Filed under Out of the Mouths. Nah, scratch that. File under: Save for Future Bribery:
John: Here, carry these flowers for Mommy.
Little Man: I don't want to carry them any more Daddy. They don't match my outfit.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Karma Requires a (Twisted) Sense of Humor
Karma has an amazing sense of humor if not truly twisted.
So a few months back, my sweet darling husband thought it would be a good idea for us to bet on the Redskins/Patriots game. Ya'll know how well that worked out for him. He's been saying for awhile he can't wait for the Rangers to meet the Bruins in the playoffs. He plans on his Rangers crushing the B's so he never has to where a certain sweatshirt/t-shirt ever again. He may even be planning a shirt-burning party.
He did not foresee his ultimate payback.
So we've been married for 5 years now. Five years and we still have separate bank accounts, credit cards, etc., etc., etc. That arrangement worked fine but recently we've been talking about switching to a joint bank account. In the process we decided it was time to consolidate credit cards as well. We'll keep his and add me to it. I'll dump one of mine and add him to my other card.
Apparently after 5 years we've decided we'll keep each other so it's OK to officially merge finances. As usual, John is faster to respond then the Queen Procrastinator. He put in the request with his bank to add me to his card. It arrived today.
Apparently our thoughts on what is/is not apparent was off. I'm just glad I didn't close out my bank accounts and dump everything into his bank yet.
My darling husband customized his credit card over 10 years ago when he got it.
The bank sent me my card with my very own name on it.
Customized just like his.
Ms. Born-and-bread-died-in-the-wool-hard-core-never-forget-where-you-came-from-all-things-NY-sucks-Beantown-Rocks-OFD-Mother@#$%#$-and-Proud-of-It is the proud (sic) owner of her very own.... oh I'm ill just having to type this..... Yankees credit card.
Well Karma may have met her match. I'm calling my bank and asking for a very special customized card with his name on it.
A one-of-a-kind Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins, and Democrat credit card. 4 corners to a credit card. 4 logos. Oh yeah baby.
So a few months back, my sweet darling husband thought it would be a good idea for us to bet on the Redskins/Patriots game. Ya'll know how well that worked out for him. He's been saying for awhile he can't wait for the Rangers to meet the Bruins in the playoffs. He plans on his Rangers crushing the B's so he never has to where a certain sweatshirt/t-shirt ever again. He may even be planning a shirt-burning party.
He did not foresee his ultimate payback.
So we've been married for 5 years now. Five years and we still have separate bank accounts, credit cards, etc., etc., etc. That arrangement worked fine but recently we've been talking about switching to a joint bank account. In the process we decided it was time to consolidate credit cards as well. We'll keep his and add me to it. I'll dump one of mine and add him to my other card.
Apparently after 5 years we've decided we'll keep each other so it's OK to officially merge finances. As usual, John is faster to respond then the Queen Procrastinator. He put in the request with his bank to add me to his card. It arrived today.
Apparently our thoughts on what is/is not apparent was off. I'm just glad I didn't close out my bank accounts and dump everything into his bank yet.
My darling husband customized his credit card over 10 years ago when he got it.
The bank sent me my card with my very own name on it.
Customized just like his.
Ms. Born-and-bread-died-in-the-wool-hard-core-never-forget-where-you-came-from-all-things-NY-sucks-Beantown-Rocks-OFD-Mother@#$%#$-and-Proud-of-It is the proud (sic) owner of her very own.... oh I'm ill just having to type this..... Yankees credit card.
Well Karma may have met her match. I'm calling my bank and asking for a very special customized card with his name on it.
A one-of-a-kind Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins, and Democrat credit card. 4 corners to a credit card. 4 logos. Oh yeah baby.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Stack.... Snack....
Neighbors are outside chatting and Little Man's window is open so the noise disturbed him. John goes up to head off a freakout and of course Little Man angles for our bed. John says no and immediately goes into redirecting. I'm listening to this conversation over the monitor:
John: You have Jonah, and Blackie, and Banana and... what's this one, Short Stack?
LM: No he doesn't have a name. I'll name him right now. His name is Short Snack.
John: You have Jonah, and Blackie, and Banana and... what's this one, Short Stack?
LM: No he doesn't have a name. I'll name him right now. His name is Short Snack.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Big Trouble
Sunday 10 PM. I've just finished my workout and shower when there is a knock on the bathroom door.
"Mommy, I'm not tired".
So I should ignore the red eyes and toothpicks?
"Yeah, I'm not tired and I don't want to be alone anymore".
So of course I tell him to crawl into my bed while I braid my hair. I lay out strict ground rules: lie down, close your eyes, go to sleep AND NO TALKING.
He fails. Miserably. 5 minutes after I crawl into bed and crack open my book.
What happens when you don't listen?
"I get into big trouble?"
Exactly. I told you to lie down, close your eyes go to sleep and no talking. Did you listen?
"Ummmm. No?"
No you didn't listen so now you need to return to your room.
Huge sigh for such a little body. "Oh OKAY".
He slides off the bed, slumps his shoulders and walks into his bedroom.
Wait a second. Rewind that.... Where's the NOOOOO. Where the whining? Where's the Mother of All Tantrums?
Oh OKAY? That's it? And you are off to your room with no argument?
Seriously - who are you and what have you done with my child? No, no, no, no. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not exactly suggesting you should go get him and bring him back. Maybe not entirely....
Fast forward to breakfast this morning. For the life of me I can't remember what he was about to get upset about. It's not like I'd had my coffee yet. I stopped him just as the whine started to slip out and asked him what happens when he whines, won't take no for an answer and/or throws a tantrum.
"I get in big trouble?".
Yes. Now do you remember last night? Uh huh. And do you remember how well you handled it? How you didn't cry or whine or throw a tempter tantrum? Yes and mommy is very proud of you for being so mature.
Yes, mature. I used the word mature with a 4-year old and then am left struggling with a 4-year old definition of "mature". Before I've had coffee. I'm impressed I could even conjure the word and now I have to define it? Sheesh, when will I learn.
It means you proved to me you really are a big boy. It's a very good thing honey. A big compliment.
Et voila. I've found my magic trick for the week. So, who wants to start a pool as too how long my new, calm-collected-always-in-control-no-nonsense-accepted attitude continues to work with this child? Bonus points if you can come up with the exact scenario in which it fails because the key to this whole thing really seems to be me remaining 100% calm, cool, and collected.
"Mommy, I'm not tired".
So I should ignore the red eyes and toothpicks?
"Yeah, I'm not tired and I don't want to be alone anymore".
So of course I tell him to crawl into my bed while I braid my hair. I lay out strict ground rules: lie down, close your eyes, go to sleep AND NO TALKING.
He fails. Miserably. 5 minutes after I crawl into bed and crack open my book.
What happens when you don't listen?
"I get into big trouble?"
Exactly. I told you to lie down, close your eyes go to sleep and no talking. Did you listen?
"Ummmm. No?"
No you didn't listen so now you need to return to your room.
Huge sigh for such a little body. "Oh OKAY".
He slides off the bed, slumps his shoulders and walks into his bedroom.
Wait a second. Rewind that.... Where's the NOOOOO. Where the whining? Where's the Mother of All Tantrums?
Oh OKAY? That's it? And you are off to your room with no argument?
Seriously - who are you and what have you done with my child? No, no, no, no. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not exactly suggesting you should go get him and bring him back. Maybe not entirely....
Fast forward to breakfast this morning. For the life of me I can't remember what he was about to get upset about. It's not like I'd had my coffee yet. I stopped him just as the whine started to slip out and asked him what happens when he whines, won't take no for an answer and/or throws a tantrum.
"I get in big trouble?".
Yes. Now do you remember last night? Uh huh. And do you remember how well you handled it? How you didn't cry or whine or throw a tempter tantrum? Yes and mommy is very proud of you for being so mature.
Yes, mature. I used the word mature with a 4-year old and then am left struggling with a 4-year old definition of "mature". Before I've had coffee. I'm impressed I could even conjure the word and now I have to define it? Sheesh, when will I learn.
It means you proved to me you really are a big boy. It's a very good thing honey. A big compliment.
Et voila. I've found my magic trick for the week. So, who wants to start a pool as too how long my new, calm-collected-always-in-control-no-nonsense-accepted attitude continues to work with this child? Bonus points if you can come up with the exact scenario in which it fails because the key to this whole thing really seems to be me remaining 100% calm, cool, and collected.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Turning a Debacle into a Victory
I'm not big on what the experts say. I'm not one for child books. Technically, I didn't really read the whole What to Expect When You're Expecting. John did. I read one or two chapters that I remember. Then, as I hit the next month, John would read the first section of that chapter to me so I would... know what to expect. Read it cover to cover? Yeah... no.
I'm not much of a planner. Hell most of the details for my wedding weren't taken care of until 3 days before. Let things fall where they may, it will all work out. No worries. If you spend all your time planning, exactly when do you live your life?
The only thing John and I discussed prior to having Little Man was the United Front. Which means no matter what we think, in front of him, we are united. Privately we can disagree as to punishment, etc. but in front of him, no cracks in the veneer darling. 'Course the kid is still under the delusion that he can play us off each other. One parent says no, turn to the other. So what if both parents happen to be in the same room sitting right next to each other and can hear everything being said in said room?
Oh and we also discussed spanking. As in I said we wouldn't spank, no discussion. With one exception each, we've maintained that one. Thankfully we've had no exceptions on the United Front. Again... why the delusion then? I seriously hurt my brain attempting to wrangle some sort of logic in this one. It's not like we share DNA or anything. It's not like he doesn't have two incredibly stubborn parents.
So that's it. That's my parenting strategy. Judge me as you may, it has worked for me so far. See, I'm new to all of this parenting thing. I only have one kid so the way I see it is I'll always be new to it. Each phase, age, stage will be new to me. I'm untried, untested, and a tad naive. Hmm, sounds like life in general. So why should I treat parenting any different then how I treat the rest of my life?
So each new phase requires a new strategy. Sometimes I strike gold first time around. Sometimes I swan dive very ungracefully into a bottomless pit. Not once have I hit platinum but I don't believe in perfection so tis all good. Consistency is one key I stick by. I'll be consistent for 2-3 days max. If it don't work, it's broken and I'm fixing it.
After yesterday's debacle I wasn't exactly looking forward to this morning. Things would go one of two ways:
1. Little Man would be quite contrite, loving, sweet, practically angelic or
2. Little Man would be furious, holding the ultimate grudge, whining incessantly about not getting books, songs, flips, life isn't fair, he has the worst mommy in the world, yada yada yada.
I forgot about number 3. Little Man is his normal self and completely forgets about yesterday's debacle until I mention it at which point, he immediately begins to agree to anything and everything I say. (I'll remind him of this in several years when it comes time to put me in a retirement home - sorry kiddo but I'm coming to live with you!). So we started today with a little reminder about whining and temper tantrums. A very simple discussion. If Little Man has either, I'll start filling up that garbage bag sitting in my room.
He was a saint for about an hour maybe two before the first tantrum started to rear. One verbal reminder and he managed a milestone - he calmed himself in record time. I'm talking Guinness Book of World Records record. Sainthood stayed for most of the day too. He was the most helpful child today. Running up and down stairs. Telling me "no problem". Offering to move heaven and earth so I could clean today. It was wonderful.
This evening provided test # 2 of my consistency battle. 2nd battle of the day I claim victory.
Of course I have yet determined the depth of the scars I have laid upon this poor child. Threatened to have all his beloved toys thrown into a garbage bag and tossed. Well OK, donated. I could never actually throw away perfectly good toys. He's slowly grasping the concept of donating toys that he know longer plays with. Maybe he needs old enough to learn the concept of deserving toys. Although I do wonder if I could actually follow through should he decide to test my resolve one of these days. I also wonder the depth to which he will try to lay his guilt later in life. Eh, he's my son. He'll start in on the guilt immediately. He's already perfecting that routine.
So again a possibility of scarring my poor child. Again, questioning my resolve, my parenting ability. Eh. No one is perfect. I'm sure I've already screwed up and expect to screw up even more. He'll survive just fine. Besides, how dare I be perfect? What would he ever have to complain about in his teenage years if he can't complain about how horrible his mom is?
I'm not much of a planner. Hell most of the details for my wedding weren't taken care of until 3 days before. Let things fall where they may, it will all work out. No worries. If you spend all your time planning, exactly when do you live your life?
The only thing John and I discussed prior to having Little Man was the United Front. Which means no matter what we think, in front of him, we are united. Privately we can disagree as to punishment, etc. but in front of him, no cracks in the veneer darling. 'Course the kid is still under the delusion that he can play us off each other. One parent says no, turn to the other. So what if both parents happen to be in the same room sitting right next to each other and can hear everything being said in said room?
Oh and we also discussed spanking. As in I said we wouldn't spank, no discussion. With one exception each, we've maintained that one. Thankfully we've had no exceptions on the United Front. Again... why the delusion then? I seriously hurt my brain attempting to wrangle some sort of logic in this one. It's not like we share DNA or anything. It's not like he doesn't have two incredibly stubborn parents.
So that's it. That's my parenting strategy. Judge me as you may, it has worked for me so far. See, I'm new to all of this parenting thing. I only have one kid so the way I see it is I'll always be new to it. Each phase, age, stage will be new to me. I'm untried, untested, and a tad naive. Hmm, sounds like life in general. So why should I treat parenting any different then how I treat the rest of my life?
So each new phase requires a new strategy. Sometimes I strike gold first time around. Sometimes I swan dive very ungracefully into a bottomless pit. Not once have I hit platinum but I don't believe in perfection so tis all good. Consistency is one key I stick by. I'll be consistent for 2-3 days max. If it don't work, it's broken and I'm fixing it.
After yesterday's debacle I wasn't exactly looking forward to this morning. Things would go one of two ways:
1. Little Man would be quite contrite, loving, sweet, practically angelic or
2. Little Man would be furious, holding the ultimate grudge, whining incessantly about not getting books, songs, flips, life isn't fair, he has the worst mommy in the world, yada yada yada.
I forgot about number 3. Little Man is his normal self and completely forgets about yesterday's debacle until I mention it at which point, he immediately begins to agree to anything and everything I say. (I'll remind him of this in several years when it comes time to put me in a retirement home - sorry kiddo but I'm coming to live with you!). So we started today with a little reminder about whining and temper tantrums. A very simple discussion. If Little Man has either, I'll start filling up that garbage bag sitting in my room.
He was a saint for about an hour maybe two before the first tantrum started to rear. One verbal reminder and he managed a milestone - he calmed himself in record time. I'm talking Guinness Book of World Records record. Sainthood stayed for most of the day too. He was the most helpful child today. Running up and down stairs. Telling me "no problem". Offering to move heaven and earth so I could clean today. It was wonderful.
This evening provided test # 2 of my consistency battle. 2nd battle of the day I claim victory.
Of course I have yet determined the depth of the scars I have laid upon this poor child. Threatened to have all his beloved toys thrown into a garbage bag and tossed. Well OK, donated. I could never actually throw away perfectly good toys. He's slowly grasping the concept of donating toys that he know longer plays with. Maybe he needs old enough to learn the concept of deserving toys. Although I do wonder if I could actually follow through should he decide to test my resolve one of these days. I also wonder the depth to which he will try to lay his guilt later in life. Eh, he's my son. He'll start in on the guilt immediately. He's already perfecting that routine.
So again a possibility of scarring my poor child. Again, questioning my resolve, my parenting ability. Eh. No one is perfect. I'm sure I've already screwed up and expect to screw up even more. He'll survive just fine. Besides, how dare I be perfect? What would he ever have to complain about in his teenage years if he can't complain about how horrible his mom is?
Friday, March 16, 2012
That's My Boy
From a very young age Little Man was always told to save his meltdowns for home and not have them at daycare.
Hindsight like Murphy's Law loves to kick me in the ass. I really need to shrink that target.
I should have changed daycare to "anywhere in public ever".
Yes, he was that child and I was that parent today.
He refused to listen. He refused to take no for an answer (not a clue where that comes from). He ran away. I refused to run. Think Ron White when you read this: I was IN PUB... LIC. I think more people would rather hear my son shriek than see me jiggle trying to run after him.
The poor Girl Scouts chose that exact moment to approach me. Nah, don't worry. I didn't make a snack out of them. I smiled sweetly but the "not now" that came out of my mouth may have been a little more clipped than intended. They also ran.
MY child finally responded to my command and snapped to. He even took my hand but at this point he has lost all privileges. I've already sent John into the grocery store to pick up the two items we need so I'm taking my darling, wonderful, sweet, even-tempered child to the car. Once he realized that he morphed into banshee child.
Seriously, I think the banshees were in pain. John could hear him from inside the store. I asked if he shouted out with pride: "That's my boy!" I'll let you figure out the answer to that one.
So here I am, trying to leave the mall and head back to the car but I've got banshee child who thinks he can throw himself on the floor.
Seriously kid? That's all you've got? Fine. You will now be carried out quite unceremoniously - tucked under my arm (gotta be able to protect my body from flailing limbs).
I get him in the car and he is still shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he adds in kicking the door and the back of the seat. So I decide to stand outside the car and entertain myself a game of mahjong on my phone.
All the while keeping a wary eye out for the cops. The looks I got - I'm convinced someone thinks I'm beating my child and is making the call. Considering some of the laws in this state, I'm amazed I'm not speaking with the police right now.
Needless to say someone went to bed as soon as we went home. Of course getting him to actually get into his pjs, get in bed, stay in bed and stop screaming involved threatening to empty the content of his play room into a garbage bag.
I've decided to leave the garbage bag in my room for future possible use.
Anyone with any suggestions on how to deal with banshee child...I'm listening. The only thing I can think of is a trick my grandmother supposedly used - she threw cold water on a child. I'm so tempted but part of me wants to save that one for a truly glorious moment - namely when I have someone who can record it.
Hindsight like Murphy's Law loves to kick me in the ass. I really need to shrink that target.
I should have changed daycare to "anywhere in public ever".
Yes, he was that child and I was that parent today.
He refused to listen. He refused to take no for an answer (not a clue where that comes from). He ran away. I refused to run. Think Ron White when you read this: I was IN PUB... LIC. I think more people would rather hear my son shriek than see me jiggle trying to run after him.
The poor Girl Scouts chose that exact moment to approach me. Nah, don't worry. I didn't make a snack out of them. I smiled sweetly but the "not now" that came out of my mouth may have been a little more clipped than intended. They also ran.
MY child finally responded to my command and snapped to. He even took my hand but at this point he has lost all privileges. I've already sent John into the grocery store to pick up the two items we need so I'm taking my darling, wonderful, sweet, even-tempered child to the car. Once he realized that he morphed into banshee child.
Seriously, I think the banshees were in pain. John could hear him from inside the store. I asked if he shouted out with pride: "That's my boy!" I'll let you figure out the answer to that one.
So here I am, trying to leave the mall and head back to the car but I've got banshee child who thinks he can throw himself on the floor.
Seriously kid? That's all you've got? Fine. You will now be carried out quite unceremoniously - tucked under my arm (gotta be able to protect my body from flailing limbs).
I get him in the car and he is still shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he adds in kicking the door and the back of the seat. So I decide to stand outside the car and entertain myself a game of mahjong on my phone.
All the while keeping a wary eye out for the cops. The looks I got - I'm convinced someone thinks I'm beating my child and is making the call. Considering some of the laws in this state, I'm amazed I'm not speaking with the police right now.
Needless to say someone went to bed as soon as we went home. Of course getting him to actually get into his pjs, get in bed, stay in bed and stop screaming involved threatening to empty the content of his play room into a garbage bag.
I've decided to leave the garbage bag in my room for future possible use.
Anyone with any suggestions on how to deal with banshee child...I'm listening. The only thing I can think of is a trick my grandmother supposedly used - she threw cold water on a child. I'm so tempted but part of me wants to save that one for a truly glorious moment - namely when I have someone who can record it.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Wonderful Great Ideas
Good-bye toddlerhood. Hello preschooler. Hello whiny. Hello Wonderful, Great Ideas. Hello logical arguments. Hello independence (when it suits him).
Up until this point, most phases have been gradual allowing me to somewhat ease into things. This one decided to smack me upside the head as I staggered in exhausted from work one day.
The second he moved up to the preschool, he went through a drastic change. He wants to do everything himself and when I say everything, I mean everything. I had to draw the line on him trying to he me change into my pajamas.
The whines became overbearing until I snapped. A simple, (very) firm, "No whining. I will not tolerate it" does the trick. The time between reminders is growing and instead of having a meltdown I get the big sigh, eye roll, and "Ooh, okaaaay". Shades of the teenager to come.
Which brings us to the Wonderful, Great Idea.
"All right buddy, time to go to bed"
"But I want to watch.... (insert whatever show is about to start on Sprout or Nick Jr).
"Nope. Not tonight. It's bedtime"
"I've got a Great, Wonderful idea". (Been reading way to much Dr. Seuss of late). "Let's watch (insert show) and then we will go to bed."
The above also combines with his logical arguments. A preschooler's logic vs. a redhead's logic. Life is never interesting.
Oh and the whole reverse psychology? Going out the window. Either that or he's found a way to use it to his advantage. I'm not sure yet. He's up to something. I will figure this out:
John: You need to try the veggies and eat some more chicken.
Little Man: I'm full. (his standard response when a parent insists he try something new)
John: You either eat some more or you go to bed.
Little Man: No. I'm going to play in my playroom
Me: Hey, what did your father say? Come back here!
Nothing. Ignored. Completely.
I choose to finish my dinner while it is still warm and delay the fight that is about to occur. The only ending I see is one screaming child being tossed unceremoniously into his PJs followed by his bed. No sooner do I finish eating than I can hear Little Man calling out to us, asking where we are (right where you left us...).
He makes his way to us and begins to lecture us. For not reading to him.
Huh?
"Its bedtime. You need to come upstairs and read books. It is book time".
I say again, HUH?
"Its bedtime. Daddy said."
Triple HUH? It isn't even 7 PM yet. Just like that, your father says eat your dinner or go to bed and you go to bed with no fuss, no scream, no temper tantrum, no questions?
So why am I questioning this?
Up until this point, most phases have been gradual allowing me to somewhat ease into things. This one decided to smack me upside the head as I staggered in exhausted from work one day.
The second he moved up to the preschool, he went through a drastic change. He wants to do everything himself and when I say everything, I mean everything. I had to draw the line on him trying to he me change into my pajamas.
The whines became overbearing until I snapped. A simple, (very) firm, "No whining. I will not tolerate it" does the trick. The time between reminders is growing and instead of having a meltdown I get the big sigh, eye roll, and "Ooh, okaaaay". Shades of the teenager to come.
Which brings us to the Wonderful, Great Idea.
"All right buddy, time to go to bed"
"But I want to watch.... (insert whatever show is about to start on Sprout or Nick Jr).
"Nope. Not tonight. It's bedtime"
"I've got a Great, Wonderful idea". (Been reading way to much Dr. Seuss of late). "Let's watch (insert show) and then we will go to bed."
The above also combines with his logical arguments. A preschooler's logic vs. a redhead's logic. Life is never interesting.
Oh and the whole reverse psychology? Going out the window. Either that or he's found a way to use it to his advantage. I'm not sure yet. He's up to something. I will figure this out:
John: You need to try the veggies and eat some more chicken.
Little Man: I'm full. (his standard response when a parent insists he try something new)
John: You either eat some more or you go to bed.
Little Man: No. I'm going to play in my playroom
Me: Hey, what did your father say? Come back here!
Nothing. Ignored. Completely.
I choose to finish my dinner while it is still warm and delay the fight that is about to occur. The only ending I see is one screaming child being tossed unceremoniously into his PJs followed by his bed. No sooner do I finish eating than I can hear Little Man calling out to us, asking where we are (right where you left us...).
He makes his way to us and begins to lecture us. For not reading to him.
Huh?
"Its bedtime. You need to come upstairs and read books. It is book time".
I say again, HUH?
"Its bedtime. Daddy said."
Triple HUH? It isn't even 7 PM yet. Just like that, your father says eat your dinner or go to bed and you go to bed with no fuss, no scream, no temper tantrum, no questions?
So why am I questioning this?
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