The mommy-mobile comes in many shapes and some particularly large sizes. Let’s face it, kids come with a whole bunch of crap that needs to be hauled around. My super uncool vehicle of choice is the soccer mommy minivan. Its interior is completely crusted over with cheerios residue that I swear will one day be scraped off, but it allows me to carry two mythological creatures, all their crap, groceries and a can of coke. We are happy. Sometimes I will look at another mother’s choice in transportation and cringe at the thought of parking, going in reverse or negotiating that twisty thing in the parking garage of the airport, but I will not chastise someone for possessing more bravery than I, to each her own.
I would say my mom van handles fairly well. I haven’t gotten myself into a situation that I couldn’t appropriately maneuver out of. Heck, I can park that thing in my oddly configured garage-driveway combination, which coincidently, my husband told me couldn’t be done. (And I have only hit the house once!) I am not however about to enter the van into some sort of obstacle course competition. There are limits to what I can do.
Some have yet to understand the limits of their ever so slightly oversized vehicles. Or perhaps, more people than just myself slept through two semesters of physics. At any rate, I have a new favorite form of entertainment. I call it “pick up your kid at preschool” time. The Kraken attends preschool at a fantastic little school that has any even smaller, less fantastic parking lot. Knowing that space was limited the parking spot painter person made the spaces as small as possible to accommodate the most Mini-Coopers as he could. Since he still had half a can of paint remaining when he was finished, he continued to paint around a curve and up a small hill. Woe to the SUV that ventures up that hill.
I made the mistake of being on time to release The Kraken from his first day of preschool and had to park way too far down the street for the muscles in my left arm responsible for carrying The Siren to handle. So now I get to school way too early, find a prime parking space and watch the mayhem. There are no rules! It really makes me much happier than it probably should. I literally laugh out loud and what frazzled mothers attempt under the influence of baby brain. (For the record, I am not laughing at these woman. These are my people.) So today, I was allowed to watch as a Honda Element attempted to back into a spot, (good idea, poor execution, tiny margin for error), no less than 8 times. She finally gave up and drove up the hill. I never saw her again . . .
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
She's gifted and mad mad mad about it
During a well child appointment with the pediatrician, parents will say they just want to know their kid is healthy and doing well, but we all know what we really want. We want to know our kid is great. We want a licensed medical professional who sees hundreds of children to tell us our kid is the cutest or the smartest or the tallest or has the best curly hair or is the most advanced child they have ever seen. When a complement is received (or perhaps perceived) some parents will brag to the nearest passerby with a child or without, while others will hold onto their prize and walk around the park smiling smugly at all the other less than exceptional children knowing theirs is truly great. Parents can’t help it. We know deep down our kid is the best and wish the rest of the world would just admit it and move on.
So when I took Miss Rosie to her 18 month checkup, I was more than stoked when our new pediatrician announced my daughter was advanced. She summed up the exam by saying my Rosie was doing things children her age just don’t do. Ha. Take that all you other mothers. I am doing something right after all. I assumed like a fool that her comment had something to do with my daughter’s efforts to repeat much of what the doctor was saying. Or perhaps the pediatrician noticed Rosie’s attempt to dress herself, something she has never ever tried at home and may never attempt again. Whatever caught her attention wasn’t my concern. My daughter is gifted and is on her way to something great.
Less than twenty four hours later, I have decided perhaps my joy was misguided. It seems my daughter has advanced from laid back easy going adorable toddler straight to hormonal not even I know why I am pissed off pre-teen disaster.
When I signed The Kraken up for preschool, I envisioned joyous one on one time with The Siren consisting of collecting flowers in the meadow, having tea parties on the veranda, baking cakes with layers of love, mani/pedis in the garden . . . you know, girl stuff. What I got instead were tantrums. A tantrum getting into her carseat after seeing her brother off to school, a tantrum getting out of the carseat at the mall, a tantrum when we approached the playpark, a tantrum when I gave up and left the playpark, a tantrum getting a treat (I’m going to have a nice time with my daughter whether I have to bribe with doughnuts or not) and a tantrum when the treat was gone. Day one went well.
I just can’t wait for the day when our cycles line up and we can terrorize my boys at the same time. I’m sure they are waiting in anticipation for that one too. The way Rosie is advancing, that day will be upon us in the next week or so. Should I warn the boys or just enjoy the view from this side of PMS?
So when I took Miss Rosie to her 18 month checkup, I was more than stoked when our new pediatrician announced my daughter was advanced. She summed up the exam by saying my Rosie was doing things children her age just don’t do. Ha. Take that all you other mothers. I am doing something right after all. I assumed like a fool that her comment had something to do with my daughter’s efforts to repeat much of what the doctor was saying. Or perhaps the pediatrician noticed Rosie’s attempt to dress herself, something she has never ever tried at home and may never attempt again. Whatever caught her attention wasn’t my concern. My daughter is gifted and is on her way to something great.
Less than twenty four hours later, I have decided perhaps my joy was misguided. It seems my daughter has advanced from laid back easy going adorable toddler straight to hormonal not even I know why I am pissed off pre-teen disaster.
When I signed The Kraken up for preschool, I envisioned joyous one on one time with The Siren consisting of collecting flowers in the meadow, having tea parties on the veranda, baking cakes with layers of love, mani/pedis in the garden . . . you know, girl stuff. What I got instead were tantrums. A tantrum getting into her carseat after seeing her brother off to school, a tantrum getting out of the carseat at the mall, a tantrum when we approached the playpark, a tantrum when I gave up and left the playpark, a tantrum getting a treat (I’m going to have a nice time with my daughter whether I have to bribe with doughnuts or not) and a tantrum when the treat was gone. Day one went well.
I just can’t wait for the day when our cycles line up and we can terrorize my boys at the same time. I’m sure they are waiting in anticipation for that one too. The way Rosie is advancing, that day will be upon us in the next week or so. Should I warn the boys or just enjoy the view from this side of PMS?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sunday School Teacher
Long story short, I am a people pleaser. I have a hard time saying no and a hard time drawing boundaries. I am working on it. However, when the director of Sunday school called, she caught me at a weak moment. Apparently one doesn’t need to possess the ability to control their own three year old in order to be qualified to teach an entire class of three year olds. She didn’t ask if my son was a hellion, and I didn’t tell. I am now the newest member of the teaching staff at my church. My heart is already racing.
(As a side note, it was my husband who answered the call on my cell phone and then passed the phone to me. When asked if he could also help, I naturally said yes. I couldn’t help myself; It’s a sickness. I don’t think he will be answering my phone ever again.)
On our first teaching day we had a lively group of 21 three year olds. 21. Three adults versus a mob of adorable little shavers, the adults didn’t stand a chance. And if you listed the children from best behaved to worst, guess where my son would land. If you guessed at the very bottom, you win the gold star! To add insult to injury, I learned timid, shy, kind and polite three year olds do in fact exist. I was slightly shocked and amazed to witness this miracle. It isn’t an anomaly either. There are a bunch of them. I left my first foray as a Sunday school teacher exhausted and a bit defeated.
Week two brought with it my mother-in-law and therefore my best helper was sidelined to entertain his mother and her boyfriend. On the plus side, I left The Kraken with them thus allowing someone else to step up as trouble maker for the class. Hooray. We had another full week with 18 kids but the night was relatively calm and easy. We even traveled to the indoor play park and no one fell while trying to fly off the climbing wall. Something, no doubt, The Kraken would have attempted. The biggest issue of the evening was trying to locate the source of a horrible stink in a class full of ‘potty trained’ children. I stepped up and found the culprit then coaxed her away from the toys so her mother could be called. Again I left exhausted and defeated. No one wanted to steal the title of worst behaved from my and frankly that sucks.
The other teacher, a very responsible 9th grader, was a no-show for week number three. 22 cherubs showed up before we were allowed start sending kids to the overflow room, which by the way had seven children for the evening. There has to be a better system, but I am still a bit new to be rocking the boat with new ideas. I thought it would be so cool to let the kids paint for craft time. I wish I could accurately describe the mayhem. A lidless blender comes to mind. . . We survived. We even travelled to the puppet show room without misplacing a single child. I think that says something right? My darling daughter decided that she just could not handle Sunday school any longer and was brought to my room partially through one of the most chaotic nights of my life. Thankfully my mother and brother were poised and ready to take The Siren if she were to begin her wailing. They were not disappointed. After running running running for over an hour I realized I literally had sweat dripping down my back. Isn’t that special?
I don’t know quite how long I am on the hook for teaching this class. I’m not sure how many parents think their kids’ new teacher is a sweaty creep. I’m fairly certain The Siren will never make it through a church service without crying until her teachers give up. I know for a fact however, that my fellow teacher, (you know that really responsible 9th grader?), will not be getting a Christmas present from me.
(As a side note, it was my husband who answered the call on my cell phone and then passed the phone to me. When asked if he could also help, I naturally said yes. I couldn’t help myself; It’s a sickness. I don’t think he will be answering my phone ever again.)
On our first teaching day we had a lively group of 21 three year olds. 21. Three adults versus a mob of adorable little shavers, the adults didn’t stand a chance. And if you listed the children from best behaved to worst, guess where my son would land. If you guessed at the very bottom, you win the gold star! To add insult to injury, I learned timid, shy, kind and polite three year olds do in fact exist. I was slightly shocked and amazed to witness this miracle. It isn’t an anomaly either. There are a bunch of them. I left my first foray as a Sunday school teacher exhausted and a bit defeated.
Week two brought with it my mother-in-law and therefore my best helper was sidelined to entertain his mother and her boyfriend. On the plus side, I left The Kraken with them thus allowing someone else to step up as trouble maker for the class. Hooray. We had another full week with 18 kids but the night was relatively calm and easy. We even traveled to the indoor play park and no one fell while trying to fly off the climbing wall. Something, no doubt, The Kraken would have attempted. The biggest issue of the evening was trying to locate the source of a horrible stink in a class full of ‘potty trained’ children. I stepped up and found the culprit then coaxed her away from the toys so her mother could be called. Again I left exhausted and defeated. No one wanted to steal the title of worst behaved from my and frankly that sucks.
The other teacher, a very responsible 9th grader, was a no-show for week number three. 22 cherubs showed up before we were allowed start sending kids to the overflow room, which by the way had seven children for the evening. There has to be a better system, but I am still a bit new to be rocking the boat with new ideas. I thought it would be so cool to let the kids paint for craft time. I wish I could accurately describe the mayhem. A lidless blender comes to mind. . . We survived. We even travelled to the puppet show room without misplacing a single child. I think that says something right? My darling daughter decided that she just could not handle Sunday school any longer and was brought to my room partially through one of the most chaotic nights of my life. Thankfully my mother and brother were poised and ready to take The Siren if she were to begin her wailing. They were not disappointed. After running running running for over an hour I realized I literally had sweat dripping down my back. Isn’t that special?
I don’t know quite how long I am on the hook for teaching this class. I’m not sure how many parents think their kids’ new teacher is a sweaty creep. I’m fairly certain The Siren will never make it through a church service without crying until her teachers give up. I know for a fact however, that my fellow teacher, (you know that really responsible 9th grader?), will not be getting a Christmas present from me.
Friday, August 19, 2011
You are what you eat
My sister and I have been rocking a new workout system. We have a chart complete with stickers to prove it. What I don't have however is the weight loss to go along with it. I'm not aiming for much loss. Just a few pounds I packed back on during the move followed by a carbon monoxide leak scare, followed by police pounding on my door at 1 am, followed by a gigantic tub leak that affected 3 floors, followed by a son who refuses to sleep past 5:30am. I'm a little stressed and a little overwhelmed and a bit of an emotional eater. My jeans are a bit snug producing my favorite aliment, the muffin-top.
Anyway, the woman who relentlessly chirps at my sister and I to "shake it" also implied writing down everything that I eat will help me really see where I can make changes. After two weeks without any poundage lost I took her advice. Here is yesterday's list. . .
Bowl of Cereal
Coke
Hershey Bar
Ham sandwich
Apple
Coke
Necco Wafers
Granola Bar
Chili
Corn Bread
Coke
Necco Wafers
Wow. That Granola bar in the middle of the day really killed me.
Anyway, the woman who relentlessly chirps at my sister and I to "shake it" also implied writing down everything that I eat will help me really see where I can make changes. After two weeks without any poundage lost I took her advice. Here is yesterday's list. . .
Bowl of Cereal
Coke
Hershey Bar
Ham sandwich
Apple
Coke
Necco Wafers
Granola Bar
Chili
Corn Bread
Coke
Necco Wafers
Wow. That Granola bar in the middle of the day really killed me.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I Need a Business Card
I am exhausted, overwhelmed and apt to collapse in a puddle of tears and slime in response to a seemingly benign stimulus. But no one wants to read about that. It’s not funny. To cope with my fragile state I did what any other barely treading water mother of two toddlers does . . . I took the rugrats to the zoo!
Everyone and their brother decided today would be a fantastic day to view animals, probably because the moment we stepped out of the car we didn’t melt into a lump of sweaty meatloaf for the first day in weeks. Needless to say it was packed. Sweet little Rosie no longer wants to be strapped into her stroller but wants to get out and “play.” Imagine if you will, a 3 year old running running running, an 18 month old running running running in the opposite direction and one tired momma running running running in between and shouting random commands. I was either very entertaining to watch or very annoying and frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. My kids were having a great time, and I was earning my third coke of the day.
As luck would have it, we happened upon a live animal show just in time to get a great seat a couple rows from the stage. All seemed to be going well until a mother of two delightfully behaved school aged girls turned around and said with a snarl, “He is kicking us.” Sure enough The Kraken, bored from the three minute wait, was in his own little world singing and dancing and consequently kicking the family in front of us. I scolded him, threatened to leave if he couldn’t sit still and made him sing the “Patience” song, which he did and considered the situation handled. The woman however would huff and puff or turn and glare every time my son wiggled a bit too close to her blond beauties. I began to sing the “Patience” song to myself.
As the show began we were warned not to stand or get out of our seats for any reason for the safety of ourselves and the animals. Unfortunately, about 10 minutes in my son’s bladder decided to defy the aforementioned rule. Emergency! Now I am not a rule breaker, but I am also not about to ask a three year old to hold it. Who knows how many of us would be sprayed with urine at the end of that experiment. I quickly collected my brood and headed for the exit. On the way I caught the eye of the ever judging mother in front of us. She was not shooting me a supportive “been there, done that” smirk, but rather a “you are a terrible mother” sneer. And I nearly snapped her nose off but simply smiled and moved on.
This confrontation has convinced me that I need business cards. It could house my name, number and a cute little picture of me and my two out of control chicklets. I figure this way in about 7 years, when those two angels of hers have hormones raging through every pore and are ripping her apart as only preteen girls are capable, she can call me up and apologize for being such a jerk that one day when my son had the wiggles. Apology accepted.
Or maybe I should have just let The Kraken pee on her.
Everyone and their brother decided today would be a fantastic day to view animals, probably because the moment we stepped out of the car we didn’t melt into a lump of sweaty meatloaf for the first day in weeks. Needless to say it was packed. Sweet little Rosie no longer wants to be strapped into her stroller but wants to get out and “play.” Imagine if you will, a 3 year old running running running, an 18 month old running running running in the opposite direction and one tired momma running running running in between and shouting random commands. I was either very entertaining to watch or very annoying and frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. My kids were having a great time, and I was earning my third coke of the day.
As luck would have it, we happened upon a live animal show just in time to get a great seat a couple rows from the stage. All seemed to be going well until a mother of two delightfully behaved school aged girls turned around and said with a snarl, “He is kicking us.” Sure enough The Kraken, bored from the three minute wait, was in his own little world singing and dancing and consequently kicking the family in front of us. I scolded him, threatened to leave if he couldn’t sit still and made him sing the “Patience” song, which he did and considered the situation handled. The woman however would huff and puff or turn and glare every time my son wiggled a bit too close to her blond beauties. I began to sing the “Patience” song to myself.
As the show began we were warned not to stand or get out of our seats for any reason for the safety of ourselves and the animals. Unfortunately, about 10 minutes in my son’s bladder decided to defy the aforementioned rule. Emergency! Now I am not a rule breaker, but I am also not about to ask a three year old to hold it. Who knows how many of us would be sprayed with urine at the end of that experiment. I quickly collected my brood and headed for the exit. On the way I caught the eye of the ever judging mother in front of us. She was not shooting me a supportive “been there, done that” smirk, but rather a “you are a terrible mother” sneer. And I nearly snapped her nose off but simply smiled and moved on.
This confrontation has convinced me that I need business cards. It could house my name, number and a cute little picture of me and my two out of control chicklets. I figure this way in about 7 years, when those two angels of hers have hormones raging through every pore and are ripping her apart as only preteen girls are capable, she can call me up and apologize for being such a jerk that one day when my son had the wiggles. Apology accepted.
Or maybe I should have just let The Kraken pee on her.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Irish Whiskey and a Battle Axe
We bought my son an axe.
I thought about ending with that statement, but as we know my son is 3 and crazy so perhaps I should offer a bit of explanation.
My family crashed the Irish festival to discover all things Ireland, and we were not disappointed: Irish dogs, Irish food, Irish fiddling, Irish dancing, Irish clothing, Irish beer. It was all awesome, well mostly. In all my years attending this festival I have never been able to catch the Irish dancing portion. The tents are always packed, and I am a people-a-phobe. On this day, I was determined to see some cute little kids with their curls bouncing. The dancers emerged from their holding area, nary a curl to be found, nary a cute little Irish child to be seen. This was the 60 and over dance club. And while I applaud your efforts, (I certainly won’t be dancing at that age), it left a little something to be desired. Sorry ladies.
During the shopping bit of our trip, The Kraken wandered into a wood-worker’s shop that makes, among other things, weapons for children. This shop kindly places their skillfully hand-carved swords, axes and shields out in the walkway for any and every child to literally stumble upon. The Kraken was smitten with a battle axe. For the record, we did not buy the axe on the first pass. We were both hoping his little mind could be focused (or manipulated) in another direction. But no, we were not that lucky.
We entered the festival for free thanks to a nonperishable food donation for the hungry and left with bellies full of corned beef and other Irish delights. Oh, and a handcrafted wooden implement of destruction. It was a great day.
It could have been worse though. I was pretty close to buying a miniature kilt for The Kraken. (They were so stinking tiny and so stinking cute.) That would have sent us straight to therapy for sure.
I thought about ending with that statement, but as we know my son is 3 and crazy so perhaps I should offer a bit of explanation.
My family crashed the Irish festival to discover all things Ireland, and we were not disappointed: Irish dogs, Irish food, Irish fiddling, Irish dancing, Irish clothing, Irish beer. It was all awesome, well mostly. In all my years attending this festival I have never been able to catch the Irish dancing portion. The tents are always packed, and I am a people-a-phobe. On this day, I was determined to see some cute little kids with their curls bouncing. The dancers emerged from their holding area, nary a curl to be found, nary a cute little Irish child to be seen. This was the 60 and over dance club. And while I applaud your efforts, (I certainly won’t be dancing at that age), it left a little something to be desired. Sorry ladies.
During the shopping bit of our trip, The Kraken wandered into a wood-worker’s shop that makes, among other things, weapons for children. This shop kindly places their skillfully hand-carved swords, axes and shields out in the walkway for any and every child to literally stumble upon. The Kraken was smitten with a battle axe. For the record, we did not buy the axe on the first pass. We were both hoping his little mind could be focused (or manipulated) in another direction. But no, we were not that lucky.
We entered the festival for free thanks to a nonperishable food donation for the hungry and left with bellies full of corned beef and other Irish delights. Oh, and a handcrafted wooden implement of destruction. It was a great day.
It could have been worse though. I was pretty close to buying a miniature kilt for The Kraken. (They were so stinking tiny and so stinking cute.) That would have sent us straight to therapy for sure.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Pirate
One evening we decided that as good parents, we really should clean the tub that the kids bathe in. It’s a jetted tub, totally unnecessary and yet totally in need of a cleaning. We filled it up with bleach water, turned on the jets and walked away. After a bit, we drained the thing, refilled it, turned on the jets and walked away. At some point in the cleaning process a jet decided it had had enough and exploded sending water under the tub, through the ceiling below (which coincidently is the Master bedroom ceiling), onto the carpet below and seeped into the crawl space. We were totally unaware and would have remained so for many days (we are sleeping in the guest bedroom upstairs until we get bedroom furniture) except that my husband needed a ‘fancy’ shirt for work and headed to the master closet. I didn’t know when we bought our dream house that it was a fixer-upper.
For the last three days I have been waiting impatiently for different experts to come and give an estimate or assess damages or fix what turns out to be an unfixable bathtub. They all promise an arrival between the hours of crack of dawn and naptime but manage to come by dinner which is great except that I have two very stir crazy in need of stimulation at all times children who at this point want to get out of the house. We have all had enough. I show my frustration by drinking more coca cola classic. Rosie cuddles (stranger danger in full effect). The Kraken takes a slightly different approach.
The Kraken to the Insurance Agent assessing what his company will and will not pay for: Avast you Scurvy Dog!
Insurance Agent: Are you a pirate?
The Kraken: Arrrrrg. You will walk the plank, matey!
Insurance Agent to me: That’s a spirited boy you have.
You think?
For the last three days I have been waiting impatiently for different experts to come and give an estimate or assess damages or fix what turns out to be an unfixable bathtub. They all promise an arrival between the hours of crack of dawn and naptime but manage to come by dinner which is great except that I have two very stir crazy in need of stimulation at all times children who at this point want to get out of the house. We have all had enough. I show my frustration by drinking more coca cola classic. Rosie cuddles (stranger danger in full effect). The Kraken takes a slightly different approach.
The Kraken to the Insurance Agent assessing what his company will and will not pay for: Avast you Scurvy Dog!
Insurance Agent: Are you a pirate?
The Kraken: Arrrrrg. You will walk the plank, matey!
Insurance Agent to me: That’s a spirited boy you have.
You think?
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