Thanks to the fact that teachers aren't paid enough, librarians aren't paid enough and getting a college education doesn't preclude you from having to miss half of your children's formative years in our country (google Sweden to find out about true parental leave and flextime work options in developed nations), I work 2 out of every 3 Saturdays. This leaves Shad at home with the kids a lot on the weekend. I use the term "at home" loosely, as they typically leave for a good portion of the day in order to visit grandparents of one type or another. Still, Daddy Huddleston (Shad Dad) is in charge of the kids for a large part of the day on a majority of Saturdays. It's not an ideal arrangement, and is probably the #1 thing about my job that I would change if given the option. However, this option is not likely to present itself anytime in the near future (read: likely never), so we press on knowing that all kinds of hard-working Americans work on Saturdays in order to keep our country up and running! (Instead of making me feel patriotic, though, this just mostly makes me feel tired.)
So, here I sat this morning working in the calm quiet of the library, where even when we're busy it's not too loud or crazy. There are the occassional run-ins with crazy people and teenagers who have to be chased out of the building while they spew profanity at us, but by and large it's quiet. The phone rang around 10:30 and it was Shad. He said that they had finally escaped to Grammy and Papa Huddleston's which would hopefully end Nate's Reign of Two Year Old Terror for the morning. I had to actually make a list on scrap paper to remember all of the events that Shad detailed from Nate's morning bonanza undertaken while Shad tried to clean up the house:
1. Dumped 1/2 a box of Cheez-Its on the couch where the dog proceeded to eat them ALL. The dog consequently barfed the Cheez-Its and then re-ate them (helps with clean up, but sure is gnarly to watch).
2. Dumped Sissy's entire case of hair-ties and barrettes out of the bathroom drawer. These remain on the floor and probably will until I get home.
3. Administered blue electircal tape to the living room t.v. and entertainment center in the form of streamers. Decorative.
4. Claimed to want to use bubbles in the kitchen. Stated "I no spill it" when Shad tried to talk him out of it. Smiled and poured the entire bottle on the floor as soon as Shad said ok.
5. ESCAPED from the house into the front yard wearing Sissy's yellow rain boots and no shirt.
6. Stripped naked, donned Sissy's black mary jane shoes and undertook a sort of parade march through the house carrying Sissy' pink plastic backpack and pink Dora bag.
I'm not sure what to make of all of this. Part of me wants to laugh my ass off since I wasn't there and didn't have to deal with it. I fully expect to find remnants of these escapades throughout the house when I get home, however, so I'd like it if he hadn't been so completely ornery. I can appreciate how hard it is to accomplish any single household task like dishes or laundry while caring for Nate, so I don't blame Shad at all. I stay home with Nate most Mondays and striking a balance between getting any housework done, playing with Nate and spending time with him and cleaning up after his destruction is truly an art. Probably it's an art that a dad just can't be expected to master. No offense to dads, really. It's just one of those multi-tasking things that goes beyond even Mr. Huddleston's 1st grade teacher capabilities. And then throw in Maia who might be simultaneously needing a snack and crying about her hair... it stretches anyone's limits. It stretches our limits on a daily basis. You should see how tired we are when we get to church on Sundays after getting them ready and keeping them out of trouble for 4 hours prior to the 10:45am service.
And now that I have finished this rant... may I just say that it is Stupid People Day at the library and everything that I said about it being quiet and calm was total crap. America: Learn how to keep your children under control!! ;)
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Poopyhead!
Wow! There is really a difference between boys and girls. I can't believe it some days how much Nate acts like a BOY in comparison to his sister. She's never been an easy child by any stretch of the imagination, but she also never called me Poopyhead or grabbed my chest repeatedly with glee and pronounced "Boobies!!" Where is he learning this stuff??
Truly, our number one goal with Mr. Nate right now is to potty train the little booger. So, I guess with pee and poo on the brain right now and in the conversation several times a day (or several times an hour), we shouldn't be so surprised that the word "Poopy" has infiltrated his language so thoroughly. Take this conversation between Shad and Nate first thing yesterday morning as an example:
Shad: Nate do you want your cup of milk?
Nate: No. I no want milky.
Shad: Do you want your poopy milk?
Nate: YEAH!!!!
Taking our cues from Nate, we have all started using "poopy" as a sort of adjective that can describe anything, even food, if only to illicit some toddler cooperation. The line is drawn with using it to address people, however, which I cannot tolerate. And with the recent derivitive "Poopyhead", I have started implementing time out as the immediate reaction. There is no reason to ever call your parent "Poopyhead"...am I right? I'm sure that some day this will be funny, and Nate's insistance that saying poopy is hilarious is sometimes bordering on funny, but Poopyhead is NOT.
Shad brought Nate to the library last night while Maia was at choir. I hadn't seen him all day and I work until 8:00 on Wednesdays so there isn't much family time. They brought me some Sonic because I called and begged for it. So, while I was hiding in the office trying to eat my food and talking to Shad, Nate slammed the door to the office and then leaned on it from the outside so that we couldn't open it without totally body slamming him to the ground and causing a huge scene. He was pretty insistent that we stay in the office and he remain outside. Finally, I conned him by using the back office door to the computer lab and met him face to face behind the circulation desk.
"I poopied," was his smiling response to seeing me on his side of the door. And indeed this time, his use of the word was accurate. He had poopied and had evidently wanted some privacy to do it. As Shad escorted him out of the library to go have spaghetti with his Grammy Huddleston for dinner, he pronounced to the entire Children's Floor of the library "I poopied! I poopied!" over and over until the "elegator" swallowed him up and took him downstairs.
When I got home at 8:15 last night, Nate laid in my bed under the covers while I put on my jammies. The following conversation ensued:
"Nate, it's time to go night night. Let's go get your milk and your blankie and cozy with Mommy in the chair."
"No Poopyhead!"
"Nate, that's not nice. We don't call people Poopyhead."
"Yes it is nice." (Laughing)
"No it's not and it's not funny. We call people by their names and we never call anyone Poopyhead."
"Why not?"
Why not indeed! Some people do act like Poopyheads, and we do wish to call them that. I'm thinking about trying it next time someone at work is a doofus. But what do you say to the 2 year old who thinks it is the funniest thing since SpongeBob to call everyone Poopyhead? It's only mildy less irritating since he starting adding "Sorry" in a very ornery little tone this morning, knowing that we aren't cool with it.
Clearly, the little man is a typical 2 year old. And I can't complain too much that he's into the potty language, cause he did use the potty twice yesterday for the sitter and again this morning for me. There is some progress there and I've even purchased the Spiderman underwear in preparation for the big leap into trying to stay dry. And having done this once before, I know that it will take time and that there will be setbacks and that it won't be on my command that he accomplishes any of the necessary steps of potty "learning". (That's what you're supposed to call it now cause "training" insinuates that it is the adult doing the work when it is really the kid doing the work. I like this new phrasing.) What's new for us is this very clear verbal obsession with potty lingo. Maia never had this particular annoying habit. How does he consistently find new problem issues that we haven't faced with her? (I'm thinking of the biting and hitting and screaming all through supper.)
Let me know if you have any ideas about how to get "Poopyhead" out of the popular vernacular!
Truly, our number one goal with Mr. Nate right now is to potty train the little booger. So, I guess with pee and poo on the brain right now and in the conversation several times a day (or several times an hour), we shouldn't be so surprised that the word "Poopy" has infiltrated his language so thoroughly. Take this conversation between Shad and Nate first thing yesterday morning as an example:
Shad: Nate do you want your cup of milk?
Nate: No. I no want milky.
Shad: Do you want your poopy milk?
Nate: YEAH!!!!
Taking our cues from Nate, we have all started using "poopy" as a sort of adjective that can describe anything, even food, if only to illicit some toddler cooperation. The line is drawn with using it to address people, however, which I cannot tolerate. And with the recent derivitive "Poopyhead", I have started implementing time out as the immediate reaction. There is no reason to ever call your parent "Poopyhead"...am I right? I'm sure that some day this will be funny, and Nate's insistance that saying poopy is hilarious is sometimes bordering on funny, but Poopyhead is NOT.
Shad brought Nate to the library last night while Maia was at choir. I hadn't seen him all day and I work until 8:00 on Wednesdays so there isn't much family time. They brought me some Sonic because I called and begged for it. So, while I was hiding in the office trying to eat my food and talking to Shad, Nate slammed the door to the office and then leaned on it from the outside so that we couldn't open it without totally body slamming him to the ground and causing a huge scene. He was pretty insistent that we stay in the office and he remain outside. Finally, I conned him by using the back office door to the computer lab and met him face to face behind the circulation desk.
"I poopied," was his smiling response to seeing me on his side of the door. And indeed this time, his use of the word was accurate. He had poopied and had evidently wanted some privacy to do it. As Shad escorted him out of the library to go have spaghetti with his Grammy Huddleston for dinner, he pronounced to the entire Children's Floor of the library "I poopied! I poopied!" over and over until the "elegator" swallowed him up and took him downstairs.
When I got home at 8:15 last night, Nate laid in my bed under the covers while I put on my jammies. The following conversation ensued:
"Nate, it's time to go night night. Let's go get your milk and your blankie and cozy with Mommy in the chair."
"No Poopyhead!"
"Nate, that's not nice. We don't call people Poopyhead."
"Yes it is nice." (Laughing)
"No it's not and it's not funny. We call people by their names and we never call anyone Poopyhead."
"Why not?"
Why not indeed! Some people do act like Poopyheads, and we do wish to call them that. I'm thinking about trying it next time someone at work is a doofus. But what do you say to the 2 year old who thinks it is the funniest thing since SpongeBob to call everyone Poopyhead? It's only mildy less irritating since he starting adding "Sorry" in a very ornery little tone this morning, knowing that we aren't cool with it.
Clearly, the little man is a typical 2 year old. And I can't complain too much that he's into the potty language, cause he did use the potty twice yesterday for the sitter and again this morning for me. There is some progress there and I've even purchased the Spiderman underwear in preparation for the big leap into trying to stay dry. And having done this once before, I know that it will take time and that there will be setbacks and that it won't be on my command that he accomplishes any of the necessary steps of potty "learning". (That's what you're supposed to call it now cause "training" insinuates that it is the adult doing the work when it is really the kid doing the work. I like this new phrasing.) What's new for us is this very clear verbal obsession with potty lingo. Maia never had this particular annoying habit. How does he consistently find new problem issues that we haven't faced with her? (I'm thinking of the biting and hitting and screaming all through supper.)
Let me know if you have any ideas about how to get "Poopyhead" out of the popular vernacular!
Friday, March 23, 2007
Hot Lunch: Part 2
The truth is, I am loving hot lunch!! As the Artist Formerly Known As Lunch Maker, I have been hitting snooze every day this week and using the extra ten minutes that are not devoted to the de-crusting of pbj for my own personal benefit. Nevermind that we are barely making it out the door on time this week, and that I should be using these extra minutes to leave on time and not have to rush around. When the alarm goes off, I will continue to hit snooze.
So, there are things about this lifestyle change of Maia's that are affecting everyone just a little bit. For instance, I sense that the dog is a bit miffed about the switch to hot lunch. She typically hovers at my feet during the pbj de-crusting and then inhales the crust before it reaches her bowl. Based on the degree of her hopping and growling at the leftover toaster strudel on the table this morning, I'm thinking that she is confused about where her "breakfast" has gone.
Down to the real heart of the matter, then: How is Maia enjoying hot lunch? Well, so far so good. She continues to be overly enthused every day about the new choices offered and the fact that she gets to decide what to have. Some of you may be familiar with Maia's idiosyncracies surrounding food (that she likely comes by quite naturally) and her obsession with snacking. Try as we have (and we have been really so, so careful to not be "weird" about food with her), she is still super hyper-focused on food. And being in control of what she will be eating is a big deal for her. Fine. I can't control the fact that she wants to control it. So, really, this hot lunch thing is as much about her getting to choose her lunch without any input from us whatsoever as it is about sitting by her friends and not being a sack lunch outcast.
Monday came and she was up and ready to go to school in anticipation of lunch. On the menu for Monday? Nachos and green beans and pears, a very popular school lunch combo these days. When questioned after school about how the hot lunch experience went, Maia stated that those were the saltiest nachos she had ever had. Ok...interesting. I asked her about what was on the nachos. Her answer? "Oh, I just had the chips. I didn't like that cheese stuff." Thus, for her first day of hot lunch, Maia had what I can only believe were generic taco chips and green beans. Score for Sodium: 110% of her daily value. Score for Vitamins: 0% of her daily value. Score for Protein: 0% of her daily value. Nice.
So, what was Maia's favorite hot lunch item so far this week? The ever popular Chicken Patty. Was this chicken patty made from real chicken? We may never know. If it was, was the chicken treated humanely prior to becoming "Patty"? Very likely not. I'm certain that it wasn't fed organic chicken feed and was probably given some type of hormones that will probably cause all of Riddle school's students to start puberty about 2 years sooner than our generation did. But, great! I'm glad that she enjoyed the chicken patty, and we'll just plan on buying a training bra a bit earlier on.
On to the vegetable and fruit selections... Maia has stated that she does not like pears, so no fruit was eaten on Monday. I think one day was peaches and that was ok. Yesterday's fruit? Apple juice. No kidding. They had milk for their drink AND apple juice in order to fit in a fruit. Today's fruit is supposed to be applesauce, which you know is just loaded with vitamins. Wednesday we had a mini-meltdown regarding the listing of "baked carrots" on the menu. Would these be like the delicious cinnamon and brown sugary buttery carrots that Mimi makes for Maia? We told her no, they would be like the kind that come out of a can and get heated up on the stove. She didn't like that answer and after recovering from the disappointment decided that she would only have pineapple tidbits that day with the infamous chicken patty.
And, finally, I absolutely have to tell you about today's selections. Yesterday, in an effort to eliminate the last minute "What did I decided I was having today" issues, Shad printed the menu for Maia off of the school's website so that she could look at it whenever she wants to. This morning, she checked it again just to be sure it still said "Italian dunkers" (and whad'ya know...it still said it) and also pointed out that the "vegetable" today is baked beans. No kidding. This is what the menu actually said:
Totino's Pizza
Totino's Pizza
Italian Dunkers
PBJ (on the menu every day)
Baked Beans
Applesauce
Please tell me what kind of sick cowboy lunch room lady decided that pizza/italian dunkers day goes with baked beans!!! Well, since Maia doesn't like pizza (I told you she is weird about food), she has opted for italian dunkers (breadsticks with dipping sauce) and baked beans. That should about fulfill her carbohydrate requirement for the weekend, I think.
Ok, sorry for all of the gory details about our hot lunch experience. It's been a big deal at our house this week for a lot of reasons. And I think that I better stop at the store this evening and stock up on strawberries, apples, broccoli and baby carrots...all things that Maia loves. It's too bad that the school lunch can't include some of these foods.
Stay tuned to see if I end up turning into an activist mom and reforming the school lunch menus before next August! ;)
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Hot Lunch: Part One
As most of you know, Maia is in kindergarten this year. And before school started way back in August, we talked with her a lot about what school would be like. We went out and bought her school supplies as per the list for all kindergarteners in the school district (and I'd like to know if anyone found a box of just 8 regular sized crayons--cause they don't make a box of just 8 unless they are the "baby" jumbo crayons.) It was at Big Lots, the mega-stop for all back-to-schoolers who refuse to go to Wal-Mart, that we seized upon the pink Scooby Doo lunchbox. It was the pinnacle of our back-to-school purchases. And for the first few weeks of school, making our lunch was just about the most fun that anyone's ever had.
And then came September. And October. And November. And you get the picture. Mommy was left to fix the lunch every morning, as it was no longer fun or intriguing. There would be pbj (with no crusts, of course, and maybe even cut with the fancy Pampered Chef circley sandwich cutter thingy), pretzels or crackers or chips, some kind of fruit and maybe a cookie or small piece of candy. Naturally, a juice box would be included and the basketball shaped ice pack to keep it all cool. A Spongebob spoon would top of the heap if needed, and Maia was off to school with a thoughtfully prepared, semi-nutritionally rounded lunch. (I get it that chips don't count as a food group but who can argue with their convenience?)
Now, sometime in October or November the Scooby Doo lunchbox began to see some wear and tear. Abuse might be the proper term. Apparently, the lunchbox was attacked by the Beadle brothers on the daycare van after school got out. One of them managed to rip one end of the adjustable purple carry strap clean off the lunchbox. Alright, these things happen and there will always be a version of the Beadle brothers in everyone's life, so we didn't freak out. The Scooby Doo lunchbox was still totable since the handle was attached at the other end.
As you might guess, it was only a matter of a week or two before that handle was also severed and we had to turn to Option 2 for a lunchbox. Anyone who has ever shopped for a lunchbox in a month other than August might know that it is not at all easy to find an acceptably cool lunchbox in the "off season". If your parents are liberal freakoids like Maia's and don't shop at Wal-Mart, then you might just find yourself out of luck altogether. (I will never, ever forget that my parents found a metal Empire Strikes Back lunchbox at Osco's for me in May of my kindergarten year so that I could take my lunch to Fun Day and eat outside in the grass.) Thankfully, some sorry-ass book company trying to get my boss to buy their large print romance novels sent the library a free royal blue insulated lunch tote. And it doesn't even say "Thorndike Press" on it or anything embarrassing like that. AND, wouldn't you know, Maia's favorite color is now blue. So it was just hunky dorry and we kept eating our pbj and drinking our HI-C juice boxes (the kind that don't stain.)
Now let me just stop here and explain that I was, for every year of my elementary school career, a sack lunch kid. I ate hot lunch maybe twice a year, once for pizza and once for the undeniably delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Other than that, I was a die hard lunchbox toter. My mom even made savory Chef Boyardee for me and put it in a short little thermos every once in a while for a treat. It never occurred to me that eating hot lunch might be a better lifestyle.
So, last week, when my daughter pronounced that she had been sitting by herself at lunch lately because there was only one other girl sack luncher in her class (Kyla, whom we evidently don't want to sit by even though she is one of our "best friends"), I sucked it up and asked her if she'd rather be hot lunch. She responded with a resounding "YES". Such was her glee and devotion to the idea of hot lunch that she had her dad pull up the menu on the school website and wrote down her choices for each day in her Hello Kitty notebook. This was on Friday night of last week. There was a period of crying (as there typically is with Maia) about why we had to wait the whole entire weekend before Monday could come. (Right...let's wish away the weekend so that we can eat mystery meat on Monday!) But overall, the decision to eat hot lunch for two weeks and "give it the ol' college try" was on.
Tomorrow: Part Two of Hot Lunch will detail the ups and downs of the first week. See how Mom thinks that hot lunch might just be the best thing ever and learn about the delicacy of menu wording in the eyes of a kindergartener.
And then came September. And October. And November. And you get the picture. Mommy was left to fix the lunch every morning, as it was no longer fun or intriguing. There would be pbj (with no crusts, of course, and maybe even cut with the fancy Pampered Chef circley sandwich cutter thingy), pretzels or crackers or chips, some kind of fruit and maybe a cookie or small piece of candy. Naturally, a juice box would be included and the basketball shaped ice pack to keep it all cool. A Spongebob spoon would top of the heap if needed, and Maia was off to school with a thoughtfully prepared, semi-nutritionally rounded lunch. (I get it that chips don't count as a food group but who can argue with their convenience?)
Now, sometime in October or November the Scooby Doo lunchbox began to see some wear and tear. Abuse might be the proper term. Apparently, the lunchbox was attacked by the Beadle brothers on the daycare van after school got out. One of them managed to rip one end of the adjustable purple carry strap clean off the lunchbox. Alright, these things happen and there will always be a version of the Beadle brothers in everyone's life, so we didn't freak out. The Scooby Doo lunchbox was still totable since the handle was attached at the other end.
As you might guess, it was only a matter of a week or two before that handle was also severed and we had to turn to Option 2 for a lunchbox. Anyone who has ever shopped for a lunchbox in a month other than August might know that it is not at all easy to find an acceptably cool lunchbox in the "off season". If your parents are liberal freakoids like Maia's and don't shop at Wal-Mart, then you might just find yourself out of luck altogether. (I will never, ever forget that my parents found a metal Empire Strikes Back lunchbox at Osco's for me in May of my kindergarten year so that I could take my lunch to Fun Day and eat outside in the grass.) Thankfully, some sorry-ass book company trying to get my boss to buy their large print romance novels sent the library a free royal blue insulated lunch tote. And it doesn't even say "Thorndike Press" on it or anything embarrassing like that. AND, wouldn't you know, Maia's favorite color is now blue. So it was just hunky dorry and we kept eating our pbj and drinking our HI-C juice boxes (the kind that don't stain.)
Now let me just stop here and explain that I was, for every year of my elementary school career, a sack lunch kid. I ate hot lunch maybe twice a year, once for pizza and once for the undeniably delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Other than that, I was a die hard lunchbox toter. My mom even made savory Chef Boyardee for me and put it in a short little thermos every once in a while for a treat. It never occurred to me that eating hot lunch might be a better lifestyle.
So, last week, when my daughter pronounced that she had been sitting by herself at lunch lately because there was only one other girl sack luncher in her class (Kyla, whom we evidently don't want to sit by even though she is one of our "best friends"), I sucked it up and asked her if she'd rather be hot lunch. She responded with a resounding "YES". Such was her glee and devotion to the idea of hot lunch that she had her dad pull up the menu on the school website and wrote down her choices for each day in her Hello Kitty notebook. This was on Friday night of last week. There was a period of crying (as there typically is with Maia) about why we had to wait the whole entire weekend before Monday could come. (Right...let's wish away the weekend so that we can eat mystery meat on Monday!) But overall, the decision to eat hot lunch for two weeks and "give it the ol' college try" was on.
Tomorrow: Part Two of Hot Lunch will detail the ups and downs of the first week. See how Mom thinks that hot lunch might just be the best thing ever and learn about the delicacy of menu wording in the eyes of a kindergartener.
Friday, March 16, 2007
It's Just Dress Up!
Lions and Tigers and Bears! Oh My!
It's one of the most recognized lines from a movie in the history of movies, isn't it? As a kid, it was so lyrical and so spooky and so easily recited over and over just as if you yourself were Dorothy or the Scarecrow or the Tin Man. And do you remember who they found in the forest just after reciting these famous lines? Of course! They found a lion, the lion, the Cowardly Lion himself. And he turned out to be not so scary after all, didn't he? Just a lovable ol' scaredy cat, he was! And, naturally, if you were over the age of 4 when you first watched this scene, you also knew that he wasn't a real lion (sorry to spoil this for you if you hadn't figured that out yet...).
However, if you are a 2 year old, a curious and television obsessed 2 year old, you might find this Lions and Tigers and Bears scene to be a bit frightening, eh? It's dark, the forest music is spooky, there's a green faced witch lurking somewhere and then suddenly a freaking lion descends on Dorothy and her friends...
"Mommy! It's the lion! It's the lion! Look Mommy!"
Nate has just recently joined the millions of American children in the past 70+ years who are fascinated by the Wizard of Oz. He enjoys the Lollipop Guild (aka the Lollipop Kids... cause that is what it sounds like they're saying when you're a kid and not at all familiar with the concept of a guild, am I right?). He loves to watch Glenda the Good Witch of the North appear and magically don Dorothy with the ruby slippers. And he even likes to watch the Wicked Witch appear there in Munchkin Land. But his favorite part is the Lion. And now that he's not scared of the lion anymore, he wants to skip straight to the lion part every time...
Early on, say a month ago, when Nate started watching everyone's favorite classic movie over and over again on DVD, he was indeed frightened of the witch and the lion. Who isn't??
"I scary, Mommy! I scary!"
And yet even when I told him that he didn't have to watch this show if he was "scary" he insisted on watching. I quickly envisioned late night screams of terror as he dueled the Wicked Witch in his dreams or got chased by the lion and knew that if he was going to watch this stuff that I would have to help him understand that it wasn't real.
"Nate, it's just dress up in costumes. The lion is just a man in a costume. The witch is just dressed up."
"It's jush dresh up?"
"Yeah, it's not really a lion. He's just dressed up."
"OH! It's jush dresh up!"
And, thus, we began our newest explanation for everything scary in Nate's life. Anything that's not real is "jush dresh up" to Nate. And he delights in telling us when he sees something else that's potentially scary "It's ok! It's jush dresh up!"
"Sissy, it's not scary! It's jush dresh up!"
"Mommy look! It's jush dresh up!"
Right now, since he's only 2, it's super cute that he has this little lispy explanation for everything scary. I'm glad that he "gets it" and understands that the lion and the witch and everything else in Oz is "jush dresh up" because he was sure gonna keep watching that movie no matter what. And, this morning, as I was cleaning off the Oz DVD so that it would stop stalling on the Tin Man part (and thus not making it to the Lion at all which is not acceptable), I thought to myself "This is the easy part, when all that he is scared of is a pretend lion on tv and he's easily comforted by me telling him it's just dress up. What will I say when he is scared of some mean kid at school? 'It's just dress up' won't work then."
As difficult as toddlerhood seems--trying to get this little person to stop peeing his pants, carrying him kicking and screaming (and sometimes biting and hitting) to his room for time-out because he cries through dinner every other night, and teaching him to say "Please, Mommy" instead of "Please, Mommy-Poopy"-- this is all so much simpler than it will be 10 years from now when he's taller than me and won't say anything but "I dunno" and "Nothing" to us. When he's scared of something, he probably won't even tell me. And if he does tell me, I'll have to come up with something way better than "It's just dress up, Nate". I have to remember this the next time it seems like I can't handle one more minute of Disney Channel or crying about Spiderman vs. The Hulk pull-ups. Before we're ready for it, he'll have moved past "It's jush dresh up" and will look to us for real explanations about how to deal with the craziness of the world.
I'm thanking God today that he sends these little people in small packages with simple fears at least at for the first few years. Now, if I can just figure out what Nate is trying to tell me when he says "I scary the tiger and the goose, Mommy." Since we have no tiger and no goose at home, I'm clueless about this. So far, they appear to have something to do with his "bredroom" but as long as I tell him "There are not a tiger and a goose in your room, Nate" he seems to believe me and get over it. At least for now.
It's one of the most recognized lines from a movie in the history of movies, isn't it? As a kid, it was so lyrical and so spooky and so easily recited over and over just as if you yourself were Dorothy or the Scarecrow or the Tin Man. And do you remember who they found in the forest just after reciting these famous lines? Of course! They found a lion, the lion, the Cowardly Lion himself. And he turned out to be not so scary after all, didn't he? Just a lovable ol' scaredy cat, he was! And, naturally, if you were over the age of 4 when you first watched this scene, you also knew that he wasn't a real lion (sorry to spoil this for you if you hadn't figured that out yet...).
However, if you are a 2 year old, a curious and television obsessed 2 year old, you might find this Lions and Tigers and Bears scene to be a bit frightening, eh? It's dark, the forest music is spooky, there's a green faced witch lurking somewhere and then suddenly a freaking lion descends on Dorothy and her friends...
"Mommy! It's the lion! It's the lion! Look Mommy!"
Nate has just recently joined the millions of American children in the past 70+ years who are fascinated by the Wizard of Oz. He enjoys the Lollipop Guild (aka the Lollipop Kids... cause that is what it sounds like they're saying when you're a kid and not at all familiar with the concept of a guild, am I right?). He loves to watch Glenda the Good Witch of the North appear and magically don Dorothy with the ruby slippers. And he even likes to watch the Wicked Witch appear there in Munchkin Land. But his favorite part is the Lion. And now that he's not scared of the lion anymore, he wants to skip straight to the lion part every time...
Early on, say a month ago, when Nate started watching everyone's favorite classic movie over and over again on DVD, he was indeed frightened of the witch and the lion. Who isn't??
"I scary, Mommy! I scary!"
And yet even when I told him that he didn't have to watch this show if he was "scary" he insisted on watching. I quickly envisioned late night screams of terror as he dueled the Wicked Witch in his dreams or got chased by the lion and knew that if he was going to watch this stuff that I would have to help him understand that it wasn't real.
"Nate, it's just dress up in costumes. The lion is just a man in a costume. The witch is just dressed up."
"It's jush dresh up?"
"Yeah, it's not really a lion. He's just dressed up."
"OH! It's jush dresh up!"
And, thus, we began our newest explanation for everything scary in Nate's life. Anything that's not real is "jush dresh up" to Nate. And he delights in telling us when he sees something else that's potentially scary "It's ok! It's jush dresh up!"
"Sissy, it's not scary! It's jush dresh up!"
"Mommy look! It's jush dresh up!"
Right now, since he's only 2, it's super cute that he has this little lispy explanation for everything scary. I'm glad that he "gets it" and understands that the lion and the witch and everything else in Oz is "jush dresh up" because he was sure gonna keep watching that movie no matter what. And, this morning, as I was cleaning off the Oz DVD so that it would stop stalling on the Tin Man part (and thus not making it to the Lion at all which is not acceptable), I thought to myself "This is the easy part, when all that he is scared of is a pretend lion on tv and he's easily comforted by me telling him it's just dress up. What will I say when he is scared of some mean kid at school? 'It's just dress up' won't work then."
As difficult as toddlerhood seems--trying to get this little person to stop peeing his pants, carrying him kicking and screaming (and sometimes biting and hitting) to his room for time-out because he cries through dinner every other night, and teaching him to say "Please, Mommy" instead of "Please, Mommy-Poopy"-- this is all so much simpler than it will be 10 years from now when he's taller than me and won't say anything but "I dunno" and "Nothing" to us. When he's scared of something, he probably won't even tell me. And if he does tell me, I'll have to come up with something way better than "It's just dress up, Nate". I have to remember this the next time it seems like I can't handle one more minute of Disney Channel or crying about Spiderman vs. The Hulk pull-ups. Before we're ready for it, he'll have moved past "It's jush dresh up" and will look to us for real explanations about how to deal with the craziness of the world.
I'm thanking God today that he sends these little people in small packages with simple fears at least at for the first few years. Now, if I can just figure out what Nate is trying to tell me when he says "I scary the tiger and the goose, Mommy." Since we have no tiger and no goose at home, I'm clueless about this. So far, they appear to have something to do with his "bredroom" but as long as I tell him "There are not a tiger and a goose in your room, Nate" he seems to believe me and get over it. At least for now.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
The Glory of Springshine
What is this weather all about? It seems like just yesterday that our alley here at the library was so caked with ice that we could barely walk through it to get in to work. Now there is a warm summer breeze that just reeks of summer...not spring...summer! It's 77 degrees out there right now and there's hardly anybody inside the library. I wouldn't be here, either, if my paycheck weren't dependent on it.
As I sat outside and ate my lunch today in the backyard, I noticed that winter has been rough on our yard. Aside from dead grass and faded mulch, there were no fewer than 12 plastic and rubber balls laying in various states of deflation and general wreckage in all corners of the yard. It was as if one October day we picked them up, threw them to the wind and ran for cover from the impending chill of winter. They are mostly dead now and need to be retrieved and tossed into the garbage (though I will have to save the foam Cardinal baseball and bat set!) And in addition to the trashing of our toys, winter wrecked havoc on our double "grown-up" swing that sits near the house. What was once a cotton canopy above it is now literally a shredded rag. It blew about whipping in the bizarrely warm wind today as I sat and tried to pretend that we had real landscaping and a gazebo.
And despite the oddity of the weather, there is no denying that we all are feeling like different people this week because of it. Global warming may eventually be the end of us all, but right now it's feeling pretty nice. (Don't tell Al Gore that I said that, please!! I'm as big a fan of An Inconvenient Truth as the next Democrat but I just Hate Winter.) The kids have been playing outside like they'd never before breathed fresh air. Maia delighted at finding our tulips coming up, and Nate proclaimed this morning before we even made it to the living room "I gonna play outside today, Mommy." I told him that yes he was going to play outside today. I didn't have the heart to explain that unless the forecast is totally wrong, there may be one good day left for playing outside this week and then we'll be back to the usual March wind and woe.
Indeed, one downside of spring arriving and playing outside that I was already reacquainted with yesterday was the absolute filth that covered both children by bathtime. Nate left real mud on the edge of the tub, and Maia refused to wash her hands before dinner and ate with her grimy fingers (like usual) instead of the typical human fork that most societies accept as common dinnerware. Was I going to argue with her after I'd spent 30 minutes making dinner and we were all sitting down to eat? No. It so rarely happens that we get to eat together and nobody is crying that I just let it go. If she gets a tapeworm or hoof and mouth disease then it will totally be my fault. I can see that we're going to need to re-visit how-to-wash-up-after-playing-outside rules, however, along with don't-go-outside-without-telling-me rules and yes-it-is-time-to-come-inside-now rules. And so it begins...
As I sat outside and ate my lunch today in the backyard, I noticed that winter has been rough on our yard. Aside from dead grass and faded mulch, there were no fewer than 12 plastic and rubber balls laying in various states of deflation and general wreckage in all corners of the yard. It was as if one October day we picked them up, threw them to the wind and ran for cover from the impending chill of winter. They are mostly dead now and need to be retrieved and tossed into the garbage (though I will have to save the foam Cardinal baseball and bat set!) And in addition to the trashing of our toys, winter wrecked havoc on our double "grown-up" swing that sits near the house. What was once a cotton canopy above it is now literally a shredded rag. It blew about whipping in the bizarrely warm wind today as I sat and tried to pretend that we had real landscaping and a gazebo.
And despite the oddity of the weather, there is no denying that we all are feeling like different people this week because of it. Global warming may eventually be the end of us all, but right now it's feeling pretty nice. (Don't tell Al Gore that I said that, please!! I'm as big a fan of An Inconvenient Truth as the next Democrat but I just Hate Winter.) The kids have been playing outside like they'd never before breathed fresh air. Maia delighted at finding our tulips coming up, and Nate proclaimed this morning before we even made it to the living room "I gonna play outside today, Mommy." I told him that yes he was going to play outside today. I didn't have the heart to explain that unless the forecast is totally wrong, there may be one good day left for playing outside this week and then we'll be back to the usual March wind and woe.
Indeed, one downside of spring arriving and playing outside that I was already reacquainted with yesterday was the absolute filth that covered both children by bathtime. Nate left real mud on the edge of the tub, and Maia refused to wash her hands before dinner and ate with her grimy fingers (like usual) instead of the typical human fork that most societies accept as common dinnerware. Was I going to argue with her after I'd spent 30 minutes making dinner and we were all sitting down to eat? No. It so rarely happens that we get to eat together and nobody is crying that I just let it go. If she gets a tapeworm or hoof and mouth disease then it will totally be my fault. I can see that we're going to need to re-visit how-to-wash-up-after-playing-outside rules, however, along with don't-go-outside-without-telling-me rules and yes-it-is-time-to-come-inside-now rules. And so it begins...
Friday, March 09, 2007
Weekends in Grown Up Land
So, it's Friday afternoon, and aside from the fact that I have to work tomorrow, which just pretty much destroys the true American spirit of Friday, it's cool knowing that the weekend is almost here. Traditionally, Friday has a celebratory mood and a sort of weight-lifted-off-of- one's-shoulders type of feeling. Growing up it was the night that we had pizza (albeit sausage pizza from Godfather's which I loathe), went to high school basketball games, watched movies, and spent the night with friends because (and this is the best part of Friday) the next day we would get to *sleep in*.
to sleep in: v. the act of sleeping past 9am on Saturday and/or Sunday, preferrably in an uninterrupted fashion, to be awakened only by your own satiated and re-energized self instead of by the soul-stealing alarm clock of Monday through Friday.
The above definition is the "classic" American denotation of sleeping in. Those of us who are grown up (and I think that some of us qualify if only because we were born prior to 1980) know that sleeping in no longer has this definition. And if you are not only grown up but also have children, you will agree with me that this definition has been re-written altogether and largely no longer exists except for maybe on those 3 weekends a year when someone blessedly keeps all of your children overnight. The new definition of sleeping in, then, is as follows:
to sleep in: v. the act of sleeping past 6:15am on a Saturday and/or Sunday, not necessarily in an uninterrupted fashion, being awakened by any number of people, noises, bodily functions or animals.
This new "sleeping in" is characterized by several easily distinguishable factors. You will know that you have graduated to this level of "sleeping in" if you do any of the following on the weekends:
1) Wake up to crying, whining or screaming of the words "Mommy" or "Daddy".
2) Wake up to see that the clock says 6:23am and breathe a sigh of relief that it's not actually 5:23am and that you have successfully slept longer than your weekday alarm lets you.
3) Operate a "tag team" defense against exhaustion with your partner by taking turns getting maybe one extra hour of sleep. ie. You get up for an hour and manage the french toast sticks and Froot Loops while your partner sleeps. At 7:30 you go wake him/her up and say "they've eaten" before falling into a slumber that will be inevitably punctuated by someone coming to see "where did mommy/daddy go?" within 9 minutes.
4) Actually go to bed before 10pm on a Friday or Saturday night because you know that there will be no sleeping past 6:30am tomorrow morning and you're going to get extra sleep no matter what the cost to your ego or sex life.
5) And finally, you find that your most difficult and earliest rising child has a "really stuff nose" and "needs" Benadryl at least one night every weekend.
For those of us who are unfortunate enough to have to report to work on the weekend, well life's just a bitch sometimes. I don't know how to reconcile my desire to have enough food to eat with wanting to sleep on Saturdays, not to mention the new clothes that I really must have before vacation this summer. And, so, like millions of Americans I trudge to work and report as close to 8am as possible most Saturdays, Folgers in hand. I understand that the library has to be open on Saturday, and I see that we need money for things like the mortgage and whatnot, so I guess I'll keep at it for a while. Still, when the alarm goes off tomorrow at 6:40am and I think "Awesome!! I got to sleep in past 6:05!" it will only closely be followed by the thought of how sucky it is to have to be up and going to work on Saturday.
So, here's to sleeping in on those few occassions when you really get to lounge in bed and sleep until you want to sleep no more. If you get that chance this weekend, good for you. Just don't forget to set your clock forward an hour on Saturday night... and just wait to see what kind of freaking mess the time change makes of your children for the next week and a half!!
to sleep in: v. the act of sleeping past 9am on Saturday and/or Sunday, preferrably in an uninterrupted fashion, to be awakened only by your own satiated and re-energized self instead of by the soul-stealing alarm clock of Monday through Friday.
The above definition is the "classic" American denotation of sleeping in. Those of us who are grown up (and I think that some of us qualify if only because we were born prior to 1980) know that sleeping in no longer has this definition. And if you are not only grown up but also have children, you will agree with me that this definition has been re-written altogether and largely no longer exists except for maybe on those 3 weekends a year when someone blessedly keeps all of your children overnight. The new definition of sleeping in, then, is as follows:
to sleep in: v. the act of sleeping past 6:15am on a Saturday and/or Sunday, not necessarily in an uninterrupted fashion, being awakened by any number of people, noises, bodily functions or animals.
This new "sleeping in" is characterized by several easily distinguishable factors. You will know that you have graduated to this level of "sleeping in" if you do any of the following on the weekends:
1) Wake up to crying, whining or screaming of the words "Mommy" or "Daddy".
2) Wake up to see that the clock says 6:23am and breathe a sigh of relief that it's not actually 5:23am and that you have successfully slept longer than your weekday alarm lets you.
3) Operate a "tag team" defense against exhaustion with your partner by taking turns getting maybe one extra hour of sleep. ie. You get up for an hour and manage the french toast sticks and Froot Loops while your partner sleeps. At 7:30 you go wake him/her up and say "they've eaten" before falling into a slumber that will be inevitably punctuated by someone coming to see "where did mommy/daddy go?" within 9 minutes.
4) Actually go to bed before 10pm on a Friday or Saturday night because you know that there will be no sleeping past 6:30am tomorrow morning and you're going to get extra sleep no matter what the cost to your ego or sex life.
5) And finally, you find that your most difficult and earliest rising child has a "really stuff nose" and "needs" Benadryl at least one night every weekend.
For those of us who are unfortunate enough to have to report to work on the weekend, well life's just a bitch sometimes. I don't know how to reconcile my desire to have enough food to eat with wanting to sleep on Saturdays, not to mention the new clothes that I really must have before vacation this summer. And, so, like millions of Americans I trudge to work and report as close to 8am as possible most Saturdays, Folgers in hand. I understand that the library has to be open on Saturday, and I see that we need money for things like the mortgage and whatnot, so I guess I'll keep at it for a while. Still, when the alarm goes off tomorrow at 6:40am and I think "Awesome!! I got to sleep in past 6:05!" it will only closely be followed by the thought of how sucky it is to have to be up and going to work on Saturday.
So, here's to sleeping in on those few occassions when you really get to lounge in bed and sleep until you want to sleep no more. If you get that chance this weekend, good for you. Just don't forget to set your clock forward an hour on Saturday night... and just wait to see what kind of freaking mess the time change makes of your children for the next week and a half!!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Intestinal Distress
For how many weeks can various intestinal maladies afflict our family? That is my question for today. It started with general tummy cruminess about three weeks ago, graduated to Nate spewing forth a day's worth of daycare food at Jimmy John's on Feb. 21st (you should have seen the looks of horror on the college kids' faces) and has gone on to poison all of us at different levels of grossness and disease. Maia was tossing her cookies on Monday night, and Shad was promoted to puking just this morning. Poor guy...and it was too late to call in sick, so he had to go greet the first graders an hour later. :( At least it didn't catch him on Tuesday before his job interview...
I'm going to the store on my lunch hour to peruse the digestive remedies aisle and try to decide between Immodium, Pepto and Mylanta. Any suggestions? We may need all three. I had to run to use the public restroom instead of going downstairs to the staff potty here at work last night. Now if anything signals desperation, that does! Our public restrooms here are mostly used by teenagers and homeless people, so even though they are cleaned every morning (thank you Jasmine!) they are not what I would call sanitary. And let me just say, to those of you who have given birth naturally, the pain was as close to what I experienced in labor with Nate, holding him in for 40 minutes waiting for the Dr. to arrive, as any other pain I have ever had. I feel like we all have some degree of E. coli or Salmonella!
If any of this grosses you out, I apologize. For those of us with children who have birthed babies and changed their diapers, I'm guessing you can handle it. And I've never been so ready to potty train Nate as I am now after his bout with this nastiness. Unfortunately, he is strangely attached to his "night-night dipies" and only agrees to use the potty about once a day right now. I've offered up the promise of Spiderman underwear, too, but to no avail.
I hope everyone else is feeling up to par and is staying away from the ickies.
Ok...gotta run.... ;)
I'm going to the store on my lunch hour to peruse the digestive remedies aisle and try to decide between Immodium, Pepto and Mylanta. Any suggestions? We may need all three. I had to run to use the public restroom instead of going downstairs to the staff potty here at work last night. Now if anything signals desperation, that does! Our public restrooms here are mostly used by teenagers and homeless people, so even though they are cleaned every morning (thank you Jasmine!) they are not what I would call sanitary. And let me just say, to those of you who have given birth naturally, the pain was as close to what I experienced in labor with Nate, holding him in for 40 minutes waiting for the Dr. to arrive, as any other pain I have ever had. I feel like we all have some degree of E. coli or Salmonella!
If any of this grosses you out, I apologize. For those of us with children who have birthed babies and changed their diapers, I'm guessing you can handle it. And I've never been so ready to potty train Nate as I am now after his bout with this nastiness. Unfortunately, he is strangely attached to his "night-night dipies" and only agrees to use the potty about once a day right now. I've offered up the promise of Spiderman underwear, too, but to no avail.
I hope everyone else is feeling up to par and is staying away from the ickies.
Ok...gotta run.... ;)
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
X-Treme Kids--(thank you Kim)
What kind of lame-o blogger doesn't post for 4 months? Someone who has never invited anyone to view her blog and forgot that she had one!!!! So, get this, I'm back and I'm going to send this out into the world and invite you to join me. I like to think of this all as a work in progress, and I got a great push in the right direction yesterday from my friend Kimberly. I called her to chat about life in general which generally evolves into chatting about our children and she said "You should blog this stuff". And I thought to myself "Yes, I really should." And then later in the day I thought "Holy flippin' organic cow patties, I have a blog." And so here we are. And in honor of Kim's nudge I will title today's entry as X-Treme Kids because I do have extremely extreme kids and the tales to tell are many. I know that all of you out there have some extreme tales of your own and I invite you to share them with us so that we aren't all so lonely in the insane-o masquerade as parents.
X-Treme things my kids did this morning:
The kindergartener, Maia, insisted on staying up at 5:50am when she realized that Mommy was no longer in her bed with her (that's right, I was previously in her bed with her). She then proceeded to wake up the two year old. WTF? Who does this? Why didn't she just go back to bed? And thus started our day.
Maia then proceeded to languish about breakfast, which is almost a ritual at our house:
Me: Maia, Nate is having french toast sticks. Do you want some?
Maia: What? (brain locked into tv)
Me: I am making french toast sticks for Nate. Do you want some?
Maia: What kind are they? Are they the waffle kind or the kind they make at the bagel factory? (Keep in mind that she knows full well which kind we have...the same freaking kind we had yesterday.)
Me: They are the waffle kind. We haven't had the bagel factory kind in months.
Maia: (Starts to whine and flop about on the couch aka drama.) I don't like that kind! I want the other kind, the cinnamon kind, that's the only kind I like. (flopping and whining continue)
Me: We don't have that kind. Would you rather have a banana chocolate chip muffin that Mimi made?
Maia: (Perks up.) Yeah, with some milk.
Me: OK (I go prepare the requested breakfasts.)
Two minutes later, before I can even present the children with their food:
Maia: I don't like those muffins, Mom.
Me: What? I just got it ready. I'm getting in the shower now.
Maia: (Freaks out) But now I want french toast sticks!
Me: (trying not to lose my mind) I'm sure if you ask your dad nicely he might get them for you, but I already made breakfast and now I'm getting in the shower.
Maia: (Follows me to the bathroom where dad is still in the shower) He's still in the shower! I thought you were getting in the shower! I want french toast sticks. (Rolling on the floor crying).
Me: Maia, you're not getting any breakfast from anyone until you stop acting like that.
Now, I ask you, what did I do to deserve this? This continued for a good 15 minutes this morning while Nate screamed at the dog in the living room to stay away from his own french toast sticks (with reason, cause she will totally steal any food left unattended for even a micro-second). Who can get ready for their day like this?
Here's my question: Does this happen at your house? I feel like we have the only kindergartener in town who consistently can't handle picking out her breakfast. Please share your own woes to soothe my ego.
I'll save the discussion about what to do with a 6 year old who "wiggles" by herself on her bed for another day. ;)
Laura
X-Treme things my kids did this morning:
The kindergartener, Maia, insisted on staying up at 5:50am when she realized that Mommy was no longer in her bed with her (that's right, I was previously in her bed with her). She then proceeded to wake up the two year old. WTF? Who does this? Why didn't she just go back to bed? And thus started our day.
Maia then proceeded to languish about breakfast, which is almost a ritual at our house:
Me: Maia, Nate is having french toast sticks. Do you want some?
Maia: What? (brain locked into tv)
Me: I am making french toast sticks for Nate. Do you want some?
Maia: What kind are they? Are they the waffle kind or the kind they make at the bagel factory? (Keep in mind that she knows full well which kind we have...the same freaking kind we had yesterday.)
Me: They are the waffle kind. We haven't had the bagel factory kind in months.
Maia: (Starts to whine and flop about on the couch aka drama.) I don't like that kind! I want the other kind, the cinnamon kind, that's the only kind I like. (flopping and whining continue)
Me: We don't have that kind. Would you rather have a banana chocolate chip muffin that Mimi made?
Maia: (Perks up.) Yeah, with some milk.
Me: OK (I go prepare the requested breakfasts.)
Two minutes later, before I can even present the children with their food:
Maia: I don't like those muffins, Mom.
Me: What? I just got it ready. I'm getting in the shower now.
Maia: (Freaks out) But now I want french toast sticks!
Me: (trying not to lose my mind) I'm sure if you ask your dad nicely he might get them for you, but I already made breakfast and now I'm getting in the shower.
Maia: (Follows me to the bathroom where dad is still in the shower) He's still in the shower! I thought you were getting in the shower! I want french toast sticks. (Rolling on the floor crying).
Me: Maia, you're not getting any breakfast from anyone until you stop acting like that.
Now, I ask you, what did I do to deserve this? This continued for a good 15 minutes this morning while Nate screamed at the dog in the living room to stay away from his own french toast sticks (with reason, cause she will totally steal any food left unattended for even a micro-second). Who can get ready for their day like this?
Here's my question: Does this happen at your house? I feel like we have the only kindergartener in town who consistently can't handle picking out her breakfast. Please share your own woes to soothe my ego.
I'll save the discussion about what to do with a 6 year old who "wiggles" by herself on her bed for another day. ;)
Laura
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