Call me Mother of the Year.
Tula is looking at me from her kick-and-wave groove on the floor and reminding me that babies get equal billing. And the last few blogs have centered on her big brother. She's right, and so I'm focusing on her today. There is much to tell.
First of all, we are quite the advanced baby. She is already picking her head up and, at ten weeks, perfecting the art of tummy time. She must be the only infant I've ever see to prefer being on her stomach to being on her back. Could this be a breech thing? Also, we're obsessed with kick and wave. It does make diaper changes interesting as the changing table is her favorite place to get her groove on. She has Boomer and Peanut firmly wrapped around her little finger. She's working on me, but since I perfected the art of wrapping Papa around my finger years ago, I think I'm immune to her powers. She is awfully cute though.
We went to her two-month checkup yesterday and I'm amazed the nurses and her doctor can still hear. For the record, Tula is ten pounds, thirteen ounces and 22 inches tall. Judging by the echo in the room after her shots, she also has a healthy set of lungs. And no volume control whatsoever. Like her mother. She survived, though, and so did I. I realize that the shots are necessary and the pain is both minor and temporary, but there's not much worse than watching your child look at you, eyes full of tears, and knowing that she trusts you to keep her from hurting. I may be immune to being wrapped around her finger, but there is nothing keeping me from that guilt trip.
However, life is good again. Tula is sharing the spotlight with Peanut, Mommy is here with them, and there is kick and wave- with Doggy Luke just out of reach. Ladies and gentlemen, we have contentment. For all of us.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Peanut Plus Technology Equals Trouble
Call me Mother of the Year.
I must be the only mommy who must hide both the laptop and the camera from the four-year-old. Peanut has discovered not only the joys of his Lightning McQueen laptop but also the fun of seeing himself through the webcam on my laptop. This is when I point out that Mommy's Laptop Is Not A Toy. We're still working on this.
Peanut, being an enterprising little soul, found that the webcam was not quite enough. He was playing with the mouse and discovered by accident how to make a movie. I'm not sure if he realizes what he's done, but the ensuing video of my small son making faces at the webcam is priceless. I wonder if I can save this for when he has children?
Peanut also has a mighty interest in cameras. He stopped dead in his tracks during the Halloween parade in an effort to see the pictures I was taking. I suppose then I shouldn't be surprised by the discovery of the pictures he took with my camera. I am, however, surprised by the quality of some of the shots.
So now I'm hiding the camera and carefully watching my son's activities around my computer. Who knows, though. I may have the next Ansel Adams here. Or Steven Spielberg. Either way, my retirement is set.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I must be the only mommy who must hide both the laptop and the camera from the four-year-old. Peanut has discovered not only the joys of his Lightning McQueen laptop but also the fun of seeing himself through the webcam on my laptop. This is when I point out that Mommy's Laptop Is Not A Toy. We're still working on this.
Peanut, being an enterprising little soul, found that the webcam was not quite enough. He was playing with the mouse and discovered by accident how to make a movie. I'm not sure if he realizes what he's done, but the ensuing video of my small son making faces at the webcam is priceless. I wonder if I can save this for when he has children?
Peanut also has a mighty interest in cameras. He stopped dead in his tracks during the Halloween parade in an effort to see the pictures I was taking. I suppose then I shouldn't be surprised by the discovery of the pictures he took with my camera. I am, however, surprised by the quality of some of the shots.
So now I'm hiding the camera and carefully watching my son's activities around my computer. Who knows, though. I may have the next Ansel Adams here. Or Steven Spielberg. Either way, my retirement is set.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Baby Is Not A Toy
Call me Mother of the Year.
Does anyone else have this problem? My four-year-old is convinced that I birthed a new plaything strictly for his entertainment.
After the Halloween sugar high, I was going for a mellow morning before preschool. And then I looked at Peanut's class snack calendar. Sure enough, today is Peanut's day to bring snack. Did I remember this as I got groceries on Friday? No, I did not. So I got Tula strapped into her car seat and the ensuing look of death, poured Peanut into his booster seat, and hurried off to the store to try and beat the school bus. I succeeded. Both kids behaved beautifully and Tula fell asleep. Much rejoicing.
When we got home, I set Tula and car seat on the floor as I figured she'd need to eat and there was no point in pulling her out until she woke up. Normally, this is within five minutes of leaving the car. She slept longer, which wasn't a problem. I came out to check on the kids, and found that Peanut had pulled Tula and car seat to the couch, pulled the sun shade over her, and had her blanket over her face. Tula slept through all of this. I had to explain to Peanut as the bus pulled into our driveway that we do not play with Tula as she sleeps in the car seat. Tula is not a toy. I hope the message got through, but I have my doubts.
I suppose I should be grateful- heaven knows Peanut will come up with more complicated ways than this to use his sister for amusement. I won't be able to take my eyes off him for a second. Never mind- already there. And now I need to remind Boomer that the only reason he's laughing is because it didn't happen to him. That'd be more effective if I'd quit laughing myself.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Does anyone else have this problem? My four-year-old is convinced that I birthed a new plaything strictly for his entertainment.
After the Halloween sugar high, I was going for a mellow morning before preschool. And then I looked at Peanut's class snack calendar. Sure enough, today is Peanut's day to bring snack. Did I remember this as I got groceries on Friday? No, I did not. So I got Tula strapped into her car seat and the ensuing look of death, poured Peanut into his booster seat, and hurried off to the store to try and beat the school bus. I succeeded. Both kids behaved beautifully and Tula fell asleep. Much rejoicing.
When we got home, I set Tula and car seat on the floor as I figured she'd need to eat and there was no point in pulling her out until she woke up. Normally, this is within five minutes of leaving the car. She slept longer, which wasn't a problem. I came out to check on the kids, and found that Peanut had pulled Tula and car seat to the couch, pulled the sun shade over her, and had her blanket over her face. Tula slept through all of this. I had to explain to Peanut as the bus pulled into our driveway that we do not play with Tula as she sleeps in the car seat. Tula is not a toy. I hope the message got through, but I have my doubts.
I suppose I should be grateful- heaven knows Peanut will come up with more complicated ways than this to use his sister for amusement. I won't be able to take my eyes off him for a second. Never mind- already there. And now I need to remind Boomer that the only reason he's laughing is because it didn't happen to him. That'd be more effective if I'd quit laughing myself.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Shrieks and Screams
Call me Mother of the Year.
I realize that Halloween is nearly here, which would therefore suggest my title. However, the shrieks and screams I'm referring to have nothing to do with ghosts and goblins and everything to do with a preschooler and a newborn. And a frustrated mommy.
There has got to be an easier way to do this. Where the heck did I put the children's owner's manual? I'm certain they came with one. Didn't they? No? Drat.
I'm currently trying to redo Peanut's task schedule. Every day, every task must be explained step by step as though he's never gotten dressed, brushed his teeth, etc. And when I wait for him to accomplish these tasks without verbal prompting, he stands there waiting. Because Peanut is a boy who needs routine, and the prompts are part of the routine. Mostly I understand this, but it's infuriating that I have to tell my brilliant son every single morning how to put on socks. He knows what he needs to do. He knows how to do what he needs to do. So why does he need me standing over him telling him how to do what he needs to do? A deep breath, a quick smile, and we're on for another day. And tonight, Peanut didn't have to be told to pick up his clothes. It's a start.
It should be noted that this is not made better with sleep deprivation. While Tula is a delight (as is Peanut when I'm not completely frustrated), she is still up in the night. And colicky. I really hate colic. I hate knowing my child hurts and there is nothing I can do to ease her pain. That's where Boomer comes in. He takes her, rocks her, walks with her and somehow breaks out Daddy Magic and gets her to sleep... all while telling me to freaking go to bed already because he's got this. Now I know why there's a two-parent system in this house.
This too shall pass. I will sleep more than three hours at a time. I will not have to repeat myself day after day. I will, however, still be on the lookout for that manual. I'm sure I've seen it. Somewhere.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I realize that Halloween is nearly here, which would therefore suggest my title. However, the shrieks and screams I'm referring to have nothing to do with ghosts and goblins and everything to do with a preschooler and a newborn. And a frustrated mommy.
There has got to be an easier way to do this. Where the heck did I put the children's owner's manual? I'm certain they came with one. Didn't they? No? Drat.
I'm currently trying to redo Peanut's task schedule. Every day, every task must be explained step by step as though he's never gotten dressed, brushed his teeth, etc. And when I wait for him to accomplish these tasks without verbal prompting, he stands there waiting. Because Peanut is a boy who needs routine, and the prompts are part of the routine. Mostly I understand this, but it's infuriating that I have to tell my brilliant son every single morning how to put on socks. He knows what he needs to do. He knows how to do what he needs to do. So why does he need me standing over him telling him how to do what he needs to do? A deep breath, a quick smile, and we're on for another day. And tonight, Peanut didn't have to be told to pick up his clothes. It's a start.
It should be noted that this is not made better with sleep deprivation. While Tula is a delight (as is Peanut when I'm not completely frustrated), she is still up in the night. And colicky. I really hate colic. I hate knowing my child hurts and there is nothing I can do to ease her pain. That's where Boomer comes in. He takes her, rocks her, walks with her and somehow breaks out Daddy Magic and gets her to sleep... all while telling me to freaking go to bed already because he's got this. Now I know why there's a two-parent system in this house.
This too shall pass. I will sleep more than three hours at a time. I will not have to repeat myself day after day. I will, however, still be on the lookout for that manual. I'm sure I've seen it. Somewhere.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Mutiny!
Call me Mother of the Year.
So Peanut is still completely enamored with his Tula. He begs to hold her every chance he gets, constantly talks about her and to her, and does his level best to hold her hand and shower her with stuffed animals. That's the good news.
The bad news is Peanut has a cold. And Boomer and I are desperately trying to keep it from Tula. We're also trying to explain this to Peanut. That's the bad news.
In our attemps (so far successful- fingers crossed!) to keep our faithful big brother from his adored little sister, I've been sequestered in my room while Peanut keeps his run of the house. The downside is Peanut gets less of my time and attention. This is bad. Really bad. For one thing, I miss hanging out with my son. For another, Peanut has been breaking out quite the attitude. I thought I had a few more years, but let's face it, this is my kid we're dealing with.
After a week straight of time outs, temper tantrums, and my going hoarse from yelling, Peanut and I finally had a meeting of the minds today. I realized that the issue was a lack of attention on my part, and he realized that I seriously do not like punishing my son. Tonight went better after I took a few deep breaths and he actually listened to me. For five whole seconds. Beggars cannot be choosers.
I'm taking comfort in the fact that as bad as this has been, at least Peanut never took his bad mood out on his little sister. This could have been so much worse. I can deal with bad moods (mostly) but if Peanut raged against Tula, I don't know how I'd cope.
Right now, though, I'm hoping the worst of this cold is over. I want to hang out with my son again. I want to revel in the joys of both of my children. I want the preschooler mutiny to end so I can finally remind Peanut that he is not in charge. Boomer and I are. Repeat as necessary. And, most importantly, let my son teach his little sister some of his tricks. Some, not all.
Call me Mother of the Year.
So Peanut is still completely enamored with his Tula. He begs to hold her every chance he gets, constantly talks about her and to her, and does his level best to hold her hand and shower her with stuffed animals. That's the good news.
The bad news is Peanut has a cold. And Boomer and I are desperately trying to keep it from Tula. We're also trying to explain this to Peanut. That's the bad news.
In our attemps (so far successful- fingers crossed!) to keep our faithful big brother from his adored little sister, I've been sequestered in my room while Peanut keeps his run of the house. The downside is Peanut gets less of my time and attention. This is bad. Really bad. For one thing, I miss hanging out with my son. For another, Peanut has been breaking out quite the attitude. I thought I had a few more years, but let's face it, this is my kid we're dealing with.
After a week straight of time outs, temper tantrums, and my going hoarse from yelling, Peanut and I finally had a meeting of the minds today. I realized that the issue was a lack of attention on my part, and he realized that I seriously do not like punishing my son. Tonight went better after I took a few deep breaths and he actually listened to me. For five whole seconds. Beggars cannot be choosers.
I'm taking comfort in the fact that as bad as this has been, at least Peanut never took his bad mood out on his little sister. This could have been so much worse. I can deal with bad moods (mostly) but if Peanut raged against Tula, I don't know how I'd cope.
Right now, though, I'm hoping the worst of this cold is over. I want to hang out with my son again. I want to revel in the joys of both of my children. I want the preschooler mutiny to end so I can finally remind Peanut that he is not in charge. Boomer and I are. Repeat as necessary. And, most importantly, let my son teach his little sister some of his tricks. Some, not all.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
It's A... Big Brother!
Call me Mother of the Year.
First of all, I must apologize to my loyal readers... all twelve of you. I have abandoned you in your need for sarcastic mommy moments. I'm truly sorry. And truly sleep-deprived.
There is a reason I haven't been writing. Peanut, Boomer and I would like to announce that Peanut is a very proud big brother! Tula came screaming into our lives at 1:11 in the afternoon on September 9. Yes, I know. 9/9/09. My midwife is still laughing. For the record, Tula is the Norwegian word for doll. It's appropriate because she is a little doll. Practically perfect in every way. Thus says the completely biased mommy.
Peanut is an amazing big brother. He loves talking about his Tula, trying to hold her all by himself (not happening), and showing her how to put shoes on and talk. We're still trying to grasp the concept that babies cannot talk, but so far that's the only sticking point. His entire preschool class celebrated with him- I suspect they were happier with the cookies I sent, but whatever. Plus, I now have the bonus of listening to my brilliant, empathetic son sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" as soon as he hears his sister crying. My heart melts every time. Cutest thing ever.
Make no mistake, I'll be writing more often. Let's face it, I have twice the kids to write about! Twice the love and pride in my kids! Twice the sarcasm! Let the ride continue!
Call me Mother of the Year.
First of all, I must apologize to my loyal readers... all twelve of you. I have abandoned you in your need for sarcastic mommy moments. I'm truly sorry. And truly sleep-deprived.
There is a reason I haven't been writing. Peanut, Boomer and I would like to announce that Peanut is a very proud big brother! Tula came screaming into our lives at 1:11 in the afternoon on September 9. Yes, I know. 9/9/09. My midwife is still laughing. For the record, Tula is the Norwegian word for doll. It's appropriate because she is a little doll. Practically perfect in every way. Thus says the completely biased mommy.
Peanut is an amazing big brother. He loves talking about his Tula, trying to hold her all by himself (not happening), and showing her how to put shoes on and talk. We're still trying to grasp the concept that babies cannot talk, but so far that's the only sticking point. His entire preschool class celebrated with him- I suspect they were happier with the cookies I sent, but whatever. Plus, I now have the bonus of listening to my brilliant, empathetic son sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" as soon as he hears his sister crying. My heart melts every time. Cutest thing ever.
Make no mistake, I'll be writing more often. Let's face it, I have twice the kids to write about! Twice the love and pride in my kids! Twice the sarcasm! Let the ride continue!
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Not Today
Call me Mother of the Year.
Or not. I'm not feeling like Mother of the Year. I'm feeling more like an exhausted scrap of motherhood who's been run over by a tantrum-throwing preschooler.
Today started at 5:00 a.m. because Peanut decided that he was done with this sleeping nonsense. It needs to be said that Boomer kept sending Peanut back to bed in an effort to stave off what would end up being 3:00 p.m. exhaustion. Being a child who knows what he wants when he wants it, Peanut refused to sleep.
The only good thing about this is there were no tantrums at school. I asked.
Suffice it to say that as soon as Peanut came home, the demands started. And the tantrums when the vast majority of said demands were refused. Thus the four time-outs. And the cancellation of the park playdate. No way was I inflicting a tired Peanut onto an unsuspecting public.
Make no mistake, tantrums aren't a new event around here. They had, however, taken a hiatus and I was happy for it. I know how to deal with them, but it's more difficult now that I'm a week away from a C section and trying to help Peanut understand the major changes his life will take.
For now, Peanut's over being angry with me. He's digging in his sandbox, and earlier we broke out stories. I'm remembering that while his behavior is my problem, it isn't my fault. More than likely, he's just exhausted. I'm seeing an early bedtime in his near future. Mine too, come to that.
And now that I have at least some of my mommy confidence back, you may use my title again.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Or not. I'm not feeling like Mother of the Year. I'm feeling more like an exhausted scrap of motherhood who's been run over by a tantrum-throwing preschooler.
Today started at 5:00 a.m. because Peanut decided that he was done with this sleeping nonsense. It needs to be said that Boomer kept sending Peanut back to bed in an effort to stave off what would end up being 3:00 p.m. exhaustion. Being a child who knows what he wants when he wants it, Peanut refused to sleep.
The only good thing about this is there were no tantrums at school. I asked.
Suffice it to say that as soon as Peanut came home, the demands started. And the tantrums when the vast majority of said demands were refused. Thus the four time-outs. And the cancellation of the park playdate. No way was I inflicting a tired Peanut onto an unsuspecting public.
Make no mistake, tantrums aren't a new event around here. They had, however, taken a hiatus and I was happy for it. I know how to deal with them, but it's more difficult now that I'm a week away from a C section and trying to help Peanut understand the major changes his life will take.
For now, Peanut's over being angry with me. He's digging in his sandbox, and earlier we broke out stories. I'm remembering that while his behavior is my problem, it isn't my fault. More than likely, he's just exhausted. I'm seeing an early bedtime in his near future. Mine too, come to that.
And now that I have at least some of my mommy confidence back, you may use my title again.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, August 24, 2009
All Grown Up... For Now
Call me Mother of the Year.
Today was the day Peanut and I have both been looking forward to- first day of school. More importantly, first day on the school bus. We were having our "thou shalt stay seated on the school bus" discussion when Peanut asked if I was riding the bus with him. The crunching sound you hear would be my heart. No, I explained that the bus was for big kids like himself. Thankfully, his driver let me get a picture of him on the bus. It was enough. And I hauled myself into the house before he saw me wipe a tear. Pregnancy hormones and big moments just do not mix well. Of course, he did just fine at school and on the bus, and his driver complimented me and him for his fine manners. Apparently he thanked the driver for taking him to school and for bringing him home. That's my boy. There were many hugs and a request for milk. And there was much rejoicing.
Later on, Boomer and I took Peanut along to my checkup. Peanut had a fine time charming my midwife and her nurse, and helping himself to suckers. The best was when he thanked her and asked if Mommy and Daddy could have suckers too. When his request was granted, he immediately handed them over to us. My kid is awesome.
Peanut has finally heard the baby... okay, he's heard the baby's heartbeat... and he's quite excited by this. He's also heard his heartbeat, Boomer's heartbeat, and was doing his level best to hear the midwife's before Boomer and I put a stop to his requests. It's been a full day for my baby- who isn't a baby anymore. Sooner I realize that, happier I'll be. For now, though, he's curled up with his head under the pillow, visions of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles no doubt bouncing through his dreams. And tomorrow is another day of adventure.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Today was the day Peanut and I have both been looking forward to- first day of school. More importantly, first day on the school bus. We were having our "thou shalt stay seated on the school bus" discussion when Peanut asked if I was riding the bus with him. The crunching sound you hear would be my heart. No, I explained that the bus was for big kids like himself. Thankfully, his driver let me get a picture of him on the bus. It was enough. And I hauled myself into the house before he saw me wipe a tear. Pregnancy hormones and big moments just do not mix well. Of course, he did just fine at school and on the bus, and his driver complimented me and him for his fine manners. Apparently he thanked the driver for taking him to school and for bringing him home. That's my boy. There were many hugs and a request for milk. And there was much rejoicing.
Later on, Boomer and I took Peanut along to my checkup. Peanut had a fine time charming my midwife and her nurse, and helping himself to suckers. The best was when he thanked her and asked if Mommy and Daddy could have suckers too. When his request was granted, he immediately handed them over to us. My kid is awesome.
Peanut has finally heard the baby... okay, he's heard the baby's heartbeat... and he's quite excited by this. He's also heard his heartbeat, Boomer's heartbeat, and was doing his level best to hear the midwife's before Boomer and I put a stop to his requests. It's been a full day for my baby- who isn't a baby anymore. Sooner I realize that, happier I'll be. For now, though, he's curled up with his head under the pillow, visions of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles no doubt bouncing through his dreams. And tomorrow is another day of adventure.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Brotherly Love
Call me Mother of the Year.
I'm having a lazy day today with Peanut due to the fact that preschool starts tomorrow. And I'm feeling lazy, but that's beside the point. We're making sure all supplies are properly marked and ready to go for tomorrow, but we're still taking time to hang out.
Peanut realizes that he no longer fits comfortably on my lap, so if I'm sitting or lying on the couch, it's hug time. The new favorite game is "Squeeze" (fairly self-explanatory) and the idea of Peanut and Papa. During the day, I'm the favorite target. And quite happy about it.
So this afternoon Peanut decides it's time to squeeze me. He comes flying at me and accidentally lands on my belly. Right on his unborn sibling's head. Figures. I explain that's not a good idea, and Peanut asks if he can feel the baby. I have no objection, and my favorite moment of the afternoon occurs.
Peanut leans in, and whispers to my stomach "Hi baby. It's me, Peanut. Don't be scared."
And my heart melts.
Was I really concerned about how Peanut would do with this big brother idea? Granted, it'll be a whole different ball game when the baby makes its appearance. For right now, though, smart money says my little man will make a terrific big brother.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I'm having a lazy day today with Peanut due to the fact that preschool starts tomorrow. And I'm feeling lazy, but that's beside the point. We're making sure all supplies are properly marked and ready to go for tomorrow, but we're still taking time to hang out.
Peanut realizes that he no longer fits comfortably on my lap, so if I'm sitting or lying on the couch, it's hug time. The new favorite game is "Squeeze" (fairly self-explanatory) and the idea of Peanut and Papa. During the day, I'm the favorite target. And quite happy about it.
So this afternoon Peanut decides it's time to squeeze me. He comes flying at me and accidentally lands on my belly. Right on his unborn sibling's head. Figures. I explain that's not a good idea, and Peanut asks if he can feel the baby. I have no objection, and my favorite moment of the afternoon occurs.
Peanut leans in, and whispers to my stomach "Hi baby. It's me, Peanut. Don't be scared."
And my heart melts.
Was I really concerned about how Peanut would do with this big brother idea? Granted, it'll be a whole different ball game when the baby makes its appearance. For right now, though, smart money says my little man will make a terrific big brother.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Time for Sleep
Call me Mother of the Year.
Today begat new adventures in the life of Peanut. Somewhere, surely, grandparents are laughing.
The day began at the obscene hour of 5:30 a.m. It's obscene because Baby the Second has a habit of kicking me awake (literally) at 4:00 a.m. For once, Peanut was not the first to herald the day. Doggy Luke received that dubious honor. Boomer got up to escort Doggy to his morning chase-the-rabbits-and-sniff-the-yard experience and was heard muttering "if you wake the kid I will kill you". No sooner than Doggy and Boomer come back to bed, Peanut decides to blast us awake at full volume. He stood in the middle of our room and bellowed "MORNING, MOM AND DAD!!" Sadly, he could not understand why we were less than amused by this. The greeting was followed by an hour's worth of "go back to sleep, Peanut; it's too early to be awake."
Boomer got his revenge later. After Peanut fell asleep in the car on the way home, he and Boomer both took naps this afternoon. Boomer came into Peanut's room and gently told him it was time to wake up. Peanut opened one eye, looked at Boomer, and stated the obvious:
"It's too early, Daddy. Go back to your room, and go to sleep."
And Boomer had to stifle his laughter. Peanut was eventually lured out of bed with the promise of his water table and sandbox (not necessarily in that order). A grand time was had by all. Hopefully, Peanut has learned why 5:30 is not an acceptable wake-up time. Somehow, I have my doubts.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Today begat new adventures in the life of Peanut. Somewhere, surely, grandparents are laughing.
The day began at the obscene hour of 5:30 a.m. It's obscene because Baby the Second has a habit of kicking me awake (literally) at 4:00 a.m. For once, Peanut was not the first to herald the day. Doggy Luke received that dubious honor. Boomer got up to escort Doggy to his morning chase-the-rabbits-and-sniff-the-yard experience and was heard muttering "if you wake the kid I will kill you". No sooner than Doggy and Boomer come back to bed, Peanut decides to blast us awake at full volume. He stood in the middle of our room and bellowed "MORNING, MOM AND DAD!!" Sadly, he could not understand why we were less than amused by this. The greeting was followed by an hour's worth of "go back to sleep, Peanut; it's too early to be awake."
Boomer got his revenge later. After Peanut fell asleep in the car on the way home, he and Boomer both took naps this afternoon. Boomer came into Peanut's room and gently told him it was time to wake up. Peanut opened one eye, looked at Boomer, and stated the obvious:
"It's too early, Daddy. Go back to your room, and go to sleep."
And Boomer had to stifle his laughter. Peanut was eventually lured out of bed with the promise of his water table and sandbox (not necessarily in that order). A grand time was had by all. Hopefully, Peanut has learned why 5:30 is not an acceptable wake-up time. Somehow, I have my doubts.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Peanut's Morning
Call me Mother of the Year.
This morning, as usual, Peanut came hauling into our room to bury himself on Boomer's side of the bed. I'm certain that he's the only one in the house who is happy Daddy gets up at the crack of dawn. His side is nice and warm still, and it's the perfect place for a small one to relax before fully waking up and wreak havoc.
Once a week, Peanut falls back asleep and stays in our bed until late (for him: 8:00 or 8:30 a.m.). This is that morning. I'm not objecting, because I know his energy needs recharging and, well, I get stuff done.
So laundry's in the washer waiting to go when Peanut arises, plans are made for today, and I have a good start on my work for the morning when I hear something from my room.
My child is laughing in his sleep.
And I stop in my mommy tracks to savor this moment.
There is nothing cooler than that. I like to think he's so secure that his dreams are happy and he sees nothing more than the joy of life. In reality, he's probably plotting all manner of mischief to run me ragged today. I'll take it. Because right now, all is quiet. My small son is laughing in his sleep. He just woke up, and has a smile for me. And all is right with my world.
Call me Mother of the Year.
This morning, as usual, Peanut came hauling into our room to bury himself on Boomer's side of the bed. I'm certain that he's the only one in the house who is happy Daddy gets up at the crack of dawn. His side is nice and warm still, and it's the perfect place for a small one to relax before fully waking up and wreak havoc.
Once a week, Peanut falls back asleep and stays in our bed until late (for him: 8:00 or 8:30 a.m.). This is that morning. I'm not objecting, because I know his energy needs recharging and, well, I get stuff done.
So laundry's in the washer waiting to go when Peanut arises, plans are made for today, and I have a good start on my work for the morning when I hear something from my room.
My child is laughing in his sleep.
And I stop in my mommy tracks to savor this moment.
There is nothing cooler than that. I like to think he's so secure that his dreams are happy and he sees nothing more than the joy of life. In reality, he's probably plotting all manner of mischief to run me ragged today. I'll take it. Because right now, all is quiet. My small son is laughing in his sleep. He just woke up, and has a smile for me. And all is right with my world.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Festivities
Call me Mother of the Year.
I feel as though I have pulled off the scam of the century. Complete with pregnancy-related exhaustion. And Peanut as my willing accomplice.
For the few who didn't know, Boomer turned 30 this week. He was quite proud of the way we celebrated my 30th last year, complete with Nana and Papa throwing a party for the family and Evil Twin and family coming to play. Boomer gloatingly told me that I wouldn't be able to do this for him as he has no siblings to fly home. This is true. Boomer is an only child. But I'm unable to throw my beloved a surprise party? And possibly top his surprise? Perish the thought!
My plan was set in motion last year. Figure out how to get Opa home for Boomer's birthday. Not surprisingly, Opa was all for this. And then came the inviting of the relatives, telling them to keep this quiet (again, not difficult; Boomer has mischievous relatives), and keeping my fool mouth shut around my husband. This proved to be the most difficult; I'm a rotten liar who prides herself on telling her husband everything. But I had a mission, and was determined not to fail.
So, on the date in mind, Boomer went off for a much-needed motorcycle ride and the family gathered. Boomer just stared at me when he came home to a yard full of people and I explained that, while he has no siblings to bring home, he does have a father. Who was going to the zoo with us in two days. Boomer was shocked; I was smug. And Peanut got to blow out candles and eat cake. A grand time was had by all.
The zoo was delightful. Peanut behaved beautifully, and was fascinated by the animals. His favorite, by far, was the raccoon exhibit at the Children's Zoo. Thankfully, he has not been able to imitate them. He was thrilled with the polar bear, imitated the monkeys, and did not want to leave the penguins. We found a carousel, and there was much rejoicing. Best of all, no temper tantrums.
All in all, it was a grand birthday. Or so I was told. And, as is my tradition:
Happy Birthday, Boomer. I love you. And you have (as I write this) two days until our anniversary.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I feel as though I have pulled off the scam of the century. Complete with pregnancy-related exhaustion. And Peanut as my willing accomplice.
For the few who didn't know, Boomer turned 30 this week. He was quite proud of the way we celebrated my 30th last year, complete with Nana and Papa throwing a party for the family and Evil Twin and family coming to play. Boomer gloatingly told me that I wouldn't be able to do this for him as he has no siblings to fly home. This is true. Boomer is an only child. But I'm unable to throw my beloved a surprise party? And possibly top his surprise? Perish the thought!
My plan was set in motion last year. Figure out how to get Opa home for Boomer's birthday. Not surprisingly, Opa was all for this. And then came the inviting of the relatives, telling them to keep this quiet (again, not difficult; Boomer has mischievous relatives), and keeping my fool mouth shut around my husband. This proved to be the most difficult; I'm a rotten liar who prides herself on telling her husband everything. But I had a mission, and was determined not to fail.
So, on the date in mind, Boomer went off for a much-needed motorcycle ride and the family gathered. Boomer just stared at me when he came home to a yard full of people and I explained that, while he has no siblings to bring home, he does have a father. Who was going to the zoo with us in two days. Boomer was shocked; I was smug. And Peanut got to blow out candles and eat cake. A grand time was had by all.
The zoo was delightful. Peanut behaved beautifully, and was fascinated by the animals. His favorite, by far, was the raccoon exhibit at the Children's Zoo. Thankfully, he has not been able to imitate them. He was thrilled with the polar bear, imitated the monkeys, and did not want to leave the penguins. We found a carousel, and there was much rejoicing. Best of all, no temper tantrums.
All in all, it was a grand birthday. Or so I was told. And, as is my tradition:
Happy Birthday, Boomer. I love you. And you have (as I write this) two days until our anniversary.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Circus of Life
Call me Mother of the Year.
Last week began Peanut's adventure in owning fish. Fish with remarkably short life spans. After Grammy finally stopped laughing, she pointed out that perhaps we should have gone with a small aquarium rather than a fishbowl. Boomer pointed out that if she really felt that way, she could buy it. I pointed out that I'm not terribly interested in multiple burials at sea. Luckily, that hasn't been my lot.
As predicted by Nana, fish death happened fairly quickly. I suspect this is due in no small part to carnival fish being sick anyway, but this was helped by fish getting fat in the water. I wasn't responsible for fish meals; blame the guys. Bait the Third, smallest of the fish, was the first to go. It lasted all of four days. Bait the First died after the Ritual Cleansing, which Peanut was more than happy to attempt "all by myself!" Suffice it to say he was the Official Helper to Daddy. Bait the Second was the last, hanging on for over a week. I'm sure he died of a broken heart and overfull stomach.
The only good thing about this is that Peanut was asleep all three times death was discovered. Good thing Boomer gets up before the crack of dawn. At least we were spared the bathroom funeral; after all the time we've spent on potty training, I don't want to think about Peanut's objections against using that toilet again. Instead, we had the respectful Ziplock in garbage can option. Our trash guy is going to love us this week.
The funny thing is, Peanut is seemingly unconcerned. He's wondering if the fish swam away, or (my favorite) they somehow got out of the bowl. If he asks for more fish, I'm certain grandparents will be happy to fund this project. Otherwise, I'm good letting the fishbowl go empty for now.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Last week began Peanut's adventure in owning fish. Fish with remarkably short life spans. After Grammy finally stopped laughing, she pointed out that perhaps we should have gone with a small aquarium rather than a fishbowl. Boomer pointed out that if she really felt that way, she could buy it. I pointed out that I'm not terribly interested in multiple burials at sea. Luckily, that hasn't been my lot.
As predicted by Nana, fish death happened fairly quickly. I suspect this is due in no small part to carnival fish being sick anyway, but this was helped by fish getting fat in the water. I wasn't responsible for fish meals; blame the guys. Bait the Third, smallest of the fish, was the first to go. It lasted all of four days. Bait the First died after the Ritual Cleansing, which Peanut was more than happy to attempt "all by myself!" Suffice it to say he was the Official Helper to Daddy. Bait the Second was the last, hanging on for over a week. I'm sure he died of a broken heart and overfull stomach.
The only good thing about this is that Peanut was asleep all three times death was discovered. Good thing Boomer gets up before the crack of dawn. At least we were spared the bathroom funeral; after all the time we've spent on potty training, I don't want to think about Peanut's objections against using that toilet again. Instead, we had the respectful Ziplock in garbage can option. Our trash guy is going to love us this week.
The funny thing is, Peanut is seemingly unconcerned. He's wondering if the fish swam away, or (my favorite) they somehow got out of the bowl. If he asks for more fish, I'm certain grandparents will be happy to fund this project. Otherwise, I'm good letting the fishbowl go empty for now.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
New Pets
Call me Mother of the Year.
It's been a good weekend. We relaxed with the family, celebrated soon-to-be-born life (not my baby, BFF's), and learned that Nana is a sucker for her grandson. Or I'm the sucker. I'll let you decide.
Yesterday being the Fourth of July, Boomer and I decided it was our patriotic duty to barbeque. Being of mischievous minds, we invited Nana and Papa over. The icing on the proverbial cake was the hometown mini-festival. Add one Peanut, and watch what happens.
It rained. All freaking day. And Peanut celebrated by waking up at 5:00 a.m. Figures.
So after our hour-long "go back to sleep, Peanut; it's too early to wake up" discussion, Boy Wonder finally crashes in our bed until 9:00. The rain eased to a drizzle long enough for Boomer to grill, and we finally decide after a futile attempt at a nap to hit the festival. Which was right about when the it started raining harder. And nearly everything was packed up. Except the fish game.
A friend whom I've not seen in a couple of months was there and I fell into conversation with her. Peanut found the fling a ping-pong ball into a small bowl with fish booth and pulled Nana toward it. The kid was on a mission: win fish. Nana was on a mission: spoil grandchild. I need to be on a mission: quit trusting Nana.
Sure enough, Peanut came scampering over, clutching a take-out container holding his three new pets: Bait One, Bait Two, and Bait Three. My friend started chuckling at the look on my face. For the record, we did not have a fishbowl in our house. Note past tense. I was to find out that Peanut's first two attempts to fling and win were unsuccessful, and Nana, in an effort to be helpful, guided Peanut to victory. Literally. Her hand was on his when the ball landed in the water. She claims she couldn't say no. I claim she had no problem with that word when I was growing up, and I have no problem with it now. Apparently, my child is used against me for payback. Figures.
So now we are the proud owners of three goldfish and one bowl, courtesy of the Grandparents Who Can't Say No. And now Papa is talking about a hermit crab.
Call me Mother of the Year.
It's been a good weekend. We relaxed with the family, celebrated soon-to-be-born life (not my baby, BFF's), and learned that Nana is a sucker for her grandson. Or I'm the sucker. I'll let you decide.
Yesterday being the Fourth of July, Boomer and I decided it was our patriotic duty to barbeque. Being of mischievous minds, we invited Nana and Papa over. The icing on the proverbial cake was the hometown mini-festival. Add one Peanut, and watch what happens.
It rained. All freaking day. And Peanut celebrated by waking up at 5:00 a.m. Figures.
So after our hour-long "go back to sleep, Peanut; it's too early to wake up" discussion, Boy Wonder finally crashes in our bed until 9:00. The rain eased to a drizzle long enough for Boomer to grill, and we finally decide after a futile attempt at a nap to hit the festival. Which was right about when the it started raining harder. And nearly everything was packed up. Except the fish game.
A friend whom I've not seen in a couple of months was there and I fell into conversation with her. Peanut found the fling a ping-pong ball into a small bowl with fish booth and pulled Nana toward it. The kid was on a mission: win fish. Nana was on a mission: spoil grandchild. I need to be on a mission: quit trusting Nana.
Sure enough, Peanut came scampering over, clutching a take-out container holding his three new pets: Bait One, Bait Two, and Bait Three. My friend started chuckling at the look on my face. For the record, we did not have a fishbowl in our house. Note past tense. I was to find out that Peanut's first two attempts to fling and win were unsuccessful, and Nana, in an effort to be helpful, guided Peanut to victory. Literally. Her hand was on his when the ball landed in the water. She claims she couldn't say no. I claim she had no problem with that word when I was growing up, and I have no problem with it now. Apparently, my child is used against me for payback. Figures.
So now we are the proud owners of three goldfish and one bowl, courtesy of the Grandparents Who Can't Say No. And now Papa is talking about a hermit crab.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Unintentional Lying
Call me Mother of the Year.
I'm confused. Granted, this isn't an uncommon emotion, but I find myself in need of more experienced mommies. My son has caused a parenting conundrum that I've no idea how to get through.
Like many of his age, Peanut has a literal mind and a small short-term memory. Thus, whatever is happening at this second is the truth and the actions of two seconds ago is ancient history. Case in point: Peanut knows that he is to avoid roaring at the top of his voice in close proximity to friends' ears. He tells me this rule as we head to the park. After thirty minutes, this rule goes out of his head.
Me: "Peanut, why are you roaring?" (Dumbest question of motherhood, but must be asked. It's in the rule book.)
Peanut: (Looking wounded) "Because I'm not!"
The entire park heard my kid. Yet, because he stopped when I outshouted him, the roaring never happened.
Therein lies my dilemma. How does one teach a four-year-old why lying is bad when said four-year-old has no concept of truth?
Boomer and I are still figuring this one out, and I'll keep you updated. Meanwhile, I'm off to explain to Peanut why "because" is not a reason and referring to the baby as "The Thing", while funny, isn't a good habit to be in. Wish me luck.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I'm confused. Granted, this isn't an uncommon emotion, but I find myself in need of more experienced mommies. My son has caused a parenting conundrum that I've no idea how to get through.
Like many of his age, Peanut has a literal mind and a small short-term memory. Thus, whatever is happening at this second is the truth and the actions of two seconds ago is ancient history. Case in point: Peanut knows that he is to avoid roaring at the top of his voice in close proximity to friends' ears. He tells me this rule as we head to the park. After thirty minutes, this rule goes out of his head.
Me: "Peanut, why are you roaring?" (Dumbest question of motherhood, but must be asked. It's in the rule book.)
Peanut: (Looking wounded) "Because I'm not!"
The entire park heard my kid. Yet, because he stopped when I outshouted him, the roaring never happened.
Therein lies my dilemma. How does one teach a four-year-old why lying is bad when said four-year-old has no concept of truth?
Boomer and I are still figuring this one out, and I'll keep you updated. Meanwhile, I'm off to explain to Peanut why "because" is not a reason and referring to the baby as "The Thing", while funny, isn't a good habit to be in. Wish me luck.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Peanut Grows Up (And So Does Mommy)
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the weekend for Boy Wonder. On Saturday, we went to a local festival and decided that we did not need to be the only gluttons for punishment. So all the grandparents came along. And there was much rejoicing. Peanut discovered the carnival, complete with rides his size. And there was even more rejoicing.
Peanut blew through a roller coaster (at least twice), airplanes, motorcycles, a "giant slide" (keep in mind, we're dealing with preschoolers here), a merry-go-round, and racecars before finally allowing himself lunch. Thus fortified, he went for the motherload: the Ferris Wheel. And Boomer, who was his companion on this adventure. I was happy to allow this, considering I have both a medical condition (pregnancy) and a phobia (fear of heights) that does not let me do well with these things.
Peanut was quite happy to hang out with Daddy while in line, and then clutched Boomer for dear life once he realized just how high this thing was going. He survived, and so did I.
Today was another delightful experience. Mommy Cohorts gather for lunch and water slides. And Peanut behaved beautifully. No temper tantrums, only one warning, and one minor fuss when it was time to leave. Great job from Boy Wonder.
It hit me on the way home that my hypervigilance is no longer necessary. Peanut gets what good behavior means. My habits die hard, however, because I still smart at the looks and comments I dealt with before his transformation. So now it's time for a new change: mine. My kid needs all the credit I can give him, and it's time to start.
So now we're hanging out, bonding over vanilla Oreos, air conditioning, and PBS Kids.
It's a great day here, and I'm basking in our mutual non-frustration.
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the weekend for Boy Wonder. On Saturday, we went to a local festival and decided that we did not need to be the only gluttons for punishment. So all the grandparents came along. And there was much rejoicing. Peanut discovered the carnival, complete with rides his size. And there was even more rejoicing.
Peanut blew through a roller coaster (at least twice), airplanes, motorcycles, a "giant slide" (keep in mind, we're dealing with preschoolers here), a merry-go-round, and racecars before finally allowing himself lunch. Thus fortified, he went for the motherload: the Ferris Wheel. And Boomer, who was his companion on this adventure. I was happy to allow this, considering I have both a medical condition (pregnancy) and a phobia (fear of heights) that does not let me do well with these things.
Peanut was quite happy to hang out with Daddy while in line, and then clutched Boomer for dear life once he realized just how high this thing was going. He survived, and so did I.
Today was another delightful experience. Mommy Cohorts gather for lunch and water slides. And Peanut behaved beautifully. No temper tantrums, only one warning, and one minor fuss when it was time to leave. Great job from Boy Wonder.
It hit me on the way home that my hypervigilance is no longer necessary. Peanut gets what good behavior means. My habits die hard, however, because I still smart at the looks and comments I dealt with before his transformation. So now it's time for a new change: mine. My kid needs all the credit I can give him, and it's time to start.
So now we're hanging out, bonding over vanilla Oreos, air conditioning, and PBS Kids.
It's a great day here, and I'm basking in our mutual non-frustration.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
When Daddy Laughs
Call me Mother of the Year.
To the amusement of most of my cohorts, I'm finally showing that yes, thank you, I'm pregnant. It's become a bit more obvious because every time I sit down and relax, one can see my stomach moving with the baby. Kinda like Alien on speed. My guys are fascinated by this, which makes my day. Peanut's still a bit confused, but we're working on that.
Last night, Boomer and I were hanging out lamenting over the Cubs/Sox rainout, and the baby started getting its groove on. This invariably happens when I'm feeling like sleep is a good idea. Mommy doesn't need sleep, I need to party! Payback will be swift in the teenage years. So Boomer, being an excited daddy, reaches for my belly.
Boomer: "Holy crap! Your stomach is vibrating!"
Me: "Yeah, this is pretty normal."
Boomer: "I sired the Tasmanian Devil!"
Me: "Duh. How else do you explain Peanut?"
Boomer: Uncontrollable laughter. I'm amazed Peanut slept through it.
At this point, I have no clue if it's a boy or a girl. And I still don't care. Based on the movement, I'd say boy. Based on gestational size, girl. Flip a coin, kids.
In the meantime, Boy Wonder is requiring a bike ride. It's finally decent! And there was much rejoicing.
Call me Mother of the Year.
To the amusement of most of my cohorts, I'm finally showing that yes, thank you, I'm pregnant. It's become a bit more obvious because every time I sit down and relax, one can see my stomach moving with the baby. Kinda like Alien on speed. My guys are fascinated by this, which makes my day. Peanut's still a bit confused, but we're working on that.
Last night, Boomer and I were hanging out lamenting over the Cubs/Sox rainout, and the baby started getting its groove on. This invariably happens when I'm feeling like sleep is a good idea. Mommy doesn't need sleep, I need to party! Payback will be swift in the teenage years. So Boomer, being an excited daddy, reaches for my belly.
Boomer: "Holy crap! Your stomach is vibrating!"
Me: "Yeah, this is pretty normal."
Boomer: "I sired the Tasmanian Devil!"
Me: "Duh. How else do you explain Peanut?"
Boomer: Uncontrollable laughter. I'm amazed Peanut slept through it.
At this point, I have no clue if it's a boy or a girl. And I still don't care. Based on the movement, I'd say boy. Based on gestational size, girl. Flip a coin, kids.
In the meantime, Boy Wonder is requiring a bike ride. It's finally decent! And there was much rejoicing.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Confusion
Call me Mother of the Year.
So far, the first couple of weeks of summer have gone well. Compared to this time last year, there is a distinct lack of temper tantrums and hitting. There is also a major disdain of Pull-Ups. Long may both of these last. We've been investigating new strawberries (once again, Peanut is chief Tester of Yumminess), riding our big boy bike, and attacking crayons.
I'm noticing a new questioning bent in my small son. "Why?" and "But Mommy" are heard rather frequently these days. No subject is safe, but one is particularly interesting and funny.
My belly is moving. And try as I might, I cannot explain this sufficently to Peanut.
Peanut (and his preschool teacher, family and various strangers) is aware that he is about to be a big brother. He has a standing invitation to feel the baby moving, and I've tried to talk about how the baby is growing without completely confusing or scarring my son. Right now, Peanut has one concern.
"But Mommy, I can't HEAR the baby!"
Now I'm confused. Hear the baby? Why are we concerned with that? If this one is anything like it's mother, I guarantee hearing the baby will be the least of my concerns. Then I put myself in my four-year-old's shoes. The babies Peanut hangs out with now are, well, outside of their mommies' tummies. You can touch them, see them, hear them. Peanut can do none of these things yet, and is perceptive enough to be worried.
My son is brilliant.
So I'm doing my level best to explain to Peanut that while we can't hear the baby now, we will in a few months. Meanwhile, we can tell the baby we love it. And feel it beating the daylights out of Mommy's insides. If this doesn't work, I'm calling for backup. Maybe Boomer has some ideas.
Call me Mother of the Year.
So far, the first couple of weeks of summer have gone well. Compared to this time last year, there is a distinct lack of temper tantrums and hitting. There is also a major disdain of Pull-Ups. Long may both of these last. We've been investigating new strawberries (once again, Peanut is chief Tester of Yumminess), riding our big boy bike, and attacking crayons.
I'm noticing a new questioning bent in my small son. "Why?" and "But Mommy" are heard rather frequently these days. No subject is safe, but one is particularly interesting and funny.
My belly is moving. And try as I might, I cannot explain this sufficently to Peanut.
Peanut (and his preschool teacher, family and various strangers) is aware that he is about to be a big brother. He has a standing invitation to feel the baby moving, and I've tried to talk about how the baby is growing without completely confusing or scarring my son. Right now, Peanut has one concern.
"But Mommy, I can't HEAR the baby!"
Now I'm confused. Hear the baby? Why are we concerned with that? If this one is anything like it's mother, I guarantee hearing the baby will be the least of my concerns. Then I put myself in my four-year-old's shoes. The babies Peanut hangs out with now are, well, outside of their mommies' tummies. You can touch them, see them, hear them. Peanut can do none of these things yet, and is perceptive enough to be worried.
My son is brilliant.
So I'm doing my level best to explain to Peanut that while we can't hear the baby now, we will in a few months. Meanwhile, we can tell the baby we love it. And feel it beating the daylights out of Mommy's insides. If this doesn't work, I'm calling for backup. Maybe Boomer has some ideas.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Bikes and Dentists and Fun Fairs, Oh My!
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the week for Peanut. Last Saturday, he became the proud owner of his first "big boy" bike... complete with training wheels, bike helmet, and elbow and knee pads. Mommy may be foolish, but not completely stupid. Peanut has had a fine time figuring out just how fast he can go and how long he can make the skid marks when he stops. He is his father's child.
On Thursday, we had Boy Wonder Goes to the Dentist. I realize that there are children (and let's face it, adults) who dread this. Considering our dentist is the father of the other half of the Dastardly Duo, it's not a problem. Getting Peanut to quit the doughboys that our dentist taught him (thanks!) has been more difficult, but I'm not complaining as Boy Wonder had no cavities. And there was much rejoicing.
Then came Friday. As we pulled into school, Peanut saw not one but two jump castles. Best day ever. Beloved Teacher explained that he had 11 minutes in the jumpy and let me know that Peanut's sacred schedule was shot for the day. Would there be any problems?
There would not. Peanut came home tired and happy with his bag full of prizes. We are still hearing about how much fun he had. On to this week: The Last Day of School. How will I survive? Only time will tell.
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the week for Peanut. Last Saturday, he became the proud owner of his first "big boy" bike... complete with training wheels, bike helmet, and elbow and knee pads. Mommy may be foolish, but not completely stupid. Peanut has had a fine time figuring out just how fast he can go and how long he can make the skid marks when he stops. He is his father's child.
On Thursday, we had Boy Wonder Goes to the Dentist. I realize that there are children (and let's face it, adults) who dread this. Considering our dentist is the father of the other half of the Dastardly Duo, it's not a problem. Getting Peanut to quit the doughboys that our dentist taught him (thanks!) has been more difficult, but I'm not complaining as Boy Wonder had no cavities. And there was much rejoicing.
Then came Friday. As we pulled into school, Peanut saw not one but two jump castles. Best day ever. Beloved Teacher explained that he had 11 minutes in the jumpy and let me know that Peanut's sacred schedule was shot for the day. Would there be any problems?
There would not. Peanut came home tired and happy with his bag full of prizes. We are still hearing about how much fun he had. On to this week: The Last Day of School. How will I survive? Only time will tell.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Solutions
Call me Mother of the Year.
Like many of the four-year-old set, Peanut has a mighty fear of loud noises. Particularly train whistles that sound in the middle of the night and thunder. It should be noted that Doggy Luke shares these fears, so nighttime and thunderstorms can be fairly interesting. If you're not me.
Peanut, to Boomer's and my dismay, has an alarming habit of showing up in our room multiple times between 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning, pointing out his fears and requesting our assistance in going back to bed. Preferably our bed. This won't work for a couple reasons. First, Boomer is not the smallest man in the universe and has a habit of taking over an entire queen-size bed. Second, Peanut is his father's son, with the added bonus of kicking all and sundry in his sleep. We've come up with a compromise: Peanut can come to our doorway, state his fear, and go back to bed, and Boomer and I can go to sleep in peace. In the event that we don't hear him, Peanut makes a nest of throw pillows and crashes until one of us realizes what he's up to.
Today being full of thunderstorms, both Peanut and Doggy Luke have been concerned. Okay, Peanut's concerned and Doggy is scared out of his mind. So they're both cowering around me. Peanut's on my lap, and Doggy Luke is trying to fit there too. Not happening. I tell Peanut that thunder, like train whistles, is just a noise that can't hurt him. Peanut's solution: "well, we can just share the fruit!" And we're off to the next subject. And then Boomer came home. And all is well.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Like many of the four-year-old set, Peanut has a mighty fear of loud noises. Particularly train whistles that sound in the middle of the night and thunder. It should be noted that Doggy Luke shares these fears, so nighttime and thunderstorms can be fairly interesting. If you're not me.
Peanut, to Boomer's and my dismay, has an alarming habit of showing up in our room multiple times between 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning, pointing out his fears and requesting our assistance in going back to bed. Preferably our bed. This won't work for a couple reasons. First, Boomer is not the smallest man in the universe and has a habit of taking over an entire queen-size bed. Second, Peanut is his father's son, with the added bonus of kicking all and sundry in his sleep. We've come up with a compromise: Peanut can come to our doorway, state his fear, and go back to bed, and Boomer and I can go to sleep in peace. In the event that we don't hear him, Peanut makes a nest of throw pillows and crashes until one of us realizes what he's up to.
Today being full of thunderstorms, both Peanut and Doggy Luke have been concerned. Okay, Peanut's concerned and Doggy is scared out of his mind. So they're both cowering around me. Peanut's on my lap, and Doggy Luke is trying to fit there too. Not happening. I tell Peanut that thunder, like train whistles, is just a noise that can't hurt him. Peanut's solution: "well, we can just share the fruit!" And we're off to the next subject. And then Boomer came home. And all is well.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Artful Dodger
Call me Mother of the Year.
I have come to the conclusion that baking can be hazardous to my mental health.
Allow me to explain. On Saturday, I was busily baking for our church's fellowship hour and Peanut was doing his level best to "help". Sadly for me, his idea of helping involved helping himself to the goodies. This was discouraged, and he moved outside. Yesterday, I was baking again to thank his teacher and aids because, well, they deserve goodies. They just do. And it's Teacher Appreciation Week.
So Peanut came home from school to a house smelling delightfully of lemon bars. And knowing that Mommy had peanut butter cookies somewhere. And deciding he was hungry. Having been thwarted in his attempts for a fourth snack in under an hour, he was ready to take matters in his own hands.
As I was getting ready for our Big Wheels ride/power walking experience, I noticed that Peanut's mouth was moving. Actually, he was chewing.
You guessed it. The kid had figured out how to get into the cookies.
So after the ensuing cancel-bike-ride-and-time-out-for-temper-tantrum episode, I explain this to Boomer... who snarfs the remaining lemon bars when Peanut's back is turned. And thus gets to deal with Peanut's disappointment. Boomer was properly remorseful, and I now refer to him as Father of the Year.
So now I'm up to baking again to console both my guys: The Artful Dodger and the Artful Codger.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I have come to the conclusion that baking can be hazardous to my mental health.
Allow me to explain. On Saturday, I was busily baking for our church's fellowship hour and Peanut was doing his level best to "help". Sadly for me, his idea of helping involved helping himself to the goodies. This was discouraged, and he moved outside. Yesterday, I was baking again to thank his teacher and aids because, well, they deserve goodies. They just do. And it's Teacher Appreciation Week.
So Peanut came home from school to a house smelling delightfully of lemon bars. And knowing that Mommy had peanut butter cookies somewhere. And deciding he was hungry. Having been thwarted in his attempts for a fourth snack in under an hour, he was ready to take matters in his own hands.
As I was getting ready for our Big Wheels ride/power walking experience, I noticed that Peanut's mouth was moving. Actually, he was chewing.
You guessed it. The kid had figured out how to get into the cookies.
So after the ensuing cancel-bike-ride-and-time-out-for-temper-tantrum episode, I explain this to Boomer... who snarfs the remaining lemon bars when Peanut's back is turned. And thus gets to deal with Peanut's disappointment. Boomer was properly remorseful, and I now refer to him as Father of the Year.
So now I'm up to baking again to console both my guys: The Artful Dodger and the Artful Codger.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I Am That Mother
Call me Mother of the Year.
I've been contemplating this for awhile now, and I'm still not sure I should write it. But I've been asked how things are going, and this is the best way I can describe my thoughts and feelings.
I AM THAT MOTHER
- who deals with temper tantrums in public.
- who endures your stares and comments rather than let my son see that you sit in judgement of his lack of control.
- who leaves every playdate early because my son is overstimulated.
- who cannot understand my son's lack of self-control.
- who cries with the knowledge that whatever I do is never enough.
- who fights with insecurity on a daily basis.
I AM THAT MOTHER
- who's husband supports me every day.
- who wakes up every morning to my son's hugs and kisses.
- who is grateful beyond words to family, friends, and Peanut's teacher.
- who knows this is but one step of a worthwhile journey.
- who sees my son's brilliance every day.
- who is finding my voice as my son's advocate.
- who will never give up on my son.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I've been contemplating this for awhile now, and I'm still not sure I should write it. But I've been asked how things are going, and this is the best way I can describe my thoughts and feelings.
I AM THAT MOTHER
- who deals with temper tantrums in public.
- who endures your stares and comments rather than let my son see that you sit in judgement of his lack of control.
- who leaves every playdate early because my son is overstimulated.
- who cannot understand my son's lack of self-control.
- who cries with the knowledge that whatever I do is never enough.
- who fights with insecurity on a daily basis.
I AM THAT MOTHER
- who's husband supports me every day.
- who wakes up every morning to my son's hugs and kisses.
- who is grateful beyond words to family, friends, and Peanut's teacher.
- who knows this is but one step of a worthwhile journey.
- who sees my son's brilliance every day.
- who is finding my voice as my son's advocate.
- who will never give up on my son.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Pros and Cons of Motherhood
Call me Mother of the Year.
After going to the doctor for a checkup last night (all is well, no worries) and discussing parenthood with my doctor, I realized that in no other time of my life has the good been so completely mixed with the annoying. I tried to point this out to Boomer, and, since I am much better with writing than speaking this, a blog was born.
PRO: Watching Peanut attack Easter Baskets. This was deeply entertaining for Boomer and I. Peanut's teacher suggested a game of hot & cold as we hid baskets, and Peanut loved this. We were laughing at my small son's joy, and a great time was had here. Plus, Peanut had the added joy of STUFF. New STUFF. And small amounts of candy. My thanks to various grandparents who took pity on me and left the sugar out of Easter.
CON: Easter grass. Seriously, who came up with this pile of nonsense? I noticed that those who have young children left this out of Peanut's basket, and I'm grateful. Those who didn't are forcing me to wonder what I did that was so heinous that caused them to think, "hmmm, she deserves to have wisps of brightly colored plastic strewn all over her house"? Granted, the dog looks much prettier with it in his paws, but he's a bit perturbed with his new look. As am I. I've been sweeping for two hours and I'm still finding this mess all over my house. My payback will be swift next year.
The best part of Easter was watching Boy Wonder attack the Easter egg hunt... and having Boomer take Peanut for this adventure. I got to relax with family and enjoy a few moments of quiet. Until Peanut came barreling in with his haul. I hope your Easter was as enjoyable as mine. Pros and cons mixed together.
Call me Mother of the Year.
After going to the doctor for a checkup last night (all is well, no worries) and discussing parenthood with my doctor, I realized that in no other time of my life has the good been so completely mixed with the annoying. I tried to point this out to Boomer, and, since I am much better with writing than speaking this, a blog was born.
PRO: Watching Peanut attack Easter Baskets. This was deeply entertaining for Boomer and I. Peanut's teacher suggested a game of hot & cold as we hid baskets, and Peanut loved this. We were laughing at my small son's joy, and a great time was had here. Plus, Peanut had the added joy of STUFF. New STUFF. And small amounts of candy. My thanks to various grandparents who took pity on me and left the sugar out of Easter.
CON: Easter grass. Seriously, who came up with this pile of nonsense? I noticed that those who have young children left this out of Peanut's basket, and I'm grateful. Those who didn't are forcing me to wonder what I did that was so heinous that caused them to think, "hmmm, she deserves to have wisps of brightly colored plastic strewn all over her house"? Granted, the dog looks much prettier with it in his paws, but he's a bit perturbed with his new look. As am I. I've been sweeping for two hours and I'm still finding this mess all over my house. My payback will be swift next year.
The best part of Easter was watching Boy Wonder attack the Easter egg hunt... and having Boomer take Peanut for this adventure. I got to relax with family and enjoy a few moments of quiet. Until Peanut came barreling in with his haul. I hope your Easter was as enjoyable as mine. Pros and cons mixed together.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Next Step
Call me Mother of the Year.
At the end of a week that looks suspiciously like the roller coasters I'm doing my best to avoid, we finally have some good news. Peanut behaved wonderfully for his teachers today- no temper tantrums, no hitting, no time outs. And we've had a call from a specialist regarding Boy Wonder's Asperger treatment.
Those who know me by a different name know that I haven't had the best experience with doctors thus far. In fact, I ended up (politely, thank you) pointing out one psychologist's lack of communication to the point that she drove fifty miles out of her way to make things up to me. Therefore, I wasn't surprised to make calls yesterday and get a wrong department, hung up on, and finally, the right person's voice mail. I was, however, shocked to receive a call today from the doctor requesting my time for intake and getting Peanut set up for further evaluation. After only one day. I'm kind of in shock here. Kind of.
So I've been given a date and time to be at my phone and have Peanut otherwise occupied. Shouldn't be a problem. I know mostly what's going to be asked, and we can go from there. I'm rejoicing. And bundling up, because with good behavior comes a bike ride.
Call me Mother of the Year.
At the end of a week that looks suspiciously like the roller coasters I'm doing my best to avoid, we finally have some good news. Peanut behaved wonderfully for his teachers today- no temper tantrums, no hitting, no time outs. And we've had a call from a specialist regarding Boy Wonder's Asperger treatment.
Those who know me by a different name know that I haven't had the best experience with doctors thus far. In fact, I ended up (politely, thank you) pointing out one psychologist's lack of communication to the point that she drove fifty miles out of her way to make things up to me. Therefore, I wasn't surprised to make calls yesterday and get a wrong department, hung up on, and finally, the right person's voice mail. I was, however, shocked to receive a call today from the doctor requesting my time for intake and getting Peanut set up for further evaluation. After only one day. I'm kind of in shock here. Kind of.
So I've been given a date and time to be at my phone and have Peanut otherwise occupied. Shouldn't be a problem. I know mostly what's going to be asked, and we can go from there. I'm rejoicing. And bundling up, because with good behavior comes a bike ride.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Winning and Losing
Call me Mother of the Year.
So Peanut and I have been enjoying his last official day of Spring Break, and we've been reading books and playing Candyland. Endless Candyland. And I've been attempting to teach my son a few important lessons in sportsmanship.
Not surprisingly, Peanut is a fiercely competitive little boy. He's figured out from Thomas the Tank Engine that everyone likes to win. Therefore, Boy Wonder must win every game he plays against Mommy (or really anyone, I think). Since life doesn't exactly work that way, I got treated to a few spectacular temper tantrums. At least he wasn't hitting.
It should be said that I don't allow cheating. Even though this game is boring to the point of tears, there's no way I'm going to allow myself to hurry it along. For one thing, I think that would give Peanut the wrong idea. For another, well, I'm reveling in my time with my son. Besides, seriously, how does one cheat at Candyland without getting caught?
I'm not sure how much of my explanation of why we can't always win sank in today. I know there's some adults who still haven't figured that out. Plus, I'm never sure how much Peanut actually listens before his attention goes elsewhere. But I tried. And I'm still trying. I want my son to understand that fair play should be treasured, that sore losers don't often get playing partners, and that winning really isn't everything. But he's four. And he's got a long way before that kind of understanding sinks in.
So for now, I'll keep reminding him that we don't always win when we want to. And that Mommy and Daddy love him no matter what. And screaming and kicking seriously scares Doggy Luke, so maybe if he stops, Doggy will come back and be petted.
Call me Mother of the Year.
So Peanut and I have been enjoying his last official day of Spring Break, and we've been reading books and playing Candyland. Endless Candyland. And I've been attempting to teach my son a few important lessons in sportsmanship.
Not surprisingly, Peanut is a fiercely competitive little boy. He's figured out from Thomas the Tank Engine that everyone likes to win. Therefore, Boy Wonder must win every game he plays against Mommy (or really anyone, I think). Since life doesn't exactly work that way, I got treated to a few spectacular temper tantrums. At least he wasn't hitting.
It should be said that I don't allow cheating. Even though this game is boring to the point of tears, there's no way I'm going to allow myself to hurry it along. For one thing, I think that would give Peanut the wrong idea. For another, well, I'm reveling in my time with my son. Besides, seriously, how does one cheat at Candyland without getting caught?
I'm not sure how much of my explanation of why we can't always win sank in today. I know there's some adults who still haven't figured that out. Plus, I'm never sure how much Peanut actually listens before his attention goes elsewhere. But I tried. And I'm still trying. I want my son to understand that fair play should be treasured, that sore losers don't often get playing partners, and that winning really isn't everything. But he's four. And he's got a long way before that kind of understanding sinks in.
So for now, I'll keep reminding him that we don't always win when we want to. And that Mommy and Daddy love him no matter what. And screaming and kicking seriously scares Doggy Luke, so maybe if he stops, Doggy will come back and be petted.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Returning to the Face of the Earth
Call me Mother of the Year.
Okay, call me a recovering, penitent Mother of the Year. And thank you to my four loyal readers for not kicking my butt for blowing off my blog. Yes, I know that I have more than four readers, and I appreciate you all, but seriously, it's just me.
So, what's been going on?
Well, Peanut is on Spring Break, and I just told him that he's not going to school this week. I'm fending off temper tantrums with bribery. Yesterday it was Chuck E. Cheese, today Candyland and Play-Doh, and I'm figuring out the rest of the week as I go along. My diabolical plans of sending Boy Wonder outside and wearing him out have been thwarted by thunderstorms. Drat.
Preschool is going well, and there is much rejoicing. I'm already seeing progress in the lessening of temper tantrums and a new willingness to listen (occasionally). We're singing songs from school, talking about friends, and involving parents and grandparents in our new endeavor. Plus, he gets to bring Nana and Grammy to school for Grandparents' Day. That's going to be a whole new blog when it happens. I'll be there with video cameras, I promise. We also got to involve me in Peanut's First Attempt at Fundraising, where I learned that our family is a sucker for Peanut. His school now loves me.
I'm finally over Massive Sinus Infection, which laid me out cold for two weeks and required good drugs to yank me back to the land of the living. Oh yeah, and I'm kind of pregnant. Did I forget to mention that? Three months, all is going well, and Peanut has been informing all and sundry that he's "going to be a big brother!!!" He's requesting a little sister. I suspect Grammy may have put that in his head, but that could just be a rumor. Or an unwillingness to share trains. We'll see.
So yes, I'll be better about writing. After all, we have more adventures and twice the kids to talk about!
Call me Mother of the Year.
Okay, call me a recovering, penitent Mother of the Year. And thank you to my four loyal readers for not kicking my butt for blowing off my blog. Yes, I know that I have more than four readers, and I appreciate you all, but seriously, it's just me.
So, what's been going on?
Well, Peanut is on Spring Break, and I just told him that he's not going to school this week. I'm fending off temper tantrums with bribery. Yesterday it was Chuck E. Cheese, today Candyland and Play-Doh, and I'm figuring out the rest of the week as I go along. My diabolical plans of sending Boy Wonder outside and wearing him out have been thwarted by thunderstorms. Drat.
Preschool is going well, and there is much rejoicing. I'm already seeing progress in the lessening of temper tantrums and a new willingness to listen (occasionally). We're singing songs from school, talking about friends, and involving parents and grandparents in our new endeavor. Plus, he gets to bring Nana and Grammy to school for Grandparents' Day. That's going to be a whole new blog when it happens. I'll be there with video cameras, I promise. We also got to involve me in Peanut's First Attempt at Fundraising, where I learned that our family is a sucker for Peanut. His school now loves me.
I'm finally over Massive Sinus Infection, which laid me out cold for two weeks and required good drugs to yank me back to the land of the living. Oh yeah, and I'm kind of pregnant. Did I forget to mention that? Three months, all is going well, and Peanut has been informing all and sundry that he's "going to be a big brother!!!" He's requesting a little sister. I suspect Grammy may have put that in his head, but that could just be a rumor. Or an unwillingness to share trains. We'll see.
So yes, I'll be better about writing. After all, we have more adventures and twice the kids to talk about!
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, February 23, 2009
First Days
Call me Mother of the Year.
Last week began Peanut's school experience. There was much rejoicing (his) and a few tears (mine). Peanut is learning the hello and goodbye songs (okay, they're pretty cute) and also learning that there is no way his teacher, Boomer, and I are willing to let him ride the school bus. More on that in a bit.
Peanut's first day began with him sprinting out of the car toward his teacher, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, and falling flat on his hands and knees in excitement as I'm yelling at him to hold my hand. To her credit, his teacher made sure he was all right before chuckling and telling me "we're good! See you in a couple of hours!" She then took my son by the hand and walked him into school. I went home and pouted. For five minutes. Since when am I not needed to referee and explain my son? Oh, wait, yeah. She's a professional. And I really like her. And she really likes my kid. I'm good now.
Since then, it's gotten easier. Dropping Peanut off makes his day, the kids seem to get along with him, and we're working on the not-riding-the-bus-temper-tantrum. It would probably be easier if the kid would deign to sit still for longer than ten seconds, but we're working on that. Slowly.
In the meantime, there are magnifying glasses to use, blocks to build, and of course, trains and cars to play with. And not throw at me. Maybe school will be good for him after all. As for me, well, I could get used to the quiet. Eventually. But I'm glad when I can pick up my child. That's the way it should be. All independent until it's time to come home. For both of us.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Last week began Peanut's school experience. There was much rejoicing (his) and a few tears (mine). Peanut is learning the hello and goodbye songs (okay, they're pretty cute) and also learning that there is no way his teacher, Boomer, and I are willing to let him ride the school bus. More on that in a bit.
Peanut's first day began with him sprinting out of the car toward his teacher, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, and falling flat on his hands and knees in excitement as I'm yelling at him to hold my hand. To her credit, his teacher made sure he was all right before chuckling and telling me "we're good! See you in a couple of hours!" She then took my son by the hand and walked him into school. I went home and pouted. For five minutes. Since when am I not needed to referee and explain my son? Oh, wait, yeah. She's a professional. And I really like her. And she really likes my kid. I'm good now.
Since then, it's gotten easier. Dropping Peanut off makes his day, the kids seem to get along with him, and we're working on the not-riding-the-bus-temper-tantrum. It would probably be easier if the kid would deign to sit still for longer than ten seconds, but we're working on that. Slowly.
In the meantime, there are magnifying glasses to use, blocks to build, and of course, trains and cars to play with. And not throw at me. Maybe school will be good for him after all. As for me, well, I could get used to the quiet. Eventually. But I'm glad when I can pick up my child. That's the way it should be. All independent until it's time to come home. For both of us.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Vacation Wrapup
Call me Mother of the Year.
Has it really been two weeks?
Two weeks... where Opa and Company were amazed at how big Peanut is... where my little man went from three to four... where new independence was gained... where speed records were broken (and the sound barrier, come to that)... where three generations skied, slid, and generally bonded over skis, snow, and a certain harness that I'm swiping as soon as we get home.
It's been amazing here in Steamboat Springs, and if you get the chance to come and play, I highly recommend it. It's been beautiful, and I have pictures and video to prove it. There will be many stories told over again, and Peanut has had the time of his life. Best of all, he's doing his best to convince Boomer that he can do this all by himself. Granted, letting a four-year-old alone on the slopes is a REALLY bad idea, but hey, at least he's not afraid. Or so I remind myself. Hour by hour.
However, we're on to a new adventure: finding all of our stuff and packing it. We leave tomorrow, and I'm sure Peanut will find new adventures in the airport as we wait for our plane. Plus, we have the added bonus of seeing Nana and Papa and telling them all about our trip. For now, though, I'm running through my arguments as to why Peanut will not be able to fly the plane home. Wish me luck.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Has it really been two weeks?
Two weeks... where Opa and Company were amazed at how big Peanut is... where my little man went from three to four... where new independence was gained... where speed records were broken (and the sound barrier, come to that)... where three generations skied, slid, and generally bonded over skis, snow, and a certain harness that I'm swiping as soon as we get home.
It's been amazing here in Steamboat Springs, and if you get the chance to come and play, I highly recommend it. It's been beautiful, and I have pictures and video to prove it. There will be many stories told over again, and Peanut has had the time of his life. Best of all, he's doing his best to convince Boomer that he can do this all by himself. Granted, letting a four-year-old alone on the slopes is a REALLY bad idea, but hey, at least he's not afraid. Or so I remind myself. Hour by hour.
However, we're on to a new adventure: finding all of our stuff and packing it. We leave tomorrow, and I'm sure Peanut will find new adventures in the airport as we wait for our plane. Plus, we have the added bonus of seeing Nana and Papa and telling them all about our trip. For now, though, I'm running through my arguments as to why Peanut will not be able to fly the plane home. Wish me luck.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Peanut on Skis
Call me Mother of the Year.
After a week in Colorado, and one to go, there have been many adventures to report. Boomer is busy on the expert slopes, and thankfully has avoided injury (knock on wood). Opa is doing his level best to keep up with Peanut, and I am busily hanging out in front of a fire, under a blanket, enjoying peace, quiet, and a good book. Dream come true, kids. And then, there's Peanut.
Peanut has had two private ski lessons and has spent the rest of the week skiing with Boomer, Opa, and various cohorts. The lessons went fairly well, even after the instructor let the others know that any shrieks should be ignored. This one was GOOD!
After his successful lessons, it was time for the Boomer and Peanut show. There's a harness that parents can use to hold on to small ones while skiing. It's complete with reins (to let the kids go forth without being run over) and a handle (to pick them up after they fall). I've decided this will be useful for holding onto a certain small one at the park and on walks.
So far, Peanut has taken well to skiing. He loves going downhill with Daddy, and is quite proud of his new skill. Best of all, he comes off the slopes completely exhausted and ready for a nap. More chances for me to relax? Whatever will I do? I do believe a massage is in my near future.
Call me Mother of the Year.
After a week in Colorado, and one to go, there have been many adventures to report. Boomer is busy on the expert slopes, and thankfully has avoided injury (knock on wood). Opa is doing his level best to keep up with Peanut, and I am busily hanging out in front of a fire, under a blanket, enjoying peace, quiet, and a good book. Dream come true, kids. And then, there's Peanut.
Peanut has had two private ski lessons and has spent the rest of the week skiing with Boomer, Opa, and various cohorts. The lessons went fairly well, even after the instructor let the others know that any shrieks should be ignored. This one was GOOD!
After his successful lessons, it was time for the Boomer and Peanut show. There's a harness that parents can use to hold on to small ones while skiing. It's complete with reins (to let the kids go forth without being run over) and a handle (to pick them up after they fall). I've decided this will be useful for holding onto a certain small one at the park and on walks.
So far, Peanut has taken well to skiing. He loves going downhill with Daddy, and is quite proud of his new skill. Best of all, he comes off the slopes completely exhausted and ready for a nap. More chances for me to relax? Whatever will I do? I do believe a massage is in my near future.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Peanut the Pilot
Call me Mother of the Year.
Welcome to the vacation version of my blog!
We're in beautiful Colorado, where the skiing is awesome, Boomer is already investigating the expert slopes, and Peanut is finding new adventures. And they're finding him!
As we finally got on our flight to get here, Peanut decided to check out the cockpit. With the help of the super nice attendant, Peanut got to meet the pilots and play with the controls. The pilots, being equally nice, got a picture of Peanut with the pilot's hat on, at the controls, smiling away. And then he got to press ALL the buttons on his way to his seat! Quite the adventure! I'm sure the friendly skies are much safer with Peanut at the controls, but seriously, no four-year-old should be able to fly a plane. I'm just saying.
Today's big excitement is a birthday... Peanut the Boy Wonder is FOUR!!! For the record, the all caps is all Peanut. He is stoked about pizza for dinner and happy cake (according to Peanut, all cake is happy cake. Far be it for me to argue.). Tomorrow is his first ski lesson, and I'll be there with the video camera. Picture my fearless one on skis, and say a prayer for his safety... and the patience of his instructor. More when it occurs!
Call me Mother of the Year.
Welcome to the vacation version of my blog!
We're in beautiful Colorado, where the skiing is awesome, Boomer is already investigating the expert slopes, and Peanut is finding new adventures. And they're finding him!
As we finally got on our flight to get here, Peanut decided to check out the cockpit. With the help of the super nice attendant, Peanut got to meet the pilots and play with the controls. The pilots, being equally nice, got a picture of Peanut with the pilot's hat on, at the controls, smiling away. And then he got to press ALL the buttons on his way to his seat! Quite the adventure! I'm sure the friendly skies are much safer with Peanut at the controls, but seriously, no four-year-old should be able to fly a plane. I'm just saying.
Today's big excitement is a birthday... Peanut the Boy Wonder is FOUR!!! For the record, the all caps is all Peanut. He is stoked about pizza for dinner and happy cake (according to Peanut, all cake is happy cake. Far be it for me to argue.). Tomorrow is his first ski lesson, and I'll be there with the video camera. Picture my fearless one on skis, and say a prayer for his safety... and the patience of his instructor. More when it occurs!
Call me Mother of the Year.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
School Days, Part Two
Call me Mother of the Year.
We're trying this whole school thing again. Peanut is excited, I'm apprehensive. Let's face it, Round One wasn't quite the success story we were hoping for. However, this time we have a teacher who is better equipped to handle Peanut. And a smaller class size.
Peanut's teacher requested that we come in and meet the other students and get Peanut used to the idea of school. She was concerned with the idea of separation anxiety. Too bad the only one of us with separation anxiety is me. Make no mistake, I'm delighted with this program, and in awe of the new amounts of free time. The issue is Peanut's temper tantrums. What am I letting myself into? How many horrified stares are waiting for me? And will my kid ever be ready for school?
I should know better.
Sure enough, Boy Wonder broke out with a couple of mini tantrums. I held back (for a change) and let the teacher deal. Peanut was calm within a few minutes and I walked over, bracing myself. The teacher must have suspected what was on my mind, because she looked up with a reassuring smile.
"It's okay. It wasn't that bad. And it's not the only tantrum we've ever had in here."
And I nearly cried with relief.
This woman, bless her, understands my child. She can help me unlock his frustrations with Asperger's (mine too, come to that), and see the sweet, loving little man I occasionally catch glimpses of.
There's hope after all.
Call me Mother of the Year.
We're trying this whole school thing again. Peanut is excited, I'm apprehensive. Let's face it, Round One wasn't quite the success story we were hoping for. However, this time we have a teacher who is better equipped to handle Peanut. And a smaller class size.
Peanut's teacher requested that we come in and meet the other students and get Peanut used to the idea of school. She was concerned with the idea of separation anxiety. Too bad the only one of us with separation anxiety is me. Make no mistake, I'm delighted with this program, and in awe of the new amounts of free time. The issue is Peanut's temper tantrums. What am I letting myself into? How many horrified stares are waiting for me? And will my kid ever be ready for school?
I should know better.
Sure enough, Boy Wonder broke out with a couple of mini tantrums. I held back (for a change) and let the teacher deal. Peanut was calm within a few minutes and I walked over, bracing myself. The teacher must have suspected what was on my mind, because she looked up with a reassuring smile.
"It's okay. It wasn't that bad. And it's not the only tantrum we've ever had in here."
And I nearly cried with relief.
This woman, bless her, understands my child. She can help me unlock his frustrations with Asperger's (mine too, come to that), and see the sweet, loving little man I occasionally catch glimpses of.
There's hope after all.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Stage Two
Call me Mother of the Year.
It's all good, kids.
Yesterday was THE MEETING. I'm putting it in all caps because that's how I've been thinking about it. This was the meeting between the school and me to determine what, if any, services Peanut will receive from his schools. A few comments from those involved had me concerned, and I'm grateful to friends who offered support, prayers, ways to navigate Asperger's, and tissues (mainly Boomer). I went into that meeting with the state's rules for services memorized and arguments laid out.
Never needed them. Thank heaven.
As soon as the school saw the psychologist's report about Peanut's diagnosis, they immediately moved to get him services. His IEP has been written, and he's been given a place immediately. They've even taken our upcoming vacation into account, and are allowing him to start after we get back. He'll be in a program for 2 1/2 hours per day, five days a week. He's going to get the help he needs in the setting that will do him the most good. Plus, for an easier transition, they've invited Peanut and me to come down next week and see the classroom and meet the teacher and students. I'm relieved, and Peanut is beyond excited.
So the Thomas backpack is being dusted off, school supplies are being procures, and birth certificate is being found. Off we go to big boy school!
Call me Mother of the Year.
It's all good, kids.
Yesterday was THE MEETING. I'm putting it in all caps because that's how I've been thinking about it. This was the meeting between the school and me to determine what, if any, services Peanut will receive from his schools. A few comments from those involved had me concerned, and I'm grateful to friends who offered support, prayers, ways to navigate Asperger's, and tissues (mainly Boomer). I went into that meeting with the state's rules for services memorized and arguments laid out.
Never needed them. Thank heaven.
As soon as the school saw the psychologist's report about Peanut's diagnosis, they immediately moved to get him services. His IEP has been written, and he's been given a place immediately. They've even taken our upcoming vacation into account, and are allowing him to start after we get back. He'll be in a program for 2 1/2 hours per day, five days a week. He's going to get the help he needs in the setting that will do him the most good. Plus, for an easier transition, they've invited Peanut and me to come down next week and see the classroom and meet the teacher and students. I'm relieved, and Peanut is beyond excited.
So the Thomas backpack is being dusted off, school supplies are being procures, and birth certificate is being found. Off we go to big boy school!
Call me Mother of the Year.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Things He Eats
Call me Mother of the Year.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know this is only going to get worse.
As I was discoursing on the latest What-Peanut's-Done-Now to a laughing Runner Up, we started another discussion on food for our boys. We tend to commiserate on the fact that if they keep eating like this, second mortgages may come into being when the teenage years arrive. Keep in mind, Partner-In-Crime is four, and Peanut will be four in February.
Peanut snarfed four slices of ham, 3/4 pound of peapods, two cups of whole strawberries, 1/2 pound of grapes, and is still claiming hunger. Let it be said that was lunch yesterday. Oh, and a couple pieces of toast. Today looked about the same, complete with "I'm hungry, mommy!" at twenty second intervals. Runner Up countered by telling me about her small son's daily 1/2 pound of lunch meat habit. Please God, let these boys stay away from football. Wait, no, not that lucky. Plus, maybe that'll get rid of some of their energy.
As I was ruminating on our ever-growing grocery bill, I came across a friend's blog. Freckled Mama and I have been friends since high school, and I'm always pleased when she writes. Her latest entry discoursed on the massive savings at the grocery store. She's my new shopping hero. Maybe I won't have to take out that second mortgage after all but instead, join the masses who use coupons. Why didn't I think of that? No need for answers, kids.
Or I could just do what Grammy did with Boomer: feed him and send him to those who are willing to feed him again.
Call me Mother of the Year.
By the way, check out Freckled Mama's blog: www.freckledmama.blogspot.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know this is only going to get worse.
As I was discoursing on the latest What-Peanut's-Done-Now to a laughing Runner Up, we started another discussion on food for our boys. We tend to commiserate on the fact that if they keep eating like this, second mortgages may come into being when the teenage years arrive. Keep in mind, Partner-In-Crime is four, and Peanut will be four in February.
Peanut snarfed four slices of ham, 3/4 pound of peapods, two cups of whole strawberries, 1/2 pound of grapes, and is still claiming hunger. Let it be said that was lunch yesterday. Oh, and a couple pieces of toast. Today looked about the same, complete with "I'm hungry, mommy!" at twenty second intervals. Runner Up countered by telling me about her small son's daily 1/2 pound of lunch meat habit. Please God, let these boys stay away from football. Wait, no, not that lucky. Plus, maybe that'll get rid of some of their energy.
As I was ruminating on our ever-growing grocery bill, I came across a friend's blog. Freckled Mama and I have been friends since high school, and I'm always pleased when she writes. Her latest entry discoursed on the massive savings at the grocery store. She's my new shopping hero. Maybe I won't have to take out that second mortgage after all but instead, join the masses who use coupons. Why didn't I think of that? No need for answers, kids.
Or I could just do what Grammy did with Boomer: feed him and send him to those who are willing to feed him again.
Call me Mother of the Year.
By the way, check out Freckled Mama's blog: www.freckledmama.blogspot.com
Monday, January 5, 2009
Little Miracles Everywhere
Call me Mother of the Year.
This is huge. Peanut is getting whatever he wants. And not taking advantage. Is this really my kid? YES.
And now to start making sense...
Part of the Asperger's diagnosis is that Peanut is unable to feel pain. That explains a lot. Namely, Peanut is unable to sense the need for the toilet (thus all our setbacks. Could have done with that knowledge a bit earlier, but oh well). However, another corner has been turned. Peanut can now associate his needs and act on them without prompting. First time ever.
For anyone who has dealt with the joys (or not) of potty training, this is massive. For a mommy who has spent the last year working for this, it's nearly unspeakable. My kid just made the impossible possible. It's the first of many obstacles that we're identifying, and he's smashed it.
Are there going to be setbacks? You bet. Am I ready? See earlier answer.
But for right now, I'm reveling. My kid is a success, and I will shout it with him. Bring on the rewards; today is not the day for correcting. My trip back up this slope begins again tomorrow. Right now, he climbed Everest and I was along for the ride.
And besides, the Thomas underwear is seriously cool.
Call me Mother of the Year.
This is huge. Peanut is getting whatever he wants. And not taking advantage. Is this really my kid? YES.
And now to start making sense...
Part of the Asperger's diagnosis is that Peanut is unable to feel pain. That explains a lot. Namely, Peanut is unable to sense the need for the toilet (thus all our setbacks. Could have done with that knowledge a bit earlier, but oh well). However, another corner has been turned. Peanut can now associate his needs and act on them without prompting. First time ever.
For anyone who has dealt with the joys (or not) of potty training, this is massive. For a mommy who has spent the last year working for this, it's nearly unspeakable. My kid just made the impossible possible. It's the first of many obstacles that we're identifying, and he's smashed it.
Are there going to be setbacks? You bet. Am I ready? See earlier answer.
But for right now, I'm reveling. My kid is a success, and I will shout it with him. Bring on the rewards; today is not the day for correcting. My trip back up this slope begins again tomorrow. Right now, he climbed Everest and I was along for the ride.
And besides, the Thomas underwear is seriously cool.
Call me Mother of the Year.
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