To the Future!
I've been thinking about my children.
My daughter has recently learned some new things. She's advanced her vocabulary (NO!!! and MINE!!!), she's improved her hand/eye coordination (by pinching and grasping small hairs... to pull), and she's learned some very basic skills such as getting dressed (taking off her diaper at completely random and inappropriate times).
My son has just turned four... and with age does come wisdom. For instance, now he's more able to tell when I am full. of. crap. He also knows many other things that adults, myself included, simply do not understand. Burritos are not burritos, they are tacos. TACOS I said!!! And shorts when used as pajamas are pants. It's an undisputed fact in my house.
Another new development is their attendance at daycare. They go to a family child care provider who works from her home, the magical Ms. Heather of Ms. Heather's Cupcakes fame (she also throws a mean Mr. Potato Head party). What makes her magical though, is not her willingness to take other children into her home on a regular basis, or that she keeps her cool and gives them fun things to do. No, What makes Ms. Heather magic is that she gets my son to eat... (shh... come closer... don't let him hear... vegetables)! Gasp! I know. After his first day as a cupcake, we had this conversation about lunch.
"What did you have for lunch?" I asked.
"We had 'azanny' with green stuff in it," he replied.
"You mean lasagna?"
"Yeah. The green stuff was sour and it was supposed to make my muscles grow bigger. But I don't like it because my muscles aren't bigger yet."
So yes. Popeye has been debunked! Take that spinach!
8.23.2010
5.21.2010
He Ain't Heavy...
Siblings come in almost as many varieties as gourmet coffee. Some are half, whole or step (skim). Some are calm (decaf) while others are an extra shot of espresso. Some are even mocha, caramel or white mocha.
Siblings are an anomaly. The first child is like a shock to the system and then sometime between screaming infancy and screaming toddlerhood, the parent believes it is possible to live through it one more time. Oh boy!
The new baby gets mixed reviews from the existing child. One minute big brother is holding the baby's bottle and the next, he's trying to drive his racecar through her head. He goes through the phase where he hates her for stealing mommy, and then he decides she's not so bad.
At some point through all of this (hopefully), we sneak glances of secret adoration. A hug or a kiss. A tickle and a giggle. Then one morning when baby wakes up she yells, "Bubby!"
You think, hey, this isn't so bad, I could do this again. Then you put down baby and she screams for the five whole minutes it took you to get her breakfast and you remember. Kids are crazy.
But kids are awesome! Especially when you teach them the best sibling catch phrase ever spoken by a toddler: He not heaby, he a brudder!
Siblings are an anomaly. The first child is like a shock to the system and then sometime between screaming infancy and screaming toddlerhood, the parent believes it is possible to live through it one more time. Oh boy!
The new baby gets mixed reviews from the existing child. One minute big brother is holding the baby's bottle and the next, he's trying to drive his racecar through her head. He goes through the phase where he hates her for stealing mommy, and then he decides she's not so bad.
At some point through all of this (hopefully), we sneak glances of secret adoration. A hug or a kiss. A tickle and a giggle. Then one morning when baby wakes up she yells, "Bubby!"
You think, hey, this isn't so bad, I could do this again. Then you put down baby and she screams for the five whole minutes it took you to get her breakfast and you remember. Kids are crazy.
But kids are awesome! Especially when you teach them the best sibling catch phrase ever spoken by a toddler: He not heaby, he a brudder!
5.15.2010
Hello Hungry, I'm Mom.
Children grow like weeds. They're stomachs are also miniscule (their actual stomachs, not their adorable little Buddha Bellies). With their powers combined, they are... Always Hungry!
As parents, we try to give our kids as close to the recommended amounts of good, nutritious food as we can, though most of us are lucky if we can get them to eat their vegetables (I've still never met a child who eats lima beans). Cheese does seem to disguise the green enough for it to no longer be in the green part of the toddler color spectrum, but even then, they still have to sit down at dinner time and eat.
What toddler in his right mind (are any of them really ever in their right minds?) would stop playing whatever super fun game he was playing just so he could make your day by sitting up at the table, placing his napkin on his lap (because he knows how his messes make your life harder), eating his vegetables first and commenting on how beautiful you look today? If your children are anything like mine, there are at least three announcements for dinner even after they have been bothering you for 15 minutes because they're huuuuungryyyyyy. Then comes the exclamation that "I don't like it!"
"How do you know? You've never had it."
"But I don't like it!!! I want a snack."
And after a hearty meal of approximately one chicken nugget, three green beans and five macaronis, they want a snack. While you cook the dinner they won't eat, they want a snack. When they wake up from the ever elusive nap, they want a snack. If I'd let him, my son would petition the government to make Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Crackers a valid food group.
And after dinner (and some whining and a snack), when it's time to go to bed, one of the last things my son tells me is, "Mom, I'm hungry!"
Well, hello Hungry, I'm Mom, and I'll be making your dinner for the remainder of your childhood (and you'll eat it and like it).
As parents, we try to give our kids as close to the recommended amounts of good, nutritious food as we can, though most of us are lucky if we can get them to eat their vegetables (I've still never met a child who eats lima beans). Cheese does seem to disguise the green enough for it to no longer be in the green part of the toddler color spectrum, but even then, they still have to sit down at dinner time and eat.
What toddler in his right mind (are any of them really ever in their right minds?) would stop playing whatever super fun game he was playing just so he could make your day by sitting up at the table, placing his napkin on his lap (because he knows how his messes make your life harder), eating his vegetables first and commenting on how beautiful you look today? If your children are anything like mine, there are at least three announcements for dinner even after they have been bothering you for 15 minutes because they're huuuuungryyyyyy. Then comes the exclamation that "I don't like it!"
"How do you know? You've never had it."
"But I don't like it!!! I want a snack."
And after a hearty meal of approximately one chicken nugget, three green beans and five macaronis, they want a snack. While you cook the dinner they won't eat, they want a snack. When they wake up from the ever elusive nap, they want a snack. If I'd let him, my son would petition the government to make Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Crackers a valid food group.
And after dinner (and some whining and a snack), when it's time to go to bed, one of the last things my son tells me is, "Mom, I'm hungry!"
Well, hello Hungry, I'm Mom, and I'll be making your dinner for the remainder of your childhood (and you'll eat it and like it).
5.03.2010
Silly (Putty) Perspectives
Perspective. It's hard to get, and hard to keep. It's hard to know you have the right one. It's hard to know if there even is a correct perspective. Perspectives are pliable. They change with every season, every life event, every phase of the moon. Heck, they change every day.
Perspectives involving children are particularly metamorphic. A child's perspective on the world is magical. Everything is new and bigger than life (at least their life). Slowly, as they gain more life experience and lose their naivety, their perspective on things takes a sour turn until they have children of their own (that means we get old too).
Ahh... children. You love them (but not necessarily always like them), but they're always better for others than for you. The cashier at the grocery remarks on how sweet they are. You inquire as to whether their establishment accepts payment in children. The funny look the cashier gives you gives you the answer (and maybe a visit from child services).
You desperately try to get rid of the kids for just an hour (please, just FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE. Please let me go to the bathroom ALONE!!!), and when the shining moment appears heralded in with the heavens opening up to reveal a choir of angels singing and a band of trumpets blaring the respite you so desperately deserve, all you want is to see your kids.
Perspective. Your parents probably didn't like you, but they love (or will love or won't if you don't have) your kids. Because THEY know. THEY know what's coming and that keeps things in perspective.
My children are much like others that have gone before them... completely insane. They turned me from a mild mannered house wife into (no, not a super hero) some kind of super villain. It may have been all the times I had to be the Megatron to his Optimus Prime (or the Lex Luthor to his Superman, or Green Goblin to Spiderman or Mama-Be-The-Bad-Guy-So-I-Can-Beat-You-Up), or maybe not (That's an argument for nature vs. nurture). But, one thing is for sure, I had crazy eyes, lowered inhibitions (what have I got to lose, I could plead insanity), and always had that frazzled look about me. Slightly panicked. Other mothers recognize the look.
Then I had surgery. I had a break (and a breakdown). It was a glorious break. Pain medication, bed rest, and all the terrible SyFy shows I could handle. The only thing that could have made it better was a beach... and maybe an umbrella drink... and oh yeah, not being post-op (but you take it where you can get it).
Then suddenly it changed. My perspective. Suddenly, I adored my children (I was on drugs). They were fantastic specimens of the human race. The world was going to be fine after all. There was hope for everything... all embodied in these two little precious bundles (Pandora's boxes). A few days later when (the meds wore off ) I started getting the frazzled look again... you guessed it, perspective. Only this time, it was as if I were home. It was like a dream and you were there crazy eyes, and you, loud mouth, and you, frazzled hair (and Toto too).
And now, when my children drive me to the brink, I smile and think that There's No Place Like Home.
Perspectives involving children are particularly metamorphic. A child's perspective on the world is magical. Everything is new and bigger than life (at least their life). Slowly, as they gain more life experience and lose their naivety, their perspective on things takes a sour turn until they have children of their own (that means we get old too).
Ahh... children. You love them (but not necessarily always like them), but they're always better for others than for you. The cashier at the grocery remarks on how sweet they are. You inquire as to whether their establishment accepts payment in children. The funny look the cashier gives you gives you the answer (and maybe a visit from child services).
You desperately try to get rid of the kids for just an hour (please, just FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE. Please let me go to the bathroom ALONE!!!), and when the shining moment appears heralded in with the heavens opening up to reveal a choir of angels singing and a band of trumpets blaring the respite you so desperately deserve, all you want is to see your kids.
Perspective. Your parents probably didn't like you, but they love (or will love or won't if you don't have) your kids. Because THEY know. THEY know what's coming and that keeps things in perspective.
My children are much like others that have gone before them... completely insane. They turned me from a mild mannered house wife into (no, not a super hero) some kind of super villain. It may have been all the times I had to be the Megatron to his Optimus Prime (or the Lex Luthor to his Superman, or Green Goblin to Spiderman or Mama-Be-The-Bad-Guy-So-I-Can-Beat-You-Up), or maybe not (That's an argument for nature vs. nurture). But, one thing is for sure, I had crazy eyes, lowered inhibitions (what have I got to lose, I could plead insanity), and always had that frazzled look about me. Slightly panicked. Other mothers recognize the look.
Then I had surgery. I had a break (and a breakdown). It was a glorious break. Pain medication, bed rest, and all the terrible SyFy shows I could handle. The only thing that could have made it better was a beach... and maybe an umbrella drink... and oh yeah, not being post-op (but you take it where you can get it).
Then suddenly it changed. My perspective. Suddenly, I adored my children (I was on drugs). They were fantastic specimens of the human race. The world was going to be fine after all. There was hope for everything... all embodied in these two little precious bundles (Pandora's boxes). A few days later when (the meds wore off ) I started getting the frazzled look again... you guessed it, perspective. Only this time, it was as if I were home. It was like a dream and you were there crazy eyes, and you, loud mouth, and you, frazzled hair (and Toto too).
And now, when my children drive me to the brink, I smile and think that There's No Place Like Home.
4.12.2010
A Call To Arms! or The Plight of the Disgruntled Housewife
We vote, we create living things, we secretly run things, we work in factories, we are corporate executives. We are women (hear us roar). Women have been fighting to have equal rights with men for a long, long time. Women had to fight to get the right to vote (We're clearly soldiers in petticoats, dauntless crusaders for women's votes... you know you were singing it too) or even the right to have a job. Women's liberation and all that jazz. However, there is one group of women that time forgot.
Stay-at-Home Moms. Disgruntled Housewives. Wisteria Lane's got nothing on the real thing. We've been underappreciated for centuries. Expected to do the work of ten men. Yet we recieve no wages for our work.
So I'm proposing a revolutionary use of our particular skillset. Government. We should be in charge of things. (We already are anyway.)
We could put together a dinner in no time and for less money (we do barbeques), organize charitable events (we do bake sales), give thought provoking speeches on doing what is right and good (been doing it for years), cut down on costs by cleaning up after ourselves (we'd probably do it out of habit anyway).
In a few years the place would all be ours... and let's face it, we'd still do all the same things that we do now. Because we're housewives and mothers (and secretly have magical powers) and that's just how we roll (as the kids say).
So return, brave citizens, to your ovens, your brooms, your huddled masses (of laundry). Somewhere out there is a ball team that is depending on you. It's your day for snacks (you know who you are)! Go! Lead them!
(This message paid for by the Disgruntled Housewives of America Foundation.)
(Such a foundation does not exist in reality)
Stay-at-Home Moms. Disgruntled Housewives. Wisteria Lane's got nothing on the real thing. We've been underappreciated for centuries. Expected to do the work of ten men. Yet we recieve no wages for our work.
So I'm proposing a revolutionary use of our particular skillset. Government. We should be in charge of things. (We already are anyway.)
We could put together a dinner in no time and for less money (we do barbeques), organize charitable events (we do bake sales), give thought provoking speeches on doing what is right and good (been doing it for years), cut down on costs by cleaning up after ourselves (we'd probably do it out of habit anyway).
In a few years the place would all be ours... and let's face it, we'd still do all the same things that we do now. Because we're housewives and mothers (and secretly have magical powers) and that's just how we roll (as the kids say).
So return, brave citizens, to your ovens, your brooms, your huddled masses (of laundry). Somewhere out there is a ball team that is depending on you. It's your day for snacks (you know who you are)! Go! Lead them!
(This message paid for by the Disgruntled Housewives of America Foundation.)
(Such a foundation does not exist in reality)
4.10.2010
Let's Go To The Movies!
Movies, cinema, theater whatever you call it, we all know it. Movies are everywhere and since the advent of such new-fangled devices as personal camcorders, personal computers, and (my personal favorite) the Internet (aka, interwebs, world wide web, the place with the thing and the people and stuff, you know), everywhere literally means Every Where. There are home movies (More of the Grand Canyon Grandma???), wedding videos (Aww... how sweet.), birth videos (Aww.. how-OH MY GOD!!!), video clips (from cell phones that quickly become), viral videos, but perhaps my favorite of all forms of film is the theater showing of feature films. It's great entertainment for the whole family. Right?
Maybe, but there are things that all the good intentions in the world cannot influence. One of those things is spontaneously taking a one-year-old and a three-year-old to see a movie by yourself. Why, oh why (I seem to be asking myself that a lot these days) did I think this was a good idea. Point 1- Movie theaters on Saturdays are generally a bad idea. Point 2-Small children in movie theaters is generally a bad idea. Point 3- The two to one child to parent ratio at the movie theater is generally a bad idea. Even if two negatives made a positive, we'd still be at a Bad Idea. Even if you have the forethought to bring appropriate drinks (Mama, I want juice. In my Transformers cup!!! No wait, wait, I want milk. No, juice) and love items for said children (monsters), you're still probably at a bad idea.
How do I know, you ask. I know because my road to hell is paved with the good intentions that just didn't seem to influence my children's behavior at the movie theater. Saturday. By myself.
During the two thoroughly exciting hours we spent at our local cineplex, we wore 3D glasses, took off 3D glasses, lost 3D glasses, went to the bathroom three times, flashed little boy butt to the ladies restroom, ate popcorn, fought over popcorn, choked on popcorn, ate candy, fought over candy, dropped candy, dropped popcorn, dropped sippy cup, chased sippy cup down aisle, lost sippy cup in theater, dropped other child's cup, found other child's cup, spilled popcorn, dropped more popcorn, argued with brother, argued with sister and generally caused a ruckus. Honestly, I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out.
You know, in the movie Annie, they make it look so easy to take your kid to the movies. It's all lies. Children do not like to wear 3D glasses or share their popcorn or sit still for the last half hour of the movie (no matter how many times you tell them that they have to wait for the lights to come on so Mama can "FIND YOUR CUP!!!").
So, if you're at the theater and you hear some poor woman screaming "Why, God, why did I think this was a good idea?!?", you'll know it was some poor misguided mother who thought her children would enjoy going to the movies (because Annie was good).
Maybe, but there are things that all the good intentions in the world cannot influence. One of those things is spontaneously taking a one-year-old and a three-year-old to see a movie by yourself. Why, oh why (I seem to be asking myself that a lot these days) did I think this was a good idea. Point 1- Movie theaters on Saturdays are generally a bad idea. Point 2-Small children in movie theaters is generally a bad idea. Point 3- The two to one child to parent ratio at the movie theater is generally a bad idea. Even if two negatives made a positive, we'd still be at a Bad Idea. Even if you have the forethought to bring appropriate drinks (Mama, I want juice. In my Transformers cup!!! No wait, wait, I want milk. No, juice) and love items for said children (monsters), you're still probably at a bad idea.
How do I know, you ask. I know because my road to hell is paved with the good intentions that just didn't seem to influence my children's behavior at the movie theater. Saturday. By myself.
During the two thoroughly exciting hours we spent at our local cineplex, we wore 3D glasses, took off 3D glasses, lost 3D glasses, went to the bathroom three times, flashed little boy butt to the ladies restroom, ate popcorn, fought over popcorn, choked on popcorn, ate candy, fought over candy, dropped candy, dropped popcorn, dropped sippy cup, chased sippy cup down aisle, lost sippy cup in theater, dropped other child's cup, found other child's cup, spilled popcorn, dropped more popcorn, argued with brother, argued with sister and generally caused a ruckus. Honestly, I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out.
You know, in the movie Annie, they make it look so easy to take your kid to the movies. It's all lies. Children do not like to wear 3D glasses or share their popcorn or sit still for the last half hour of the movie (no matter how many times you tell them that they have to wait for the lights to come on so Mama can "FIND YOUR CUP!!!").
So, if you're at the theater and you hear some poor woman screaming "Why, God, why did I think this was a good idea?!?", you'll know it was some poor misguided mother who thought her children would enjoy going to the movies (because Annie was good).
4.07.2010
You May Be Right...
Children have an amazing innate ability to have fun anywhere (except the doctor, grocery store, post office, or electric company). The simplest things bring them hours of enjoyment. A small child can turn an average cardboard box into a house, a club, a clubhouse, a rocket, a car, a train, jail, a garage, a table, no a garage, but I said I want a TABLE!!!
When did we, as adults, lose the ability to have that kind of fun? When did sidewalk chalk become a mess desperately in need of some spray and wash instead of a wonderful rainbow of expression? Somewhere along the way we lose our way, but a "lucky" few of us have discovered the secret to child-like fun. (Are you ready for this?) Children!
Nothing gets you outside playing (read: cleaning) with bubbles and Play-Doh like children. There are the games of Hide-and-Seek that turn into Hide-and-Why-is-it-so-quiet-oh-crap-Seek. And something seems to go terribly wrong when a frazzled mother (like the ones in comic strips with frizzy hair circa Albert Einstein and crazy eyes) grabs a piece of sidewalk chalk at the end of a very long (long, long, long, long, long) day of (not so) quick errands (or torture).
Rain turns into a pond, with a duck and a fish, oh, a cloud, maybe a thunderstorm complete with lightning bolt and if you call now I'll throw in a badly drawn Zeus in the Parthenon (maybe?) for absolutely free! (But act now because we can't keep these deals around forever.) And it's entitled, "Zeus, Zeus's Wrath, and Uh Oh Duck". (Probably not bound for the Louvre, let's face it.)
Some people will say their children bring out the kid in them. I say Poppycock! Sometimes you just have to laugh so you won't cry.
And you may be right, I may be crazy, (Hey!) but we all may be a little crazy inside.
Dedicated in loving memory to William Homer Haskins, an eternal kid-at-heart.
When did we, as adults, lose the ability to have that kind of fun? When did sidewalk chalk become a mess desperately in need of some spray and wash instead of a wonderful rainbow of expression? Somewhere along the way we lose our way, but a "lucky" few of us have discovered the secret to child-like fun. (Are you ready for this?) Children!
Nothing gets you outside playing (read: cleaning) with bubbles and Play-Doh like children. There are the games of Hide-and-Seek that turn into Hide-and-Why-is-it-so-quiet-oh-crap-Seek. And something seems to go terribly wrong when a frazzled mother (like the ones in comic strips with frizzy hair circa Albert Einstein and crazy eyes) grabs a piece of sidewalk chalk at the end of a very long (long, long, long, long, long) day of (not so) quick errands (or torture).
Rain turns into a pond, with a duck and a fish, oh, a cloud, maybe a thunderstorm complete with lightning bolt and if you call now I'll throw in a badly drawn Zeus in the Parthenon (maybe?) for absolutely free! (But act now because we can't keep these deals around forever.) And it's entitled, "Zeus, Zeus's Wrath, and Uh Oh Duck". (Probably not bound for the Louvre, let's face it.)
Some people will say their children bring out the kid in them. I say Poppycock! Sometimes you just have to laugh so you won't cry.
And you may be right, I may be crazy, (Hey!) but we all may be a little crazy inside.
Dedicated in loving memory to William Homer Haskins, an eternal kid-at-heart.
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