The Wonder of the Peanut

Call me Mother of the Year.

Peanut is entranced. And there was much amusement from his mother.

Mark this on the calendar, kids: the first snow flurries have arrived. It's a disgusting 40 degrees outside, and snow is hanging out on our deck, patio, and doing a fine job of sneaking into our pool. By the way, it's only disgusting because there was an outdoor play date scheduled for tomorrow that is so not going to happen now. Grrr. Anyway. So I look out the window and advise Peanut that it is, in fact, snowing. Then things got very cool around here.

Peanut, being small and full of wonder, immediately hauled preschooler butt to the nearest door to investigate, Mommy closely following. I may be a professional crank at times, but I still enjoy the peace of the first snow of the year. Until I have to drive in it.

"Mommy! It's snowing!!!"

"Yeah, Peanut, isn't it great?"

A pause, and then the fun starts.

A tiny voice asks, "Can we go skiing now?"

And Mommy is hard put to keep from laughing her head off.

Peanut accepts that skiing will not be happening for a few more months because there needs to be more snow. And we're skiing over his birthday, and we can't leave until his birthday. The snow quickly loses favor, and the trains win out.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying my son's wonder at this small beauty. And searching frantically for my cocoa recipe. Popcorn, cocoa, and snow. And happy Peanut. Life is good.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Follow the Peanut!

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's autumn, and therefore We Who Follow Peanut are accomplices in his last hurrah of outdoor mischief. Last week found Wonder Toddler at not one but two corn mazes. And there was much rejoicing.

This is probably better titled Why The Toddler Shouldn't Lead.

The corn mazes were delightful, mainly because the weather was spectacular both days. However, I confess I got a bigger kick out of seeing the mazes through Peanut's eyes. He was all excited about running away from Mommy and being in charge. For once, I listened to Boomer and let Peanut choose our course on the second maze. Good thing there was no set time on when the maze was closing; Peanut's not much of a directional guy, but he's very good at ordering his parents around. This time, he got away with it. And all was right in the Peanut-verse.

There were parts of the maze that were dead ends and Peanut was allowed to run unaccompanied. His first taste of freedom, and man, he was thrilled. It's good for him, and I know it. But he's refusing to hold my hand now, and that hurts a little. I'm glad of his confidence, but I miss him needing me already. I started laughing at myself, because seriously, if I'm like this now what on earth am I going to do when he REALLY breaks out his independent streak? Not sure yet, but I suspect crying and chocolate will be involved.

Meanwhile, I'm needed to kiss owies and play conductor. It's nice to still be needed, if only on a temporary basis.

Call me Mother of the Year.

No, Diego, NO!

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm not much into television. Sure, PBS Kids is a godsend when I decide I need a shower or housework is desperate, but I prefer coloring or trains when Peanut is unable to be outside. I'm starting to understand why.

There are a few shows that will never be allowed in this house. Some I've never been a fan of, but the rest I've discovered through trial and error.

Barney and Friends
Any form of Power Rangers
Most of Cartoon Network (except for Looney Tunes when he's a bit older-- classic!)
Go Diego Go

The problem with these is they get seriously annoying when repeated ad nauseam by the small voice of the Wonder Toddler. Plus, in the case of Diego, the kid turns into a major drama king. Whatever gave programmers the idea that making everything completely urgent for small children was a good one?

I thought that this would be good. Learning about animals, learning a second language, kindness and helping. In theory, it works. The practice is a bit skewed.

Due to the ferocity of Peanut's temper tantrums after a few days of Diego, it has been turned off forever. Interestingly, Peanut does not seem to miss his former obsession, and the the quotes have gone away. There's been more train playing, and a happier preschooler and Mommy. Good thing the only girl is me, and I won't watch Dora.

But for now, the trains are getting their cargo, my house is reasonably clean, and the television is off. Peace and quiet. For the next thirty seconds.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Them Lovable Losers

Call me Mother of the Year.

And now for something completely different!

October is one of my favorite months, strictly because I can watch football and baseball, sometimes on the same night. While Boomer and I are in firm agreement on which football team to root for (all about the Bears, kids, and Peanut will be brainwashed), baseball is another matter entirely.

I remain convinced that I'm still allowed in family gatherings because of my husband and son. Let me explain. Not that my family doesn't love me to distraction, but, well, they're Cubs fans. All of them. And I am not. So from April to October things tend to be a wee bit tense. To his eternal credit, Boomer refrains from my family's snarkfest because the Cubs tend to be less than trustworthy.

Now, however, I'm being ganged up on. My team stank so badly I'm still smelling it, my kid yells "Go Cubs!!" (and thank you Grampa Sarge) every time a sporting event comes on, and I figured it was time to cower. Until tonight.

Bottom of the sixth, game three, Cubs vs. Dodgers in L.A. And the Cubs are losing. Again.

Hee hee hee.

I'm fairly ignorant about the Cubbies, but I was under the impression (given to me by, oh, EVERYONE AROUND ME) that the Cubs had the best record in the National League. Not the division, the League. And so far, they're imploding. Reminds me of a line from the Steve Goodman classic "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Lament": "the doormat of the National League".

Granted, they could pull this off. But I doubt it. Maybe there's still time to show Peanut the error of his ways. After all, he's just repeating what he's hearing. Which reminds me to watch my mouth around him.

Or maybe I should just duck and cover and wait for the season to end. After all, there's always football. Now there's a comforting thought.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Part the Second

Call me Mother of the Year.

In reading yesterday's post, I realize that I elaborated more on the crankiness (mine) rather than the confusion (Peanut's). And his friends.

Peanut is still trying to understand why I took school away from him. Boomer has done his best, but the message is only being repeated back to him by a still befuddled toddler. I just don't have the words yet. Actually, in the interest of being completely honest, I don't have words that may hurt a small psyche. Right now, Boomer and I are working on the temper tantrums, the physicality of Peanut, and the all important potty training. We're having some small successes, and I'm encouraged by that.

Peanut, however, still wonders about his cohorts. One in particular. The other half of the Dastardly Duo was in Peanut's preschool class (still is). He was thoroughly down last week, and refused to talk about it to the teachers or his parents. Mommy Cohort told me that when he finally talked about what was wrong, he looked at his teachers and said "I'm sad because my friend Peanut isn't here anymore."

Ouch.

Don't worry, Partner-In-Crime. Peanut's bouncing back from this. As is his mother. He may be in a different class from now on, but the park is still your kingdom. And as long as the slides are available, Peanut will know the love of friends made and turns taken. Without shoving. Or not.

Call me Mother of the Year.