns and I go back to watch or read more. It is a viscous cycle but one that bears repeating.

I have this insatiable desire to know the story of each and every person who perished that day. 10 years later and I am learning, for the first time, some amazing stories of ordinary people who, through selfless, courageous acts of their own, saved so many lives while sacrificing their own.

There is a movement to gather the stories of the Greatest Generation because of the rate at which we lose them on a daily basis.

It is time to put a movement to gather the stories of 9/11 because within the pain there is an amazing story of hope. Because within the sorrow, there is honor. Because within the horror, there is bravery.

Because there is so much that the phrase "Never Forget" encompasses.

It encompasses the way the plan was put together and then executed. It encompasses the horrific way people died that day. It encompasses the lives of loved ones lost. It encompasses how one sacrificed for many. How a group, facing a certain death, took control of their destinies and in doing so, saved countless lives. It encompasses the number of people who were spurred to have positive impacts on the lives of others in response to the horror.

As I sit here today remembering this day ten years ago, I struggle with how I will explain it to my son. Each time the story became to painful and I ended up in tears he would comfort me. Each time he would ask me what was wrong. Each time, I answered that I read a sad story. This year, that answer is acceptable. He doesn't push for details but for how long can I keep him in his bubble? For how long can I keep him from knowing just how evil some people can be? For how long can I keep him innocent?

As I pondered, it brought me back to my own childhood and what I've lived through. I am a child of the Cold War. I remember drills in elementary school in the event of a nuclear war. I remember learning, a tad too young, that those drills were a waste of time; that there were multiple Russian warheads aimed right at my city. If the button was pushed, it wouldn't matter how well I cowered under my desk. The city would no longer exist minutes after the button was pushed.

I lived with that fear for years before the Soviet Union imploded. A fear that has yet to be realized.

I watched the Challenger explode live on TV.

Then I watched the Berlin Wall crumble.

I found out that evil people can be as close as your own family and such evil can rip a family apart.

I refuse to let that evil define me.

I stood helpless on the sidelines when a loved one suffered a miscarriage.

I experienced the joy of watching loved ones grow their families.

I had to say goodbye to my father too soon.

I still remember the overwhelming joy of meeting my son for the first time.

I think back and realize I've lived life. Good, bad and shitty. No one sheltered me. No one could. Sometimes shit just happens. Does it suck? Hell yes but I regret nothing. More importantly, not once did fear define my life. Not once did fear control my life (hmmm, maybe we won't discuss my claustrophobia).

The first time a plane landed at National airport after 9/11, I cringed as it flew down the Potomac. I fought the urge to hit the deck. I did freeze. For a second. So did everyone else on the street. A few weeks later, I bought a ticket, boarded a plane and flew home. Not once did I worry about what may happen. Why? Because at that point, I had no control and I was not going to live in fear of something that is going to happen anyway. I am going to die. Some day. I don't know when. Yeah, I hope not for a long freaking time but I don't know. It could be tomorrow.

That is what I am going to teach my son. Yes, life sometimes sucks and yes, sometimes it is really hard to put one foot on the floor and drag your ass out of bed but life does go on and if you push the fear to the back, the good times will come back. Those good times have a tendency to hang around longer than the bad and the memories of the good times can pull you through those bad moments.

So I'll hug him a few extra times today. I'll keep him innocent for one more year and when the time comes that the innocence must leave, I'll strive to help him understand without the fear. I just hope this isn't one of those times I fail as a parent.

A Leak and An Excellent Idea

I finally cleaned out the inside of my car this weekend. I also decided it was time to check the windshield wiper fluid. In the process I noticed the engine coolant was low and that shouldn't be I'd notice the signs of a potential leak but chose to ignore it until it slammed me in the face. Mainly because the car has been in the shop 3 times this summer and I can't afford a 4th. Well the low coolant along with the horrible high-pitched whine the car makes every time I turn it on with the A/C on made me think I shouldn't push it off too much longer but then again, summer is almost over... its not like I need the A/C for much longer...

I decided to address the leak by having a quick discussion with the mechanic before hitting the road the other day. Little Man asked why we had to go to the mechanic and I told him my car may have a leak. So while I'm getting ready to leave, Little Man turns to John and announces he has to go potty because his penis has a leak just like mommy's car.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Jump to the car ride. It's just me and Little Man. He's having trouble with something in the back seat but he's mumbling so I'm not exactly sure what is going on. I ask for clarification on the issue at hand but am ignored. Instead I hear:

"I have an idea! An excellent idea. I'll just try this thing instead. Yes, that is an excellent idea. I always have excellent idea!"

Nope... no self esteem issues here.

New Math

There is a folder I forget to check every now and again - my Drafts folder. I'm great at writing a lot. Really bad at remembering to post said posts so excuse me while I catch up. Below was from August:


Adding to the darndest things kids say:

Me: (holding up one finger) what number is this?

Little Man: ONE

Me: (holding up one finger on the other hand) What number is this?

Little Man: ONE

Me: (bringing two hands together) So 1+1=?

Little Man: TEN DOLLARS.

Potty Training Part 2

A fully potty trained child seems like a myth, an unattainable dream. Then I remind myself of all the individuals I know who managed to successfully summit this mountain; of the other mountains my son has climbed and how long it took him to summit each of those. First I thought I'd be sending him to kindergarten with a bottle. Then I thought I'd still be packing pureed meals his freshman year in high school. Then I was convinced I'd be sending care packages complete with pacifiers to his dorm room.

Slow and steady may win the race but fast and furious is kinder on my wallet kiddo. Pullups are not cheap.

So we beg, plead, cheer, reward, hype, reinforce, yada yada yada. Four is just around the corner and if he stays true to form, two weeks past his birthday, this milestone will kick in full gear. At least the is the current carrot I dangle in front of myself.

And this all ties in nicely to another "first" experienced yesterday. Little Man experienced his first earthquake. For all intent and purpose it was my first one too. I never really felt the previous one. It was more like a 18 wheeler driving by a little too fast.

This one was definitely stronger. I heard it before I felt it; undulating metal being dragged. When solid ground is no longer solid your brain has a hard time processing the proper course of action. Thankfully it was over almost immediately and although we watched the walls and floor move, there was no damage. This is not an experience I feel the need to repeat.

Little Man wholeheartedly agrees. The timing was perfect for daycare. All the children were asleep and only a few woke because of it. All except my son. Was he fast asleep in his cot clutching his precious puppy, chewing on his ear dreaming of Hersey kisses and air planes? Nope. Not even close. He wasn't even in the room with the other kids. He was sitting on the potty.

"THE WALLS ARE MOVING! THE FLOOR IS MOVING!" (the sky is falling....).

Now do you understand why I say this whole potty training thing is unattainable? Thanks a lot Mother Nature. How the hell am I supposed to convince this kid that the chances of him experiencing another earthquake (as long as he stays on the east coast with his mother) are slim to none at best?  And just for the record - I am perfectly capable of scarring my own son. I do not need your help. Understood? So get your damn plates in order and keep 'em there. At least for the next 6-9 months OK?

Failing Grade

I am sitting here watching my son have a temper tantrum because the Legos are not cooperating with him. It would be easy to blame the fever and runny nose but it would also be a lie. My son has a problem dealing with frustration. Instead of taking a deep breath and trying again when something doesn't go the way he would like, he throws things, stomps his feet, yells and storms away.

I can't imagine, for the life of me, where he learned that.

So I realize, a tad late in the game, that if I want to help him learn to properly deal with frustration I must provide the living example. This means I am now taking a crash course in how to properly deal with frustration. I can't tell you the first time I ever failed a class. I may not have received straight As but I was damn close to it (when I felt like it). I swear I am trying. I swear I am giving this my all but at the rate I am going, a passing grade is damn near impossible. I feel like I've got an old dog sitting next to me saying "no shit, really?".

So we teach each other. We remind each other to take deep breaths and try again. We remind each other that it is ok if something is not perfect or doesn't work out exactly. You can just try again or you can accept the imperfections and just roll with it.

My son is three and he knows his mom isn't perfect. He knows I make mistakes and I want him to. I want him to know that it is ok to screw up. It is ok not to be perfect because no one is. What is important is trying, deciding what the goal is and going for it and sometimes realizing that the goal isn't all that you thought it would be and changing mid-stream.

Coffee in Bed

"Mommy wake up! The sun is up! Its time to go to the Farmer's Market. We have to see the train!"

Hmmmm.... why don't you and daddy go make me some coffee so I can have coffee in bed. Then we'll go to the farmer's market

"No mommy. You have to get your own coffee. You are the only one asking for it."

Fine. Then you get your own cereal bar 'cause you're the only one asking for it

(You expect maturity out of me at 8 AM on a Sunday? What's in your coffee?)

"No Mommy. I can't reach the cereal bars by myself . Daddy will lift me up because I will ask him."

OK then. Can I please have my coffee in bed?

"I said no Mommy. You are the only one asking for it so you get it yourself."

How is it that a 3-year-old can be so good at throwing my own words back at me all the while understanding that it is in his best interest to ignore the I'm the Parent You Will Do As I Say With No Questions Asked piece? I think I preferred the blind obedience stage. Oh wait, that stage occurred only in my head... I'm going back to that Universe now. Aw look at the pretty purple sky.

STFU and Enjoy Go the F* to Sleep

I didn’t post this when I first wrote it because I was exhausted and by the time I got home, I couldn’t find the energy to type the last paragraph. I’ve finally come back around to it and my initial reaction is still the same so I’ve decided to hit “Post”.

Written on 12 July 2011:

I just read an interesting article on CCN.com written by one Karen Spears Zacharias (http://www.cnn.com/2011/OPINION/06/27/zacharias.kid.book/?iref=obnetwork). She takes issue with the #1 bestseller Go the F* to Sleep by Adam Mansbach. According to her it demeans children.

In her article she references one Dr. David Arrendondo. He wants us to imagine if this book was written about Jews, Blacks, Muslims, or Latinos and to realize that none of those groups would find it funny. I agree. They wouldn’t. It would be incredible racist but this isn’t written about a minority group and he, along with the others interviewed for this article and the author herself have completely missed the point.

Parenting is tough. There are new challenges around every corner no matter how “seasoned” one is. Tougher still is this feeling that you can’t talk about the bad stuff. Let’s face it, weird stuff goes through your head when you are sleep-deprived. I’m 3 years into this parenting thing and I still have sleep deprived nights. The only thing keeping me at a slighting functioning state right now is the 3 shots of espresso I’ve had since 3 AM. Yes I’ve been up since 3 AM. I am sure by the time I have to put Little Man to bed tonight; my thoughts will enter the Twilight Zone.

How many times has a friend admitted to a horrible thought (rarely) and how relieved have both of you been to find out your not the only one? You don’t want to admit to the things that cross your mind. Until this book came out, I don’t think I told a single soul that I had something very similar going through my head countless nights. I distinctly remember one night in particular. John was out of town for work for two weeks. I didn’t have anyone I could swap off with. I was it and I was exhausted. Little Man woke up in the middle of the night and it quickly turned into one of those nights where he wouldn’t let me put him back down. Every time I tried, he’d scream until I picked him up (I was never good with the CIO method). I sat in the glider while he dozed, too uncomfortable to be able to doze myself. Each time I waited a little longer. Each time I thought he was sound asleep he’d pipe back up. In my head, I held him up to face me and screamed at him to just go to fucking sleep already. In reality, I sat and rocked, and rocked and sat until finally he was in a deep enough sleep he didn’t realize I had put him down – almost in time for my alarm to go off.  

Most parents will admit to being so frustrated they wanted to scream but very few will admit what really takes place in their head. Why? They fear judgment. They fear people will think they are horrible parents for thinking. Thinking and acting are two distinct actions and one does not lead to the other.

This book frees us as parents. It frees us to open up and talk about these thoughts. It allows us to realize that we are not alone. That we are human and we’ve done nothing wrong.

So Ms. Zacharias and company I suggest you take a step back and consider the tone in which the book was written. Oh and to Dr. Arredondo: regarding your comment “They irony is that the people buying the book are probably good parents”. Now there is a highly educated, well thought out comment coming from an alleged expert on child development. Jumping to conclusions without facts is a very scientific and great way to instigate intelligent dialogue without hate or malice.  You also note that most kids in this country aren’t read to at bedtime and that this is a big problem. You insinuate that this is the cause for the difficulty in getting children to sleep but you provide no supporting documentation. Your statements don’t even qualify as anecdotal. Next time, support your argument and maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider your point with a tad more than a grain of salt.

Do some children grow up in hostile environments? Yes. Do some hear such language every day at home? Yes. Is this book condoning such actions? No. So step back. Take a deep breath. Now laugh because to the majority of the people I know, this is the funniest parenting book ever and every single one of us reads to our children at bedtime and none of us are raising our children in a hostile environment (now there’s some anecdotal evidence for you).

The Potty Training Rite of Passage

Potty training is a rite of passage... for the parents. Successfully potty train a child before he goes off to college and you have reached the pinacle of success.

Or so I've convinced myself.

There is still much praise and bribery taking place in this house when it comes to the old poop-in-the-potty-not-your-underwear dance. Hershey kisses overflow in the candy dish waiting to be doled out. Star stickers abound to decorate the Pooped in the Potty Not in My Underwear Chart. My hands are raw from excessive clapping and high-fiving. My throat is sore from... eh, that's from the damn cold I caught.

A common conversation in our house of late:

"Wait. What's that I hear? That noise? Did you just poop in the potty? You did? Good Job! You deserve a star. You pooped in the potty so you get to put a star on your chart. I'll go get it."

The part of the conversation that was not expected:

"Um, daddy... I can't find your chart. Where's your poop chart so you can put a sticker on it?"

Sounds like a deal

Whenever we got stuck behind someone driving slow and holding up traffic during the commute home, my father would always comment that the driver must have a lousy home life as he is in no rush to get there. I'm the opposite - I fly home. My current commute is a whopping 10 minutes but that doesn't stop me from "staying with traffic".

Little Man started a tradition of wearing out the doorbell whenever he came home with John. A habit my grandfather must have whispered in his ear as payback. So on days when he is home with John, I get to do it to him. Some days he giggles and hides from me. Other days he drops what he's doing, screeches "MOMMY!" and flies to open the door for me. It is the latter reaction I speed home for.

His reactions of late leaving me clutching my sides. This evening he wanted to play with his Busytown game but the blocks were scattered all over the floor. House rule: before starting with a new activity, clean up from the previous. Unfortunately, mommy was involved in the block fiasco so I was promptly informed that I made a mess and needed to clean it up right away... but he would help. Held tilted to the side - almost a perfect mimic of me.

He's also learning to negotiate. House rule: no making separate meals. What is for dinner is for dinner. You will at least try everything put on your plate. Unfortunately that house rule needs to be adjusted. This evenings dinner was a watermelon and feta salad. I expected him to eat the watermelon, not the feta. Never assume woman. Never assume. After almost picking the salad clean of cheese, he announced he was done. He'd tried a cucumber earlier and I knew he wouldn't eat the lettuce as he's not a fan so I began to strategize how to get him to eat a little more. He had other ideas.

"Mommy I want a wrap. I didn't have a wrap today. I need a wrap".

A wrap? Just a wrap? You're going to eat just a wrap?

"OK, I'll have turkey and cheese and ketchup with my wrap. That sound like a deal?"

When will he learn that the rules do not allow for him to use my own strategies against me?

Go Away

"Rock n Roll Baby!"

Apparently this boy loves his apples. He also loved the chicken John made for dinner tonight (lemon sage). It was delicious but Little Mane entered Picky Eater stage quite awhile ago and shows no sign of exiting anytime before he matriculates.  The tantrum started before dinner was even served. I headed that one off with a good dose of belly raspberries. The second tantrum started as we sat down for dinner. Before he could truly start I told him he needed to sit at the table and try the chicken. There would be no yogurt, no grapes, no apples, no cereal bar at bed time. He would get nothing and like it.

"Nothing? No yogurt?"

Nothing. No yogurt. You will go to bed hungry.

So he proceeded to the table and it didn't take long before he was serving himself a rather large piece of chicken and managed to put a good dent in it. Literally. He ate with a spoon and refused to cut it with a knife. Dent.

He ate enough to earn some yogurt and grapes and then announced he was all done.

OK, so what do you do?

The expected answer is I'll clear my dishes. Instead I got:

"Go away?" with the most impish grin known to man kind.

Marvin K Mooney he is not but I still cleared his plate as I was laughing to hard to argue.

Little Man Songwriter

Do you remember the last song he created all on his own?

"Aw Man" (thigh slap).
"Aw Man" (thigh slap).
"Aw Man" (thigh slap).

And of course, the chorus:

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck"

He's at it again:

Boys have penises and Mommy has giant.
Boys have penises and girls have ginas
Boys have penises and Mommy has giants.

Best Friends, Sons and Emancipation

Whew was I in trouble tonight! For the life of me I cannot remember what I did. All I remember is his reaction:

"Mommy! I am not your best friend any more!"

No you're not. You are my son not my friend.

In a big huff he heads out of the kitchen:

"Well I not your son anymore!"

I'm sorry sweetie but you aren't old enough to emancipate yourself.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

*grumble* *grumble* STOMP STOMP STOMP *grumble* STOMP

"Mommy you no come upstairs! I no want you upstairs!"

STOMP STOMP STOMP

Fine by me. I'll stay right here in the kitchen.

I'll take my peace and quiet when and as it is handed to me.

Mini Me

It is no secret that I was secretly relieved to find out I had a boy and not a girl. I was terrified of having a Mini Me. Not once in my sleep-deprived, pregnancy-hormone-addled brain did it ever occur to me that I could have a male Mini Me. My father would be rolling in glee if we had actually buried him rather than cremate him. My mom denies laughing at my misery but I know she's cackling and doing all sorts of dances when I'm not looking. My sister, never one to shy away from bluntness, will occasionally attempt to hide her (deserved) smugness. My brother, well I think he's keeping his mouth shut to some degree because Karma is going to kick him in the ass even harder than she's coming at me. Of his 4 kids, only one is a boy. (That evil cackle you hear would be me as I rub my hands together and plan, via my nieces, all sorts of payback).

My poor Father would actually attempt to nap while I was awake. This was not to be. I would jump on the poor man's chest shouting loud enough to wake the dead: "You 'wake daddy? Daddy, you 'wake?" as I peeled back his eyelids. He could get me to stop (temporarily) by rolling his eyes into the back of his head which would result in even louder shrieks of horror.

And then I'd start all over again until he realized there is no arguing with a redhead and he was getting up.

His payback? Mini Me. "Look Mommy, the sun's up. Time to wake up Mommy! Mommy, you 'wake? 'Wake up Mommy" Peel, peel, peel.  Damn it, why can't I roll my eyes back?

Then there is the lecture about staying within our sight - as in the family is out for a walk in the path through the woods behind our house. Little Man starts to run ahead and we tell him not too far, to stay where we can see him. Later that evening, John and I are having a discussion in our room. Little Man in playing on the floor. John and I walk into another room so I can show him something - all related to our discussion.

In comes Little Man and whew is he in a huff:

"You no walk away from me! I was playing and you walked away. I no see you. You not in my eyes. You come back right now!"

I wanted to tell him to watch his tone with me but that would have set off a whole other lecture that I wasn't quite prepared to deal with as my sides were already hurting from the previous lecture.

He has a bit of a temper.

Mini Me.

So I've been working with him when he gets upset: Deep breath. Inhale slowly. Hold. Now exhale. Again.

Fast forward a few days and John is fighting to maintain control over something relatively minor like, oh a stubbed toe or spilled milk. In walks Little Man:

"Deep Breaths Daddy. Inhale. Now eshale. That's it Daddy. Good job!"

And here I thought, all this time he was tuning me out.

Today I found myself a bit overwhelmed having a 3-year-old in my face, literally, all day long. For some reason my personal space was the size of the football field today but he didn't care. He couldn't survive without having at least half of his body wrapped around one of my arms or legs at the bare minimum. It was torture. I needed a break. He wouldn't give me one. I was going to snap yet he was doing nothing wrong. I needed a time out. I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I calmed. I took several deep breaths. I refocused. I walked out.

Into a firestorm.

"You no walk away from me like that! You no, no, no..... You no do that! You no go in there! I tell you not to do that! I no tell you you can, can, can.... You stop that!"

I put my hands on my hips and stand right over him. I, all 5'8" of me is now towering over him and glaring enough to send the bravest running. He, all 40 inches of him, puts his hands on his hips, steps right up so we are now toe-to-toe, and glares up at me enough to send the bravest running.

You do not talk to your mother that way

"You no talk to me....."

Neither of us can maintain the glares any longer and we both end up on the floor giggling.

And that's just his temper. His reasoning skills? His sense of logic? Stories for another time. Right now I'm going to bury my misery in a bowl of peanut butter swirl ice cream and dream that for at least a little while, I am in control.

Penis Boy

You are supposed to be refreshed after vacation. I am still exhausted all the time and going to bed early every night - a side effect of having a young child in the house, especially one you haven't taught how to tell time and his cue to come into your room is when the sun comes up. To think I was so proud of myself when I came up with that one. Brilliant lady.

Having a 3 year-old with an exploding vocabulary and a developing story-telling ability means I spend a lot of times with a weird (at least from his perspective I am guessing) grin on my face as I attempt to take him very seriously and not bust a gut in front of him. I've been accused of laughing at him and have yet to be successful explaining the concept of laughing with him since he isn't actually laughing.

A few examples:

"Mommy can you open these?"

What do you say?

"Please?"

Please beautiful mother

"Stop That!"
_________________________________________________________________________________

"And who was the guy who talked about the seals?"

The lady who told us about the seals?

"Yes. What's her name?"

I don't remember.

"Her name is the seal guy-lady."
__________________________________________________________________________________

 While reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas:

His Heart was too small baby. Is your heart small?

"No"

Do you have a big heart?

"No I have numbers" pointing to the letters on his shirt.
__________________________________________________________________________________

And then there are the strange things he likes to take to bed with him. Most children want a favorite blanket or stuffed animal. Last night my son chose his spaceship clock because a hard plastic object is great for snuggling.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Mommy why do pterodactyls have wings to fly? Why do dinosaurs have feet to walk? Why do fish swim?
_________________________________________________________________________________

Have you seen Kindergarten Cop? If you have you know what transpired.

"I can do it. I'm a big boy. And you have a penis mommy. You can do it".

Mommy doesn't have a penis. Mommy is a girl. Boys have penis and girls have vaginas. Oh crap. Did I really just say that.

"No mommy you have a penis. I've seen it. It is right there"

Yes, he started to reach. Do you know how difficult it is to jump back when seated cross-legged on the floor while choking on laughter?

No honey, mommy has a vagina.

"No you have a penis. I see it! You have pee up there!"

I had to go into ninja mode that night. Any time he thought I was headed to the bathroom he tried to follow so he could show me where my penis was.

"Your penis is hiding mommy"

"Mommy (giggle giggle) you are Penis Boy!"

Tomorrow Monty. Tomorrow.

I love the conversations. The memory and recall are amazing. This kid could go on forever (and sometimes at 11 PM, it feels like it has been forever). "Tomorrow" is his favorite time. "Maybe we'll do it tomorrow Mommy". Everything needs to be done "tomorrow". He either has my procrastination gene or he has shades of Scarlett in him.

He's even learned the fine art of Lecturing. He understands the effect of a concise lecture.

"You don't talk to me that way. You do that one more time and you'll be in big trouble".

Of course trying to explain to him that he is the one that will be in big trouble because he is the one who dropped towel and stood at the (wide open) front door giving the neighbors the Full Monty is a tad difficult when you are making strangling noises and contorting your body to hide the tears pouring out of your eyes and into your full-faced grin.

Tomayto Tomahto

"Mommy, I want my blankie"

Blanket dear. It's called a blanket


"You can call it a blanket. I'm calling it a blankie"

Whipped, Butt, and Cream

Every now and then my inner Domestic Goddess will awake from her Merlinesque slumber and grace us with her presence. This awakening normally coincides with the opening of the area Farmer's Markets. Something about the first squashes, zucchinis and berries of the season are irresistible to her.  Yesterday's selection of strawberries looked especially enticing reminding me of the carton of whipping cream sitting in the fridge; it's expiration date quickly approaching. So last night I cut up the strawberries and tossed in what remained of the blueberries. Sprinkled in a little sugar. Covered and placed in the fridge.

This morning, Little Man didn't get a chance to wake me up. The Goddess was already clamoring for the kitchen and she took a page from Little Man's book. She's up so everyone else is up as well. Less than 20 minutes later the dishes left from the night before were scrubbed and air drying and the cream was being whipped to peaky perfection. I prepared bowls for John and myself. I skipped Little Man. He loves strawberry and blueberry but only in yogurt. I would use our servings to attempt the enticement.

The whipped cream enticed almost immediately as he was digging an unwashed finger into his father's bowl. We moved on to the blueberries but they still require practice enticing impressionable but highly picky preschoolers. The strawberries didn't even bother with their attempt.

So this leads to my darling son making the following request:

"Mommy may I have some butt cream?"

WHAT?

"Butt cream. I want some butt cream."

Whipped cream dear. WHIPPED cream.

Respect

I never realized how difficult it is to teach respect.
Little Man "stole" my slippers tonight and hid them in my bedroom. He told me I couldn't have them back.

Who's older?

"I am"

Nice try. Who's bigger?

"I am"

Nice try. Who's stronger?

"Daddy"

Ok. I'll give you that one but you child are neither old enough, big enough, nor strong enough to say no to your mother.

"NOOO WAAAAY!" he screamed right in my face.

Consistency

Consistency. Consistency is key. Every bit of advice I've asked for since having Little Man has boiled down to one thing - consistency. I'll admit it was getting a little old but you know what? It's true.
We've been having trouble with Little Man listening. Yeah I know - every parent of a child of any age is laughing hysterically at that statement. Go ahead... you can say it... No Yit Really? Yeah, yeah, yeah. I said it. Get over it.

So we've been having an issue and I listened to the Cardinal Rule of Parenting but damn it is hard. Tonight he wouldn't go upstairs at bedtime as instructed so John told him no books at bedtime. We've done this in the past and whoo boy he had a melt down. Since it has been done before, it was done again tonight. There was a temper tantrum and the start of a meltdown but he never went nuclear. We kept to the rest of the bedtime routine and that seemed to solve the problem.

I stayed with Little Man for awhile after he climbed into bed. As I kissed him goodnight and started to head downstairs he asked where his books were. Ugh, here we go. The meltdown is coming.

"Nobody bring books tonight? No one?"

No. No one

"Daddy not bring books tonight?"

No, Daddy didn't bring books tonight. Do you know why?

"Yes. He don't bring books because I don't listen. I crawl around and around on the couch and not listen to daddy".

So if you want books tomorrow night are you going to listen to Daddy?

"Yes. Tomorrow I listen to Daddy and tomorrow I get books".

We still have to see what tomorrow brings but I think I may have witnessed, first hand, the results of Consistency.

Pick Your Battles

We’ve all heard the phrase “Pick you battles”. When used in relation to child-rearing, picking your battles can be very beneficial to your health as laughter is healthy and the unplanned end result of your choice can leave you full of laughter.

Once again Little Man excelled at Procrastination last night with two trips to the potty. After trip #2 he made a valiant stall attempt in the hallway. When Mommy’s will proved too steadfast he made his way back into his room; his room not his bed. Instead of crawling into bed, he curled up behind the glider. Now this is his “hiding spot” during our nightly Where’s My Baby routine. Since we had already done that routine an hour earlier, I was not rehashing it. I also didn’t want to rehash the near meltdown from the hallway a moment earlier so I picked my battle. He was in his room. What’s the big deal if he isn’t in his bed? As he curled up on the floor, I asked if that is where he planned on sleeping. Upon receiving a positive response, I said great! Have a good night. I love you. I will see you in the morning and with that, I walked out.

That was the last we heard from him. No more calls for help on the potty. No more pleas for the dog song (My Favorite Things) or Hush Little Baby. It was silence on the top floor – glorious silence.

Several hours later, as I made my way to bed myself, I checked in on him. Out of habit I went straight for the bed. Finding it empty I remembered he curled up behind the chair. I was slightly taken aback. I had honestly expected him to crawl into bed shortly after we left. He did go to bed after we left – to get his blanket but he did not return to his spot behind the glider. Seeing the empty spot left my quite confused. The only logical place for him to be would be our room but I had gone to our room before going to his. I didn’t remember seeing him. Was he curled under a blanket and I hadn’t noticed? Was he curled up on the floor and I just didn’t see him? Or had he actually gone into Amah’s room (the guest bedroom) and curled up there?

I turned to go look when something caught my eye. I think I pulled a muscle in a lame attempt to keep from laughing out loud. I immediately ran for the camera and managed to snap a few without waking the child. I then went downstairs to John. “You will never guess where your son is sleeping”

I didn't move the hamper for the picture. He moved it himself. Yes. My son curled up to sleep in the closet.

Plan A, Plan B, and a Bandaid

We spend our days witnessing first hand Out of the Mouths of Babes.
This morning we headed out for the airshow. We took back roads so Little Man could see horses. One road in particular is my favorite - hilly and windy. We approached a blind curve and I had to slam on my brakes to avoid slamming into the back of a landscaping truck as the moronic driver thought stopping the truck just beyond line of sight was a brilliant idea. John and I are both left muttering and stuttering. Our combined reactions cause Little Man some trepidation so I am now trying to calm him and explain why mommy and daddy are so upset.

"Mommy! It is MY turn to talk now" he remarks curtly. "That man make me mad. He almost hurt me. He a pain in my butt!"

We proceed to the air show. They are running school buses as shuttles from the parking lot to the airport. Have I ever mentioned that Little Man does not like loud noise? John and I knew this whole adventure could be short lived. We never expected it to crash and burn before it got off the ground. The school buses proved to be too loud. Little Man wouldn't get on. Pointing out the other children who were riding the bus did no good. His terror had control. So we headed back to the car and moved onto Plan B.

The nursery up the road from us was having their Spring Fling. It included a petting zoo and pony rides. Have I mentioned Little Man is terrified of all animals? Great Plan B eh? We figured he could have a hot dog or two and at least look at the animals. The ice cream truck was at the entrance. First thing he wanted was an ice cream. He doesn't eat ice cream. I convinced him he wanted a hot dog. As we head up we pass the petting zoo. I decide to show him the animals.

That little imp went into the enclosure. He walked right up to the goat and petted her. He walked right up to the chicks and the chickens. He petted both. He walked right up to the ducklings. He damn near chased them down. He even sat down and held a bunny. I practically had to drag him out of there so other kids could have a turn.

We moved onto hot dogs and found a seat with a perfect line of site of the ponies. I dare not get my hopes up. Before we could get him to sit down to eat he announced he was riding a pony. I didn't get my hopes up. He ate. He announced he was riding a pony. We got in line. He wanted to ride the big pony. We waited. Our turn arrived. He announced he wanted the small pony. I put him in the saddle. I never expected him to let go of me. I expected terror. I expected panic. I expected a meltdown. I got a nervous look but I didn't get shear panic. I didn't get tears. I didn't get a child begging to back out. He wasn't ecstatic but he completed the ride.

So while we didn't have much luck in the noise realm today we did have some major success in the animal realm. He even survived his first splinter which led to a band aid which led to...

"Mommy you have to carry me. I have band aid. Mommy I can't walk. I have band aid. Mommy I can't get undressed. I have band aid."

The Three Ps - Pee, Poop, and Potty

Slowly slowly slowly we puff up the potty train mountain. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

I hope I can. I hope I can. I hope I can.

I wish he would. I wish he would. I wish he would.

My mantra changes almost as quickly as I change his underwear and pants.

I arrive at daycare last night and he's moved to the 3s. We have the lovely chore of driving to the airport to pick up Amah. I am looking forward to my mother coming into town. I am not looking forward to the myriad of things that can go wrong on a trip to and from Dulles with a potty-training child. I present him with his two choices - he can either go to the potty right before we leave or he can put on a pull up. His choice? The pull up.

WHAAAT? I literally almost fell over. I was not expecting that. Turns out they just went to the potty shortly before I arrived so I decide he is good to go. I have a change of clothes in the car and what's the worse that can happen? I'll have to wash the car seat cover.

Of course we run into horrendous traffic and I must take back roads but we arrive as my mom arrives. We circle twice before she is outside. All is well. And then there is the traffic on the way home. Several times Little Man gets a little too quiet and I fight hard to quell the panic building in the pit of my stomach. We arrive home safely and more importantly - dry.

Zero accidents that evening and much success requesting he use the potty but the biggest surprise presented itself this morning. My precious darling son stayed dry all night. I was in shock. I almost cried. With the progress we've had I did not expect to hit the dry nights for at least 6 months. He's napping now. In a pull up but I am oh so hopeful.


I never posted this one. Screwed the pooch on that one. I laugh reading it now. Oh the naivete! So many months later and you can kiss the dry through the night good-bye (shortly after I initially wrote this). He doesn't where a pull-up at nap time because he doesn't nap any more. We walk downstairs most days with at least 5 pairs of underwear. It is a good day if there are 3 pairs left when we go up at bed time. Daycare has few issues. We are still on high alert at home. Pee isn't as much of an issue any more. He's gotten that part down. Sometimes he gets a little caught up with his playing and forgets but we've been pretty good about making sure he hits the bathroom every couple of hours. No, the whole pooping in the potty is our problem. We've discussed, begged, pleaded, cajoled, bribed... all for naught. He flat out refuses to poop in the potty with us.

John created a new rule tonight. Little Man's disdain for sweets was short-lived. He's discovered a love for Reeses which has morphed into a love of all things chocolate (apparently he is my boy after all). Today John asked if he needed to go potty. Little Man said no and promptly proceeded to poop in his underwear. The rule used to be Little Man could have a Reeses (we have Reeses minis in the candy dish pretty much all the time thanks to my addiction) after lunch and after dinner. After today's episode, John amended the rule. No more Reeses unless he poops in the potty. I don't know how I feel about this rule but I'll admit to being at a loss. Nothing seems to work. This rule was made when I wasn't at home so I will support it and we'll see what happens. I don't always agree with everything John does but damn it, the man has a nasty tendency of proving me wrong. I'm hoping he continues his streak.

The Return, Brain Cells, White Hair and a Suprise

I know. I fell off the face of the earth for a few months there. For the first time ever, words failed me. I started to write countless time and each time my brain froze. Usually writing helps me clear my head and put life in perspective. Apparently I was having a little too much perspective.

John was laid off at the end of January and shortly after that, I was under some pressure to move my family to the middle of nowhere, IL. Thankfully the move didn't come to fruition and the stress level in this house has dropped dramatically. Trying to act as if nothing is wrong in front of a preschooler is a lot harder than I thought. I failed miserably.

There are silver linings to everything right? Yes, even I have my sappy moments and look for silver linings. John being home freed me up at the right time to put in some extra hours at work. He also stepped up when it came to housework. I distinctly remember one weekend shortly after he had been laid off. He went to take Little Man outside to play. I decided to take advantage and do some cleaning.

Clean what? he asked.

The bathrooms?

Did that.

Vacuum?

Did that.

The kitchen?

Did that.

So what the hell am I supposed to do?

Come outside and play with us.

So while my hours at worked increased, my time spent at home was not revolving around cleaning and laundry. It has been nice. Very very nice. Not all roses though. Being out of a job has been tough on John. He doesn't know how not to work and it is driving him crazy. I've joked with him. Called him my Stepford husband. He's quite good at it - the house is clean, the shopping and laundry done. Hell, he'll even have dinner ready when I get home. Now if I could just get him to greet me at the door with a beer.... I'll let you fill in the blanks as to what his response to that was.

John has gained patience in dealing with Little Man. Mine has diminished. We've experienced the Terrible 3s and I've gotten creative in my solutions. Potty training has been a success and yet a complete failure. Little Man is getting smarter. I'm losing brain cells and gaining white hair.

And through it all he's kept us laughing. According to his birth certificate, his middle name is McGaughrin. According to him it is THE Gaughrin.

Then tonight, at bedtime he whispers to me: we got slippers but shhh. It's a surprise.

Anyone want to guess what my Mother's Day present is?

Rockin the ER

My brother recently had his first trip to the ER with one of his kids. It's pretty impressive considering his track record with injuries that his kids waited so long. We were not so lucky. Little Man had his first visit Friday night.

It started innocently enough with an accident at daycare during cleanup. Someone got a little too excited putting blocks away and launched one. Little Man was either directly in the path or walked directly into the path of the lobbed block. It pegged him right below the eye. They called me to give me a heads up but he was fine. Half an hour later they call me back, right as I am walking out the door to pick him up. He wasn't quite himself and was blinking a lot so they pulled him out of class to keep an eye out of him. I was working from home so I was there in 2 minutes. He was crying when I walked in but it seemed more from being yanked from class then from pain. I thought nothing of it and took him home.

Half an hour later and he's still crying. He's also holding his eye, won't open it and won't let me near it. He asked to go to bed. I called the doctor. He tells me to give him some Tylenol and wait an hour. He also gives me the run down on every possible problem from bad to Holy Shit Scary. I choose to ignore the Holy Shit Scary. I don't do Holy Shit Scary well. 10 minutes after the Tylenol he fell asleep in my arms but spent the time wincing or crying in his sleep.

An hour later John gets home from work. I was waiting for him so we could tag-team the munchkin, pry his eye open and make sure we didn't have any Holy Shit Scary going on. Thankfully Little Man decided to open his eye on his own and it looked perfectly normal to me. 10 minutes later he's screaming in pain. Little Man gets tossed in the car and we head to the ER.

INOVA Springfield - ya'll rock! I'm used to the Pediatrician's office where they ask us to hold him down. Not at the ER. A nurse and EMT came in to do the dirty deed. Love them! Ok, so it didn't hurt that the EMT was incredibly cute. Probably all of 20 but age is just a number right? Oh poor John. He's having a small freak out over his son being held down and screaming his heart out and his wife is checking out the EMT. Although Little Man did his best Banshee impression ever more out of fear than pain, they didn't flinch. Hell my ears were ringing. I think they still are. These guys - nothing. The doctor put some drops in his eye and pulled out the black light. The drops glowed neon green. It was incredibly cool.

Yeah, my kid is screaming in fear and I'm shushing him, not to calm him because I feel horrible for him but because I'm trying to get him to stay still long enough for me to see because I think it's kinda cool. Right up until I see the scratch in the middle of his eye. Well that explains the non-stop crying for the last 4 hours. Corneal Abrasion right smack dab in the middle of his eye.

The numbing agent did its job and in no time Little Man is up and about taking Cute Kid to a whole new level. While we wait for the RX and discharge papers, Little Man hams it up. Ah, my son is back. We get him back in the car and he finally conks out. We get him upstairs to our room. The plan is to let him sleep with us so we can pin his arms to the side. Ah yes, the delusion of planning with a child. I still live in a delusional world.

We get his coats, shoes, hat and mittens off and that's it. I put him in a nighttime pull up while at the ER. The thought of grabbing his pjs slipped my mind yet again. One of these days I'll think that far in advance. The tears start again but he never truly wakes. While I rock him, John searches on line for a 24 hour pharmacy near us. We have a RX for Tylenol with codeine. I never thought to ask them for a dose while at the hospital. I should have as we are SOL and will have to wait until the AM to get it.

I finally get him down and he immediately takes up my side of the bed. I leave him with John and head to the couch but I can't sleep. It doesn't take long for the cries to start again so back upstairs I go. I end up rocking him again so I tell John to hit the couch. One of us needs our sleep. I'll stay with him. I end up sleeping in 1/5 - 2 hour intervals. John ends up on the floor next to the bed. Little Man ends up only sleeping until 8 AM.

We dragged today but Little Man rocked it. No more tears except when it comes time to put in the eye drops. Holy Scary Shit has nothing on trying to pry open a screaming 3-year old's eye. He didn't nap today so we put him down early to bed. It is currently 9:48 EST. He just stopped talking/singing a couple of minutes ago. I have no idea how he does it.

A Conversation is Due

Karma and I are about to have a very long conversation. She needs to learn there are some things that are entirely off limits. I got my first flu shot this year even though I've never had the flu. I did it because I caved to the pressure - you must get it for your son. It is pointless if he gets his shot but you don't get yours. Never mind that's how we did it the last 2 years but I understand I'd be playing the numbers so I caved. It is amazing how easy it can be to guilt me by using my son against me.

I also quit smoking on the 2nd of this month. Turned out to be super easy. I'm trying to eat healthier and am slowly trying to ease into a workout routine. All of this combined should guarantee me a healthy winter and if I am really lucky - the loss of a few pounds as well.

The loss of pounds I have managed to already achieve just not the way I wanted which gets me back to my original statement regarding Ms. Karma and our very long conversation. You do NOT turn on someone who is doing such great things by giving her the freaking FLU!

Yes, you read that correctly. I, the one who got the flu shot this year, got the Flu. I, the one who quit smoking, got the Flu. Sweet Mother what is she doing to me?

My son has his own medicine for me. He runs up to me constantly to give me hugs. He doesn't quite get it though. He still wants me to do everything for him. He proceeded to give me demand after demand - I sit in your lap mommy. You dip my chicken in the ketchup mommy. You feed me mommy.

Do you want me to peel some grapes for you as well while I'm at it?

Yes mommy. Thank you mommy.