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.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, August 22, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
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).
Monday, August 15, 2011
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?"
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?"
Monday, August 8, 2011
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?
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?
Thursday, August 4, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
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.
"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.
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