The Great Shoe Debate

Call Me Mother of the Year.

As autumn approached, Runner Up and I continued our yearly debate about my footwear. Being a vastly more sensible woman than I, Runner Up tends toward Sketchers and flats as she chases after Other Half. I, being younger and dumber, tend toward boots. Specifically, one pair of boots. I love these boots. Black suede, pointed toe, knee high. These boots are fierce. Sadly for me, these boots also have a three-inch stiletto spike heel. Still fierce, but not exactly sensible for chasing small ones around. Doesn't matter. I wear these bad boys everywhere.

Runner Up maintains that I'm going to kill myself in these boots and she will laugh at my funeral because she was right. I hold that I'm going to die anyway, and I may as well go out with good-looking feet. Normally, this is where the debate ends.

This weekend was the first snowfall. Three to five inches. Peanut was seriously pleased and blew through a couple of happy hours exploring the winter wonderland. Runner Up and I were relating stories of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness today when the boots came up.

"You're gonna slip and fall flat on your face!"
"I haven't yet."
"When you fall and chip a tooth, come to me and I'll fix it." (Item: Runner Up is a dentist. Her husband is our dentist. This works well for me.)

For the record, the boots that are currently on my feet are my snow boots. I may attempt to be a fashion-forward mommy, but I'm not quite that foolish. Besides, snow may ruin the suede. Can't have that.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Massive Update

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Really? Two months? SORRY. Blame the kids... okay, blame me for not writing.

I'm doing this in chronological order.

Peanut has had a stretch of rough days at Kindergarten, which spawned many notes home, me volunteering in his classroom (so not a problem; the kids are great), and a visit to the psychiatrist for another evaluation. The good news there is that current therapies seem to be enough and medication is another few years away. Yes, that's me you hear cheering. We're doing vision therapy, which has done wonders in both improving his vision and calming him down, and using pressure vests at school. There's something else, though, that is a bit unorthodox. However, it works and I have the psychiatrist's blessing.

Coffee.

Yeah, you read that correctly. My Kindergartner is on a two-cups-a-day habit.

Lest you think this is Peanut hanging out with a cup of joe and the funnies (thanks Evil Twin), let me remove that image from your minds. This is way cheaper than Ritalin and minus the side effects. It should be said that it's usually a struggle to get Peanut to drink this, but it's obvious when he doesn't have coffee in his system. He's better able to focus, and that makes his parents and his teacher happy.

Miss Tula has decided that crawling is for babies and she isn't a baby anymore. We are quite happy toddling around, grabbing at Doggy's tail and Peanut's hand. Peanut actually slows down when he's got Tula by the hand, so I encourage this whenever I can. She's got eight teeth now and doing her best to talk. Toys are being flung, table food is being tried, and it's a busy time in the life of the toddler.

Tula's also the source of some deeply cool mommy moments. Seeing the world through her eyes reminds me that I really do worry too much and need to just stop and look around. It also reminds me that I was totally outdated with baby-proofing the house.

In the meantime, kids, I need to explain to Tula that Orajel is not a good substitute for finger paint. Let the adventures continue!

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Object of Her Affection

Call me Mother of the Year.

Earlier this summer, I realized that a good friend's daughter would be in Peanut's Kindergarten class. I promptly joked that we'd see each other in the principal's office. She promptly pointed out that it wouldn't be because of her daughter. She's right, but that's another story.

As we progressed through the first few weeks of Kindergarten, my friend e-mailed me to let me know her daughter had made up a song about Peanut. I chuckled, not at this little girl, but rather at the idea that she likes my son. For the record, the song is really cute. I then joked that she has a crush on Peanut.

Turns out I wasn't wrong.

Last Friday, my friend and I found ourselves hanging out on the playground, watching our children play. As we were getting ready to leave, my friend's daughter picked up her Ken doll and said, "Hey Peanut, you're as handsome as my Ken doll!"

I lost it. Bent double with laughter. And looked up at my friend at said, "They're so getting married. Get ready."

My friend, who's infinitely more sensible than myself, pointed out that we have Prom and the teenage years to get through first, then college. Deal with that first.

As we walked to our respective vehicles, Peanut's Girlfriend yelled a goodbye involving a made-up nickname. My friend and I both chuckled, as we mommies are known do when our children are being sweet. As we walked to our car, Peanut was giving his commentary on his day.

He did not mention the little girl. At all.

Heaven help him, my son is oblivious.

If he figures this out in time, maybe they'll go trick-or-treating together. Isn't that what five-year-old couples do?

Call me Mother of the Year.

Judgement Day

Call me Mother of the Year.

The big news of the day is that Tula is WALKING. Yes. Two steps and then deciding she's done with this whole moving slowly nonsense and sprint-crawling. Her favorite targets are the source of some amusement and time in toddler jail. She's convinced that she needs to be on her toddler way. I'm convinced she needs to listen to her all-knowing mommy. I'll let you be the judge. Oh, and I'm not above bribery. Just saying.

CASE 1: Tula has a fascination for all things electronic. Specifically, things electronic on my desk. I spend a good deal of my working time pulling her away from various electrical cords, my phone, and the mouse of my laptop. She spends most of her time whining at me or merely hauling toddler butt back to my desk for repeat attempts. MY DEFENSE: Girlfriend should not play with electronics as she's chewing on cords and could hurt herself or my expensive toys. HER DEFENSE: I'm cute, and I want it.

CASE 2: Once again, Doggy Luke is finding himself a source of fascination from the baby in the family. Dog's up for sainthood, but that's another story. Last night, as Tula was taking her first steps, it wasn't Boomer or me who was her target. No, it was the poor, put-upon mutt as he lay innocently in his dog bed. As you may have guessed, Tula walked to the dog bed, climbed in, sat right next to the dog and started smacking him on the head. Attempts to distract and move on were unsuccessful. MY DEFENSE: Hasn't this poor animal been through enough? Leave him alone. Particularly when he's in his sanctuary. HER DEFENSE: I'm cute, and I want it.

I'd go through an exhaustive closing argument, but she's yanking clean laundry off my bed. I'm thinking she needs to leave it alone so I can fold it already. She's thinking she's cute and she wants it. Who's right?

Call me Mother of the Year.

Happy Birthday, Tula!

Call me Mother of the Year.

My Darling Tula,

At this time last year, Daddy and I were waiting for Grammy to come and hang out with Peanut while we were at the hospital. Daddy had just taken Peanut out for pancakes, so he thought this was quite a good day already. Plus, there was the addition of cookies at preschool snack time. Best day ever.

We got to the hospital and, after a long wait, you came screaming into the world at 1:11 in the afternoon. Daddy held you first, and had to cradle you in one arm while he wiped away tears of joy. Then he handed you to me. I already loved you, and then I got to see the most beautiful little baby girl ever.

Peanut came to visit you after preschool and immediately wanted to hold his Tula. He's been the best big brother, and I know how much you love him and he loves you.

You've grown so much this year. You've gone from a tiny baby to nearly walking. Yesterday you stood up all by yourself! You're feeding yourself, trying to talk, and doing everything you can to explore this big world.

Tula, my wish for you this year is that your sense of amazement only grows with every new thing you do and discover. May you and Peanut still be the best of friends, and may you always know how much Daddy and I love you.

Happy First Birthday, beloved Tula.

Love,
Mommy

Call me Mother of the Year.

He's Not in Preschool Anymore

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I let him go today.

Peanut's Adventures in Kindergarten actually began on Thursday. As he came pounding into my room for his thief-Daddy's-side-of-the-bed experience, I told him that the next day would be Kindergarten Day. Peanut's response: "Oh, Mommy. I don't want to go to Kindergarten." After listening to my son's fears, I realized that he's afraid of the unknown. I'm in the middle of reassuring him when Kindergarten Teacher called. As I was explaining Peanut's worries, she invited him (and me) to her classroom. It was a wonderful idea and a great time was had.

Friday morning was the First Day (or in our case, first hour) of School. The classroom was investigated and a story was read. Peanut showed off his brilliance by correctly defining "nocturnal" and I successfully (mentally) slapped my own hand for nearly telling him to be quiet. It's his show now, Mom. Let him go.

I let him go today.

Today was the first full day of Kindergarten. His lunch was packed, breakfast eaten, and we were out the door in plenty of time. Boomer took today off and had Tula while I held my son's small hand and walked toward the playground. Peanut promptly shook off my hand and ran in search of really cool climbing equipment and friends yet to be made. Boomer suggested we leave before we turned into "creepy clingy parents". I turned to go with him and Tula, and then it hit me: he never said goodbye.

I let him go today. And that hurt.

Of course, I was there as soon as school let out today. And of course, I was greeted with a shriek of "MOMMY!!! I'm so glad to see you!" He had a good day, and I've been regaled with stories of tag, lunch bells, and P.E.

I let him go today. We both survived.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Mommies Say The Weirdest Things

Call me Mother of the Year.

I've realized the most bizarre things have left my mouth over the last five years of motherhood. These are, in no particular order, some of the things I've said to my kids over the last month. Yes, there are stories attached to all, and I may even relate those later. Special bonus to those who guess which kid got which saying!

"We do not fling the cat!"

"I don't care how cute you are, the dog is not to be used as target practice."

"Sure, bacon's a good secret ingredient to trail mix." (Don't ask. Seriously.)

"Fingers are not food. Neither are feet."

"We do not take toys that aren't ours."

"Get the shoelace out of your mouth. Get the dog's tail out of your mouth."

"When taking a shower, it helps to get under the water."

"Dog food is not your food."

"I'll tell you when it's Kindergarten Day!"

"The changing table is not a jungle gym."

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Countdown Is On

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So the doctor's appointments have been completed, the school supplies procured and hidden from certain eyes and hands, and the calendar with days to be marked off is at the ready. Bring it on, Kindergarten.

Peanut is deeply impressed with himself. It's not every Kindergartner, after all, who gets to choose his own backpack AND lunchbox (I'll let you guess which he's more interested in). The questions are coming fast and furious. I'm finding myself repeating the answers several times a day. Thus the calendar (thanks, Beloved Teacher!).

"Will I ride the bus again?" No. Last year Peanut was quite happy hanging out on the bus full of his classmates. This year I'm breathing a sigh of relief that Peanut vs. Third Graders isn't happening.

"Will I have to get a vaccination?" Yes, Peanut used that word correctly. My kid is brilliant. And PBS Kids did a wonderful job of trying not to freak Peanut out. It almost worked, but the game winner was that his shots are up to date and therefore more shots were unnecessary. Much rejoicing.

"Why isn't today Kindergarten day?" Because it isn't. Thus the calendar. And the marker. And the Kleenex for me as I realize I'm totally gonna lose it his first full day. And the jab in Boomer's ribs for laughing at me.

And now, not-so-small-one, it's time to cross off another day. Eighteen days to go. Bring it on.

Call me Mother of the Year.

There's An App For That

Call me Mother of the Year.

My beloved BFF and I were discussing Papa's recent iPhone and our mutual desire (and mutual inability to afford) for one. I then commented that Opa's iPhone has the ability to keep Peanut entertained for hours courtesy of one of the apps. BFF chuckled and made mention that there needs to Apps for moms. Thus the brainstorming began.

iTeething Ring: The iPhone is slobberproof and perfect for the teething child!

iPunt: Want to keep your toddler busy? Instead of Kick the Can, Kick the Phone!

iAnswer: Program your iPhone to automatically answer every "Why" marathon!

iLullaby: You've heard of iTunes? Our soothing songs will get the kids to nap quickly!

iFeed: Too many kids? Not enough time? It'll put dinner on the table!

iNap: What busy moms do when their wee ones are occupied by the iPhone!

I've got to figure out how to market this. And if you've any ideas, I'm open to them.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Adventures With Baby

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm now on the third outfit, second bath, and innumerable diaper with Tula. Whoever said it would be best to go with "baby's natural rhythms" was either not a parent or full of what goes in the diapers. Tula, naturally, thinks this is delightful. She's been busy offering not-so-gummy grins and splashing me in her bath. It's a great look for her, but really pathetic for me. Plus, she's figured out how to roll over in her towel and investigate the toilet. Not good.

She's also furious with me because I've done away with her escape plan. Like many babies, Tula has a Bumbo chair. I love this thing. I can put her in it on the kitchen table and feed her. Way easier than the high chair. Or it was until Tula discovered she could escape it. Boomer and I found her crawling on the kitchen table in a quest for the salt shaker as we were fetching sweet potatoes from the pantry. Exit Bumbo, enter high chair. Her Highness is displeased.

Now we're on to crawling. This is quite acceptable as we're independent and grooving. We're also grooving toward the television and the end tables in an effort to eat Peanut's art projects. I want to know where the Potted Plant stage went and if I can get it back. The laughter you hear is Peanut's.

But then Tula cries. And as I pick her up in an attempt to actually get the clean diaper on her, she wraps her little arms around me and does not let go. And the little frustrations of my day melt away. Peanut is ready and willing to play with his little sister. All is right with my world again.

Call me Mother of the year.

The Ending of an Era, The Turning of a Page

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm choosing the line of a Tim McGraw song because it is exactly what I did last night. I was looking through Peanut's notebook from Beloved Teacher. It's a log between her and I, giving updates on our boy's behavior and thoughts on where he's going and needs to be.

There's a lot in there.

There's the high points of his good behavior, his gentleness toward the kids who are smaller than him. There's the day he learned how to hold his crayon properly and write his name. There's a note of congratulations from the day he became a big brother. I'm reading also his lower points: the tantrums, the hitting, the day we realized that he needed more testing and the new diagnosis.

I realize as I hold this notebook that I have the history of this year. I hold all the joys and the frustrations of parenting and teaching Peanut. And I realize as I hold this that this notebook is full. There are no more pages to be written for preschool.

You see, yesterday was Peanut's last day of preschool. Today will be the end of the year picnic. I'll attend his Annual Review meeting and meet with his Kindergarten teacher on Tuesday. And that will be that, until August.

Make no mistake, he's ready for Kindergarten. Thanks to Beloved Teacher, I'm (mostly) ready to let him go. We'll have a fun summer, and I'm looking forward to that. For today, though, I'll eat a hot dog in my son's classroom and realize that I could not have given him the growth he's achieved.

Thanks, Beloved Teacher. For everything.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Tula the Manipulator

Call me Mother of the Year.

Madam Tula has discovered a most diverting new game: Fetch. This game is best played when Tula is in her Excersaucer and Peanut (or Daddy, or other willing participant) hands her a toy. Tula then flings the toy onto the floor and looks adorable as her big brother (read: victim) picks up the toy and hands it back to her. Repeat at will. In an effort to keep Peanut as her slave, Tula is now known to babble at him as he hands her toys to fling and make him fetch.

I'm sure you've noticed my lack of participation in Fetch. I'm not sure quite how to break it to Tula that I'm not wrapped as far around her little finger as her big brother. Plus, I've played that game before with Peanut at that age. It kinda gets old after awhile.

Peanut, however, is entranced at the idea of entertaining his little sister. This means Mommy gets a break, however small, and there are no screaming or crying children. Right now, that's worth a price above rubies. I'll explain to Tula that manipulation isn't a good idea later. Much later.

And now, I've got to explain to Peanut about why gravity is not in our favor as we attempt a loop-de-loop off the couch. Please don't ask. Just know that he's not successful in this particular endeavor.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Blogging Hiatus

Call me Mother of the Year.

So I've been away for awhile. A long while. And I've missed you. I've missed having this outlet for all twelve of you to read and snicker at my adventures. The adventures are still there, and I've learned a few things over the last couple of months.

I've learned that it's physically impossible to keep from laughing as Peanut answers "What is your address?" with "Pants and a shirt, right Mommy?" It is, however, great for a teachable moment. Peanut now knows exactly where he lives and we're working on reciting his phone number.

I've learned that the Potted Plant stage is all too short. Tula is doing her level best to crawl and in the process is doing an exemplary job of rolling all over every possible flat surface. Woe betide the mommy who thought she had another couple of months to childproof. Guess why I haven't been blogging?

I've learned that I can survive a new diagnosis on Peanut. Beloved Teacher suggested that Peanut be retested as some of his behaviors don't quite fit the Asperger spectrum. She was correct- Peanut is dealing with ADHD. And, as it turns out, needs glasses something fierce. I greeted this news with a remarkable guilt trip, thank you very much. Boomer has spent much time reminding me that this is not my fault- in the firmest tones and words possible.

I've learned that there is nothing scarier than watching my baby go for x-rays. We know that nothing's wrong and there's no need to worry. But Tula's soft spot was closing too quickly, and our pediatrician wanted to make sure that there were no problems. There aren't. For the record, Tula objected furiously to the x-rays. Here's hoping the techs have recovered their hearing by now.

Most importantly, I've learned that Peanut is more than excited about starting Kindergarten, and there is nothing better than sitting beside my not-so-small son and listening to him read. Usually with his little sister on my lap. Peanut is an excellent big brother and Tula's lucky to have him. I'm the luckiest, though- I have them both.

And now that I've unburdened myself to you, there are bedtime stories to be read, kisses to be given, and two small ones to be put to bed. Peanut blows you kisses and Tula is showing off both of her teeth.

Call me Mother of the Year.

What They Don't Tell You

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I prefer to use this blog to update my extended family on the little moments of my children's lives. Make no mistake, there are many, and they are adorable. I'd like to offer cute little vignettes that make you all think I'm a good mom with great kids.

This won't be that post. It'll come later.

The past few days have been brutal. If Parenthood 101 was a course in college, I'd have failed it. Come to that, if there were any courses about parenthood, the human race would die out of fear.

Peanut's tantrums have increased spectacularly. He's gone back to hitting Boomer and yesterday got his Beloved Teacher. I have my head in my hands in frustration. I don't have answers to why he throws the tantrums, nor do I know how to stop them. I only know they frustrate me and infuriate him. I'm at the point that I can't understand my son. That's scary. I don't know where to find answers to help him. That's scarier. And no one could tell me just how rough this road would be for Peanut. That's scariest of all.

Then came this morning.

Peanut was gearing up for a tantrum (again), and I came to his room with Tula in my arms. We talked, and he was able to calm down enough to hug me and hug his Tula. Watching him tenderly kiss his little sister's cheek made my day. I haven't lost him yet. I'm not letting go. We'll fight this together, kiddo.

Maybe there is a happy ending after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Conspiracy Theory

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I do believe my children are conspiring against me. It is now their job to make sure I get nothing done.

Tula is teething now, which is really not fun for either of us. She's in pain and I can't always make it go away, and I can't make her understand that I want to stop her hurting. More specifically, I'd like to stop her hysterical screaming. And for the record, I'm buying stock in Baby Orajel. Thankfully, the swing still works to calm her down on occasion, so there's that.

Peanut's temper tantrums are at a new high. He's not hitting anymore, and I'm thoroughly grateful for that. That said, the length and volume are spectacular, and I'm at a loss at how to calm him down. It seems that he erupts over the smallest things these days. I suspect he's acting out because of all the time I have to give to Tula, but it's killing me that he thinks the tantrums are the only way to get my attention. I'm doing everything I can to make sure I'm using my "inside voice" but all I want to do is shriek back at him. Not good.

In the meantime, the baby is crying, Peanut is finally done pouting, and the dog is howling. One of these days, I'll get my hearing back. I may even be able to smile again, but right now, I'm a wee bit busy calming my house down. Thanks for listening, kids. And Boomer just pulled into the driveway, ready to give me back my sanity. This is why there's a two-parent system in this house. Maybe I'll get something done after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.

When Did This Happen?

Call me Mother of the Year.

I confess that I'm pondering today. Nothing's wrong; we're all finally healthy. It's just, well, Peanut's making me think again.

This time five years ago, I was at work. I didn't love the job itself, but I did love my co-workers. They were awesome. And I was pregnant. Very pregnant. Said cohorts had thrown the baby shower, the baby pool had been set up, and the entire office was on Babywatch. And patting my sizable stomach at every chance. As I left the office for the day, one of my supervisors informed me that I couldn't come to work the next day because she had it on the baby pool and she wanted to win. I chuckled and headed off to my doctor's appointment.

Guess what? I was two centimeters dilated.

Fast forward a few hours. Boomer and I were getting ready for bed. You guessed it, it was time to haul to the hospital. Boomer, having just gotten into bed, was less than thrilled. I was completely terrified. My supervisor was thrilled. Twenty-two hours later, Peanut came screaming onto the scene and totally stole my heart.

I want to know where the five years have gone.

My baby is now a big boy and an awesome big brother. He's getting ready for Kindergarten, loves his Leapster 2, all things Cars, and helping in the kitchen. He's reached all his preschool goals and can read and write his name. He is a loving and lovable little boy.

And my heart is breaking because his world is getting bigger. He wants to try his newfound independence and I want to hold him close and never let go. So I'm taking a deep breath, unclenching my fingers, and letting go. Up to a point. Let's face it, if I'm like this when the poor kid turns five, I'm really in trouble when we hit the teenage years.

But for now, there are birthday cupcakes to be made for preschool and a party to be had. And if you see me at 8:10 tomorrow evening wiping away a tear at the idea of having a big boy instead of a little baby, I hope you'll forgive me. And join me in a cupcake. They're a Peanut special.

Call me Mother of the Year.

In Sickness and In Health

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Never have I said that motherhood was dull, but I do believe these last weeks have taken the cake for crazy. I'm convinced that Peanut has caught every cold in his school and passed them on to Tula and myself. Only now, he's surpassed himself.

It started on Monday. I took both the kids to the doctor for Tula's four-month checkup- she's doing very well, by the way- and on the way from the doctor to preschool I got to make the call of "you're so not getting my kid today" because Peanut vomited all over the backseat. Good to know I had the school secretary's sympathies. The fever showed up shortly thereafter.

Fast forward two days: still feverish. Boomer takes Peanut to Urgent Care because of a 102 degree fever at 6 in the evening. This is where my kid becomes an overachiever. It's just not enough to have an ear infection, oh no. No, Peanut's got bronchitis as well. So now we have not one but three different medicines rocking his system. Thankfully, they work.

So I got to send him to school today, and we were both cheering. Tula took an uncharacteristic four-hour nap, and I got work done. Much rejoicing. Until she woke up and threw up on me. I got her cleaned up and that was when the school called saying that Peanut did really well, but his cough is worse and he probably shouldn't ride the bus. Can I come pick him up? Yes.

So now both kids are out cold and I'm looking for tea and sympathy. Boomer's offering pizza for dinner. So now all I need is the tea, because Boomer is explaining in no uncertain terms that he is coming home as soon as he can manage to help. I love my husband.

This too shall pass, and quickly. And I know that this will make the kids' immune systems stronger. But seriously, Tula's going to have an immune system of cast iron by the time she starts kindergarten. Maybe that will make this worthwhile. Doubtful, but I'm looking for any silver lining here.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Mea Maximus Culpa

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Forgive me, loyal readers...
For I have sinned.
It has been entirely too long since my last writing.
Blame my children.

I have learned that there is no point whatsoever in expecting to do anything during the day with a Peanut who needs entertaining while on Christmas break and a Tula who refuses to nap. I have also learned that begging reinforcements from Evil Twin results in great laughter. I'll remember that.

Christmas was a delight. Peanut has learned to read his name and had a fine time finding his presents in record time. He also appointed himself chief present unwrapper- it really didn't matter whose present, Peanut was there offering his services. And thiefing gifts to unwrap as he made his request. He's of the opinion that it's better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Tula had a grand time figuring out Big Brother and this whole present thing. And drooling up a storm as we've ended colic and begun teething. She still doesn't nap, but she will sleep through the night. Beggars can't be choosers. However, I do find myself begging her to go to sleep before 1:00 a.m. and sleeping longer than 6:00 a.m. Just saying.

The routine has been resumed as of today. Peanut went back to school and I got some Mommy time, which means the house looks like a bomb hit it and I got my fill of gummy grins and kick-and-wave. This was followed by hanging out with both of my children as Peanut broke out his Leapster. Much rejoicing.

In the meantime, I'll take my penance in the form of not nearly enough sleep and actually folding the laundry. And bringing the snark. Happy 2010 all!

Call me Mother of the Year.