Jammie's, PJ's, pants, shorts, t-shirts and skivvies, nightgowns, unmentionables, ooh la la or footies, whatever you wear, pajamas are an important part of the day. For those with outside jobs, pajamas symbolize the glorious end of the day. For we stay-at-home moms, they sometimes are our only reminder that we forgot to shower today.
For my childrenthough, they have many different meanings. My daughter who is both quite contrary and often convinced she is a princess, loves changing clothes. To her, her pajamas are the clothes in her dresser that she can reach. To me, her pajamas are what she puts on to spite me and slow me down when we're trying to go somewhere and are running late. She mostly sleeps in her diaper and whatever bit of clothing that managed to make it to bedtime.
My son is a completely different story. On nights between baths, he sleeps in his clothes. He hates his pj's. Hates them. This is a kid who is afraid of his skull and crossbones underwear, but still I see no threat looming from his Batman pajamas. Granted, they lost a lot of their cool factor by not having a cape, so I suppose that is warranted. If I even suggest that we might want to maybe start thinking of putting on pajamas, a noise erupts from him that is somewhere between hurt little girl and a banshee.
I used to worry about their weird Jammie attitudes, their jammatudes if you will, but really, how are pj's that much different? Who says you have to sleep in pajamas? At least that's what I'm telling myself today.
2.08.2011
Out of the Pan... With the Big Spoon
You won't know until you have kids.
We've all heard it, thought it to be a big bunch of B.S. and were proven wrong. The thing is, they were always talking about love. "I love you so much. You won't know just how much I love you until you have kids of your own." Skepticism translates that as "You drive me completely bonkers, but I love you anyway. I'm waiting for the payback you'll get when you have kids of your own." I however, like to look at it in a different context. The context of food.
Let me set this up for you. It's dinner time, the kids have been completely nuts. Completely. You had to shake a giant wad of poop out of a pantleg today, for crying out loud. You have your vices to help you through. You try to make them family friendly, you know, so you don't become an alcoholic and have to enter a 12 step program, though the solitude of rehab makes you smile. No, no. Your vice is food. Junk food. Tater tots (God bless you, farmers of Idaho.), chips, that jar of M&M's (just one, you swear.), and most importantly, macaroni and cheese. The creamy yellow-orange goodness may not be your specific kryptonite, but you have one. Don't deny it. You know you do.
Now, let me ask you something? When you make this particular dish for your family, do you test it for poison? (wink wink nudge nudge) Just one bite turns into half of the pan. Or the tots just sort of come to life and jump out of the bag... I guess somebody will have to eat them. There are, after all, starving people in China (to be read in the voice of the mother from A Christmas Story). We've all been there.
But I've noticed something. The mac 'n' cheese is never as good once it reaches a plate. (Unless it's been left on a plate, but that's a different story.) It's far superior eaten out of the pan. With the big spoon. I don't really think there is anything magic about the vessel from which you recieve your food, I think it has more to do with perception. Sneaking a bite in the kitchen is dangerous. You could get caught. It's thrilling. You're riding a motorcycle 100 miles per hour down the highway in really sexy boots with the wind blowing through your perfectly groomed hair. Oh yeah, you're that dangerous. All because of the macaroni.
Scoff if you must, but when you spend your days with toddlers, you need all the thrills you can get. Diets be damned, it's always better out of the pan, with the big spoon.
We've all heard it, thought it to be a big bunch of B.S. and were proven wrong. The thing is, they were always talking about love. "I love you so much. You won't know just how much I love you until you have kids of your own." Skepticism translates that as "You drive me completely bonkers, but I love you anyway. I'm waiting for the payback you'll get when you have kids of your own." I however, like to look at it in a different context. The context of food.
Let me set this up for you. It's dinner time, the kids have been completely nuts. Completely. You had to shake a giant wad of poop out of a pantleg today, for crying out loud. You have your vices to help you through. You try to make them family friendly, you know, so you don't become an alcoholic and have to enter a 12 step program, though the solitude of rehab makes you smile. No, no. Your vice is food. Junk food. Tater tots (God bless you, farmers of Idaho.), chips, that jar of M&M's (just one, you swear.), and most importantly, macaroni and cheese. The creamy yellow-orange goodness may not be your specific kryptonite, but you have one. Don't deny it. You know you do.
Now, let me ask you something? When you make this particular dish for your family, do you test it for poison? (wink wink nudge nudge) Just one bite turns into half of the pan. Or the tots just sort of come to life and jump out of the bag... I guess somebody will have to eat them. There are, after all, starving people in China (to be read in the voice of the mother from A Christmas Story). We've all been there.
But I've noticed something. The mac 'n' cheese is never as good once it reaches a plate. (Unless it's been left on a plate, but that's a different story.) It's far superior eaten out of the pan. With the big spoon. I don't really think there is anything magic about the vessel from which you recieve your food, I think it has more to do with perception. Sneaking a bite in the kitchen is dangerous. You could get caught. It's thrilling. You're riding a motorcycle 100 miles per hour down the highway in really sexy boots with the wind blowing through your perfectly groomed hair. Oh yeah, you're that dangerous. All because of the macaroni.
Scoff if you must, but when you spend your days with toddlers, you need all the thrills you can get. Diets be damned, it's always better out of the pan, with the big spoon.
11.10.2010
Eww... It's Green!!!
Food. It nourishes and sustains us. It drives us. We crave it. We eat when we're happy (birthday cake), when we're sick (chicken soup and call me in the morning) and when we're stressed (that stash of chocolate in the back of the freezer/pantry/drawer/canister) It comes in all forms: natural, processed, meat, non-meat, really non-meat and whatever's in the pantry. People choose foods based on region, age, season and mood, but there's one faction of people who have completely different criteria.
Kids. Tiny humans who seem to choose foods based on the respective food's macaroni-and-cheese-iness or peanut-butter-and-jelly-ness. They also seem to show an aversion to the color green. (I'm really not surprised that Heinz quit making green ketchup.) Parenting books refer to this enigma as a "food jag". I refer to this as an "I can't take them yelling at me about something else right now and I'm pretty sure they won't die from it so okay".
However, we do occasionally catch them off their guard in one bright, shining moment of "eat a pepper" or "I like it". We all know those moments. It's when the clouds open up and choirs of angels look down upon you while singing something like "ahhhhhh". It's the sound of victory. Besides, there are at least three food groups in a pb&j. Bread, nuts and fruit... yeah, fruit.
Kids. Tiny humans who seem to choose foods based on the respective food's macaroni-and-cheese-iness or peanut-butter-and-jelly-ness. They also seem to show an aversion to the color green. (I'm really not surprised that Heinz quit making green ketchup.) Parenting books refer to this enigma as a "food jag". I refer to this as an "I can't take them yelling at me about something else right now and I'm pretty sure they won't die from it so okay".
However, we do occasionally catch them off their guard in one bright, shining moment of "eat a pepper" or "I like it". We all know those moments. It's when the clouds open up and choirs of angels look down upon you while singing something like "ahhhhhh". It's the sound of victory. Besides, there are at least three food groups in a pb&j. Bread, nuts and fruit... yeah, fruit.
11.09.2010
Just the Average All-American Family
with 2.4 kids and a dog.
I'm not a physician or a scientist or savvy with anatomy, but it seems to me that .4 kids is probably a little difficult to make. That's not even my point. The main point here is the dog. Really? Two point four kids AND a dog. The All-American family has clearly not observed the canine-like activities of 2.4 kids.
I've considered getting a dog. Even done it once. What I discovered is that I already had enough dog-like goings-on and that a dog was too much like a kid. Don't be mad. Just think about it. They all whine when they want to go outside. They all pee on the floor. They eat weird stuff. Sometimes they even all play in the toilet. There are times when none of them wants to take a bath. And there's the whole issue of being slobbered on. My conclusion was "Holy Crap!!! Our kids are dogs!!!"
Not that there's much wrong with that, I mean they are man's best friend. (the dog, not the kids) All I'm saying is that they could at least have a kennel for your kids when you go on vacation.
I'm not a physician or a scientist or savvy with anatomy, but it seems to me that .4 kids is probably a little difficult to make. That's not even my point. The main point here is the dog. Really? Two point four kids AND a dog. The All-American family has clearly not observed the canine-like activities of 2.4 kids.
I've considered getting a dog. Even done it once. What I discovered is that I already had enough dog-like goings-on and that a dog was too much like a kid. Don't be mad. Just think about it. They all whine when they want to go outside. They all pee on the floor. They eat weird stuff. Sometimes they even all play in the toilet. There are times when none of them wants to take a bath. And there's the whole issue of being slobbered on. My conclusion was "Holy Crap!!! Our kids are dogs!!!"
Not that there's much wrong with that, I mean they are man's best friend. (the dog, not the kids) All I'm saying is that they could at least have a kennel for your kids when you go on vacation.
Vacuumed to Wonderland
Since the mid-1800's, people have been vacuuming their rugs and carpets. There have been many innovations in vacuuming since then from the one that looks like a missile to the one that weighs eight pounds and still picks up a bowling ball to the one that turns on a ball with (said in a British accent) "patented cyclone technology". The one thing they all have in common is that they bring about a very interesting response in children.
I have discovered that my kids (and their friends) have inexplicable reactions to vacuum cleaners. As soon as I get it out, the kids run away (in the fashion of Monty Python and the Holy Grail), but a few short, noisy minutes later, they're back for a sparring match with cleanliness. (Wow, that describes so much more than this.)
There can only be a few reasons for this reaction.
Reason 1- They're afraid of loud noises. Rebuttal- I've met them, that's definitely Not it.
Reason 2- They're afraid that they'll get sucked into Wonderland so they run away, but then come back when they remember that Alice got to eat cake. Rebuttal- They're not too fond of the Jabberwocky, so that's probably not it.
Reason 3- They're just plain weird. Period. No rebuttal.
I assume that most children apply to Reason 3, but I'd like #2 if that's alright. I've always wondered what the caterpillar's smoking...
I have discovered that my kids (and their friends) have inexplicable reactions to vacuum cleaners. As soon as I get it out, the kids run away (in the fashion of Monty Python and the Holy Grail), but a few short, noisy minutes later, they're back for a sparring match with cleanliness. (Wow, that describes so much more than this.)
There can only be a few reasons for this reaction.
Reason 1- They're afraid of loud noises. Rebuttal- I've met them, that's definitely Not it.
Reason 2- They're afraid that they'll get sucked into Wonderland so they run away, but then come back when they remember that Alice got to eat cake. Rebuttal- They're not too fond of the Jabberwocky, so that's probably not it.
Reason 3- They're just plain weird. Period. No rebuttal.
I assume that most children apply to Reason 3, but I'd like #2 if that's alright. I've always wondered what the caterpillar's smoking...
The nudist colony at 107
People have been wearing clothes since Adam and Eve ate the dumb apple. Aside from the mass amounts of laundry it produces, I am a fan of wearing clothes. It has turned into a way for us to express ourselves and to portray who we are while still covering your butt (in most cases at least). My daughter seems to greatly disagree. Emphatically even.
At any given time, there will be a naked baby running around my house. As we speak, she's on my lap making this post three things: 1. difficult to type, 2. way too realistic, and 3. a little creepy.
I don't understand the need to be nude that she has. I'm not sure if it's innate, learned or she just thinks pants are for losers. She likes to pick out clothes, likes to dress up, likes to be "Pretty Emmie", but only sometimes.
Its not usually a problem... until we have a playdate. With a boy. (Oh boy.) But for now, I'm just going to say it's her telling me she needs to start potty training. (it's how mommies play pretend.) At least there will be one less person's laundry to wash.
At any given time, there will be a naked baby running around my house. As we speak, she's on my lap making this post three things: 1. difficult to type, 2. way too realistic, and 3. a little creepy.
I don't understand the need to be nude that she has. I'm not sure if it's innate, learned or she just thinks pants are for losers. She likes to pick out clothes, likes to dress up, likes to be "Pretty Emmie", but only sometimes.
Its not usually a problem... until we have a playdate. With a boy. (Oh boy.) But for now, I'm just going to say it's her telling me she needs to start potty training. (it's how mommies play pretend.) At least there will be one less person's laundry to wash.
9.23.2010
Bestest ever? Awesome.
I often wonder what kind of mother I am. Am I attentive? Am I fun? Am I a good mother or a bad mother? I have come to the conclusion that I am a mother. Plain ole mother. Mother is a word that needs no descriptive. It is an all inclusive word. A mother is someone who is attentive, who is kind, who it mean, who is good and bad. You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have...
My current musing has been what kind of mother I will be to my children's hindsight. I'd love to think that they'll look back on these days of pillow forts, shower curtain tents and sleeping in clothes as amazing times when their free spirited mother showed them that life can be fun. But the reality is that they will probably have forgotten most of that by the time they form their opinions of me. And no, being the "bestest stuffed animal ever" does not count as a valid opinion. Someday they will remember funny things we used to do (that we've not done yet... Time travel. Don't think about it.) and they'll smile and that it will make up for all the trouble, the time-outs, the "no you can't go over to Little Billy's house"s and especially the nagging and harping and being overly concerned. They'll never forgive me for making them mow the yard or clean their rooms, but at some point, it will cease to matter.
The fact is that it is an insignificant worry, because in the end, you are their mother. They are your babies, and nothing can ever change that. Because you'll always be the "bestest momma ever".
My current musing has been what kind of mother I will be to my children's hindsight. I'd love to think that they'll look back on these days of pillow forts, shower curtain tents and sleeping in clothes as amazing times when their free spirited mother showed them that life can be fun. But the reality is that they will probably have forgotten most of that by the time they form their opinions of me. And no, being the "bestest stuffed animal ever" does not count as a valid opinion. Someday they will remember funny things we used to do (that we've not done yet... Time travel. Don't think about it.) and they'll smile and that it will make up for all the trouble, the time-outs, the "no you can't go over to Little Billy's house"s and especially the nagging and harping and being overly concerned. They'll never forgive me for making them mow the yard or clean their rooms, but at some point, it will cease to matter.
The fact is that it is an insignificant worry, because in the end, you are their mother. They are your babies, and nothing can ever change that. Because you'll always be the "bestest momma ever".
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