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.

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.

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.