tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43152735840623694152024-02-20T07:34:43.300-08:00Motherhood's Random ThoughtsMother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-40396653598199449312012-01-30T16:57:00.001-08:002012-03-23T07:00:24.806-07:00The PauseCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />Every morning since October, I wake up and go to my medicine cabinet. It takes about a second, but I stare at those two medicine bottles. As I'm wishing I didn't have to, I take them down and remove one pill from each. I set them down on our kitchen table, and I call Peanut to take his medicine. That pause is the worst part of my morning.<br /><br />This year hasn't been easy for Peanut. It became obvious early on in the school year that the coffee wasn't a viable option anymore. I'm choosing to leave out the details to protect Peanut's privacy. Suffice it to say his teachers and I have once again met nearly daily this year. We were referred to a new doctor in our area, and we started ADHD medication in 2011. We've been trying to get the correct dosage ever since, but I think we're finally close. I hope so.<br /><br />Watching Peanut struggle this year has been heartbreaking. His academic work hasn't suffered much, which is miraculous. However, his social skills have taken a dramatic downfall, and it's a battle to help him understand what actions are acceptable and what will make him deal with consequences he really doesn't want. He's learned that the world isn't necessarily black and white, and that rules for one situation don't always apply to all situations. We're still working on that, but at least the number of temper tantrums has diminished. For that, I'm grateful.<br /><br />This hasn't been easy for Peanut or anyone around him. His teachers need him to learn. Period. They need him to be in the classroom with his peers and stay reasonably quiet as he finishes his work. They need him to understand that outside voices need to stay outside on the playground. They need him to understand and follow the rules of both the classroom and the playground. When he doesn't, he needs to understand why consequences are being imposed. He's still working on that, and Boomer and I are working with him to help him understand why some of his choices aren't the best.<br /><br />For right now, though, there's a pause. Peanut's proud of his behavior the last few weeks, and he deserves to be proud. There have been some positive changes, and Boomer and I are celebrating them. We're also celebrating our sweet son who struggles daily with his reactions to different situations, but is starting to understand what is and is not appropriate. <br /><br />I didn't know if I would write this post. I'm not sure yet if I will publish it. I have so many conflicting emotions about these last few months, and I haven't wanted to diminish Peanut's privacy as so much of this has been public. When he looks back, I want him to know I've been here with him, and I love him. And I'll always be supporting him. I need him to know that Boomer and I are still his biggest fans.<br /><br />You're doing this, Peanut. You're succeeding. And Daddy and I couldn't be more proud.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-81616891911611043132011-09-11T11:17:00.000-07:002011-09-11T11:50:24.527-07:00RememberingCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />For once, I am not writing about my kids. I am instead writing for my kids.<br /><br />A friend wrote a most interesting question on her Facebook Wall last night. She asked how we parents who's children were too young to remember or not yet born on 9/11 answer questions about that day. I'm choosing to place my answer here.<br /><br />On that day in the near future when my brilliant, empathetic son asks if I was in New York or Washington, D.C. that day, I will answer him honestly.<br /><br />I was not. His aunt, Evil Twin, was on Capitol Hill as the Pentagon was struck.<br /><br />I will not tell him her story. I don't even know it all. But I will tell him that I was in my college apartment when I heard the quaking fear in his Nana's voice as she called me to let me know my sister was evacuating Capitol Hill in case of an attack and would be out of touch. I will tell him of the absolute relief I felt when his Papa called to let me know she was in her apartment, safe, and would call me after she had talked to our family. I will tell him it took her five hours to get through to me. I will tell him of my absolute pride in her when she told me she was going back to work the next day.<br /><br />I don't know if I can tell him that I cried as I watched the towers fall in New York waiting for her to call our parents. I don't know if I can tell him that the only thing scarier than knowing the person I was closest to was terrified was hearing the fear in my parents' voices. I don't know if I can tell him that it felt as though I was paralyzed with fear, hearing of the plane going down in Pennsylvania and knowing how close she was to danger. Unbelievably, ten years have gone by. I still don't know if I can say this to him or if he'll have to read it here.<br /><br />I will share with him the calls of support our parents and I received from family and friends. I will tell him we weren't alone, and that helped. I will tell him the firefighters and police who went into those buildings were heroes, as were the soldiers who went to war to protect us.<br /><br />I won't be watching television today. I can't. Instead, I'll hold Peanut and Tula close and remind them again how much I love them. I'll call Evil Twin and listen if she wants to talk. Tomorrow, I'll remind myself why I still live in hope. Today, though, I'll be quiet.<br /><br />And remember.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-65588250039647123492011-08-03T14:41:00.000-07:002011-08-03T14:54:26.003-07:00Toddler InvestigationCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />Proving once and for all that Tula requires constant supervision...<br /><br />A dear friend and I had the good fortune to have our children at the same time. Her son is six months younger than Peanut, and her daughter is four days older than Tula. With summer vacation beginning to wind down, we felt the need for a play date. As there are a couple of parks within walking distance of our house, our friends came to us.<br /><br />The good news is our kids played together beautifully. My friend and I got a chance to catch up on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as we watched our children run amok on the playground. Even leaving the park wasn't that painful. At least, it wasn't that painful until we got home.<br /><br />Peanut, in an effort to be helpful, ran to open the door for our guests. His small face fell as he looked at me and said, "Mommy, the door won't open."<br /><br />I tried the door. It was locked, because Tula has figured out how to play with the doors and that lock in particular. Since I wasn't the last one out, I didn't think to check if she'd gotten adventurous again. And yes, my keys were in the house with all windows shut and locked.<br /><br />In a slight panic, I called Boomer to figure out my next move. He was about 90 minutes away, and suggested I call a locksmith. I pointed out that the phone book was safely locked in the house. He took pity on me and got the number. Thankfully, the locksmith came right out and started working on letting us into our air-conditioned house.<br /><br />And that's when his pick broke off in our lock.<br /><br />No, I'm not making this up.<br /><br />Quit laughing.<br /><br />It took a few more minutes, but the locksmith was able to bust us into our house. He was nice enough to not charge for the broken pick, claiming that happened more often than I'd think. He also suggested hiding a key for just this situation. I'm on it. I'm also not letting Tula anywhere near the locks of this house.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-62858676142843196082011-06-30T10:13:00.000-07:002011-06-30T17:05:47.428-07:00Justifying MommyCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />So one of my friends from college is pregnant. I'm ecstatic for her and her husband. And she was asking some Mommy Advice. I figured that the best way to explain a typical day (as if there is one!)would be to show her today.<br /><br />5:25 a.m.: Peanut tells Boomer, "I have a hole in my heel, but don't worry. It's not serious.<br /><br />5:35: I inform Peanut that if the hole in his heel isn't serious, he can go back to bed. Shockingly, he agrees and snoozes.<br /><br />8:00: Peanut comes bouncing in for his thief-Daddy's-side-of-the-bed experience. The hole in his heel is a half-healed blister. It's not serious.<br /><br />9:00: Tula awakens with a fiercely wet diaper. Mommy changes toddler diaper, toddler jammies, and toddler bed sheet. Decide bath can wait until after breakfast.<br /><br />9:15: Peanut wants to know why his waffles, fruit, coffee, vitamins and orange juice are not accompanied by scrambled eggs. <br /><br />9:30: Start laundry. Allow Peanut and Tula their two PBS shows.<br /><br />10:00: Convince Tula that a bath is not the root of all evil.<br /><br />10:02: Chase a naked Tula around the house and get her into the bathtub.<br /><br />10:05: Realize Tula has a new phrase: "Hey! Go 'way!" Not the best thing to hear as I'm trying to wash her hair.<br /><br />10:15: Argue with Tula as to who gets to comb her hair. I win, but it's close.<br /><br />11:55: Remind Peanut that we do not run in the house. Again.<br /><br />12:15: Reading to Tula while Peaunt wreaks havoc with his trains. Bliss.<br /><br />12:53: Convince Peanut that reading in his room while I put Tula down for her nap is a good idea.<br /><br />2:15: Tula finally concedes defeat and naps. Computer time for Peanut. I take a breath.<br /><br />2:17: Remind Peanut that computer time, like Spandex, is a privilege instead of a right. If he continues banging on the computer keys, then I will revoke the privilege.<br /><br />2:30: Wallow in Peanut's joy of the computer. Bliss again.<br /><br />4:15: Tula wakes up from her nap. We're off to run an errand.<br /><br />5:00: Daddy's home! Both kids ditch me in favor of Boomer. I start investigating dinner options.<br /><br />5:30: Start making dinner.<br /><br />5:45: Realize I'm missing one of the key ingredients for dinner. Inform Boomer of emergency food run. Mutter curses under my breath.<br /><br />6:15: Back with reinforcements. Peanut wonders why dinner isn't ready. Allow Boomer to take that one.<br /><br />6:30: Dinner is served.<br /><br />6:45: Peanut wants seconds.<br /><br />7:00: Listen as my brilliant son reads aloud to his adoring sister. For him, she sits still. I'd break out my camera, but I know it would ruin the moment. Oh well.<br /><br />7:40: Bedtime chaos.<br /><br />8:00: Snoozing children. Happy parents.<br /><br />Hope you found this helpful. I'm off to find the chocolate.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-21903196603662549712011-06-06T09:38:00.001-07:002011-06-06T09:50:09.968-07:00Her Mother's DaughterCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />At this point, it's all I can do to keep from laughing. Nope, that's not working. I'm laughing so hard I can barely type.<br /><br />Saturday was an adventure in shoe shopping. Peanut wore out the toes of his sneakers and we realized that Tula's toes were crammed into her shoes. I was, of course, heartbroken to spend some time in a shoe store. Boomer and I decided that the stroller would be worthless, so Tula was able to sprint at will. Or so we thought.<br /><br />Peanut's experience was fairly simple. He's a guy. Sneakers. Done. And off to hang out with Boomer. On the other hand (foot?), Tula was enthralled with new shoes. I sat her on my lap to get the new shoes on, and it was the first time she sat still all week. We picked out shoes, and headed to the register- minus Tula. I turned around, and she's playing with high heels in Mommy's size.<br /><br />That's my girl. I'm still proud.<br /><br />We bribed Tula with her own new sparkly sandals, and she left the store without much fuss. I figured the story was over. I should know better.<br /><br />Yesterday Tula started fussing at me. She's still nonverbal, so What Tula Wants is a frequent game here. The correct answer was Put On My Sparkly New Shoes So I Can Walk Around The House. Today she wasn't happy until I put her in a T-Shirt dress and her sparkly sandals.<br /><br />My daughter is turning into a girly girl. I'm laughing. Boomer's in trouble.<br /><br />I haven't quite had the courage to tell this tale to the grandmas. I wonder how long it will take them to laugh and indulge my daughter in her new passion- clothes and shoes. My guess is two hours. Tops.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-81396927497666241352011-06-01T07:33:00.001-07:002011-06-01T07:52:14.160-07:00All Over But The ShoutingCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />Once again, dear readers, a mommy moment has lasted a month. Figures. And there's a lot of happy shouting here. Shouldn't surprise anyone. <br /><br />This has been what I refer to as The Month of Lasts. The last field trip. The last parent meeting of Kindergarten. Track & Field Day. My last moments of peace and quiet before summer vacation. Okay, peace and quiet during nap time, anyway. These are all over now. <br /><br />Today was the Optional Last Hour of School. Not surprisingly, Peanut opted to go. Surprisingly, he wasn't the only one in his class. He hung out in his classroom, helped Kindergarten Teacher with some clean-up duties, and munched an apple while attacking the playground one last time. All in all, not a bad way to end Kindergarten.<br /><br />I spent the hour considering this year. Peanut's grown so much that it's almost hard to see the little boy who could barely control himself at the start of this school year. He's more willing to listen and follow directions the first time he's told, rather than the fifth. Instead of shoving himself forward, he listens to his peers. He's taking responsibility for his actions and accepts the consequences- most of the time.<br /><br />I couldn't have given him that. Believe me, I've tried.<br /><br />Kindergarten Teacher gave all the credit to Peanut. "He did all the hard work." She's right, but he needed the guidance she provided. He needed to know that she cares about him and his successes. He needed to know that when there were bad days, she was still cheering him on. I'm in awe of this woman because as she gave her best efforts to teach my son, she gave that same best effort to all 22 kids in her class. They all know she loves them. She gave them that gift, along with her gifts of knowledge and creative teaching. Peanut's lucky to have had her as a teacher, a mentor, and a friend. <br /><br />He's ready for first grade. And while I'm still stunned at how quickly this school year flew by, I'm ready for first grade too. We have a behavior plan in place, and I know he can succeed. I'm more confident in my son's abilities and not quite as ready to hover. Kindergarten Teacher gave me that.<br /><br />Thanks. For everything.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-59791312292628347482011-04-28T10:41:00.001-07:002011-04-28T10:54:28.300-07:00Listening To The Mustn'tsCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />It's official: my son is brilliant.<br /><br />His Kindergarten teacher sent home a note this week. All students in her class are writing a hard cover book and require ideas. Thus the story map. Peanut and I sat down yesterday and decided to fill this out.<br /><br />Homework and Peanut are usually a bad combination. Peanut's a bright kid, but sitting down and doing his work is not the easiest for any six-year-old; ADHD only complicates this. I'll confess that I wasn't looking forward to this experience.<br /><br />It took maybe five minutes. Tops.<br /><br />Wow.<br /><br />Peanut came up with his title, characters, setting, problem, and solution. The thoughts and ideas just poured out of this kid. I was writing them down as fast as I could, and within minutes, he had his outline and was off to computer time. I sat at our table staring at his work in awe.<br /><br />There are so many times during his day that he's told "no." He deals with them for the most part, but I know he gets frustrated when all he wants to do is imagine and create while his mommy tells him to quit playing and do as he's told. I try to limit this, but it's difficult to get him to stay on task if I don't. He hears "no", "can't", and "don't" way too often for my liking, and I'm celebrating that I didn't have to use those words yesterday afternoon. He's a smart, empathetic boy who chooses to focus on what he can do rather than what the world tells him he can't. Watching him yesterday reminded me of one of my favorite Shel Silverstein poems. Peanut embodies this, and I share it in his honor. <br /><br />Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,<br />Listen to the DON'TS<br />Listen to the SHOULDN'TS<br />The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS<br />Listen to the NEVER HAVES<br />Then listen close to me-<br />Anything can happen, child,<br />ANYTHING can be.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-62354970104402966762011-03-18T13:11:00.000-07:002011-03-18T13:30:02.211-07:00Should've Named Her IvyCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />I've been reliably informed that a toddler gets bored easily when all she's doing is chasing Big Brother. Therefore, new activities must be presented or discovered.<br /><br />Miss Tula has taken matters to her hands and knees. She's climbing every surface in this house. Her adventures began as she figured out how to climb up on the couch- which is deeply cute. Then came climbing down safely, which I appreciated. Next was the leap onto the end table. I could have done without this as everything on said end table hit the floor in record time. Tula understands that this form of mischief means certain thwarting, so she's moved on to bigger and better things. After using the dog bed (and, consequently, the dog) to get onto Mommy and Daddy's bed, we needed more of a challenge. Luckily, there was one begging to be conquered.<br /><br />She figured out that climbing onto kitchen chairs equals climbing onto the kitchen table. Tula was kneeling on the table, scribbling away on scratch paper. Be still my heart. She was most displeased when I unceremoniously removed her from the table, but I still hold that she shouldn't have been up there in the first place. She holds that she's cute and wants it. <br /><br />Boomer and I have now learned that we need to keep chairs flush with the table or our little Miss Adventure will attack. This also goes for my desk chair- Tula has her big brother's sense of excitement with my computer. She'll understand that scaring her mother is a bad idea one of these days- like when she's a mommy herself.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-304320346353017152011-03-16T10:21:00.000-07:002011-03-16T17:01:03.597-07:00The Phone WarsCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />I freely confess my glee in part of this debate, but the rest just has me shaking my head in disbelief- and Boomer is laughing.<br /><br />Nana has a new phone. It's cooler than mine. She now has an iPhone. I'm annoyed.<br /><br />It's not merely phone envy, although that's infuriating enough. No, my issue is more the fact that my mother is completely technologically illiterate. Plus, she never turned on her old phone. This phone is totally wasted on her. Thus the obvious question from her (utterly jealous) daughter: <br /><br />"Why on earth did you get one?"<br />"Well, all my friends have one!"<br />"That's peer pressure. And peer pressure is wrong. You shouldn't have given in." <br /><br />(Yeah, that's where I'm gleeful. It's quite delightful when her lecture comes back at her.)<br /><br />"Well, I need an iPhone."<br />"WHY?????!!!!!"<br />"I need to learn about the texting so when Peanut gets his cell phone I can keep up with him."<br /><br />At this point in the conversation my head was in my hands. My mother just used my six-year-old as an excuse to get an iPhone. Yes, she did. <br /><br />However, I am able to see the humor in this. After all, it's not every day my mother tries (and fails) to send a text message. I'm waiting to witness this. And pat her on the head when she succeeds. And pray she hasn't written me (or texted me) out of her will yet.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-60792374946786219612011-03-09T07:27:00.001-08:002011-03-09T07:47:48.794-08:00Snow Days and Birthdays and Sick Days, Oh My!Call me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />This particular Mommy Moment has been lasting for a month. Thus the lack of writing- I've been waiting for the finish to tell you what's been happening here.<br /><br />We begin on February 1. The snow was starting and I was snickering at the forecasters who enjoy predicting big snows and getting only a couple of inches. The snickering turned against me fairly quickly as we got nailed with approximately seventeen inches. School was canceled in the afternoon for the next day. And Peanut was thrilled because there was snow for his birthday.<br /><br />For a certain young man's sixth birthday, he got a massive amount of snow, all his class's cupcakes, a sled, and his own camera. Kid's got some talent, and I'm figuring out how to post his stuff. Boomer took a few shots of our backyard, to the dismay of the dog. It's a bit difficult to heave a seventy pound mutt through a snowdrift. Just sayin'. Once the roads were opened and school resumed, he had quite the fuss made over him by Kindergarten Teacher, which he loved. All things considered, a good birthday.<br /><br />Later that week, Peanut started going to sleep at 7:00 at night. For those rare few who have seen my child at bedtime, you're aware this only happens when he's sick or in major trouble. In this case, it's the former rather than the latter. Thus began our first trip to the doctor. It hasn't been our last.<br /><br />After a false alarm, Peanut was diagnosed with strep throat. Bad enough for him, but now Boomer and I are tasked with keeping it from Tula. This wasn't easy or quiet, but it was accomplished. Then came Round Two.<br /><br />Peanut was sent home from school with a hundred degree fever. Figuring it was just a virus, Boomer and I kept him quiet and away from his little sister. Again, we're just the most awful parents EVER. A trip to the doctor let us know it was the flu and pneumonia. Good times. The follow up with Peanut's regular doctor showed an ear infection. At that point, Peanut had been quarantined, I had a nebulizer for the kid, and his ears hurt. Yay Mom.<br /><br />So Boomer and I were busily congratulating ourselves in keeping each other and Tula safe from this... right up until I caught the flu and bronchitis. At this point, the nurses know me by name and I'm getting sympathetic chuckles. Oh, and I haven't seen my kids in five days. I want my life back, thank you very much. Poor Boomer needs a vacation now.<br /><br />I'm just about over this nonsense and ready to disinfect my house. The good news is that so far, Boomer and Tula have escaped this. Right now, I'm off to see if I can end my reign as The Ghost of Mommy.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-66798837275792433662011-01-05T10:04:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:21:32.060-08:00My Kids Are Just That CuteCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />With the first big snowfall of the year comes a Peanut itching to attack with snowballs. Good thing the yard's fenced. After much flinging of snow, Peanut decided to build a snowman. I saw him roll a snowball as tall as himself and attempt to make it bigger. He came running from the back fence toward our patio, turned around, and sprinted (okay, as much as one can in snow boots and six inches)toward said snowball... and skidded to a stop mere inches away from his snowman as he was afraid to crash. I sent Boomer out as a reinforcement. It was a great snowman, and the ensuing snowball fight was spectacular. I saw my guys attack from the playhouse, which if you're Peanut's size makes a delightful fort.<br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />Tula is continuing her fascination with all thing electronic and on Mommy's desk. I was charging my cell phone and came back into the room to find my daughter holding said phone and babbling into it. Thank God she hasn't figured out how to call anyone on it (yet). I'm equally grateful there's no way to make international calls on that phone. This proves a couple of things: First, Tula is way too smart for my own good. Second: I spend way too much time on the phone.<br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />Over Christmas break, Peanut, Tula and I went to a delightful place filled with moonbounces. There was much rejoicing. Peanut discovered the pirate ship bouncy. Even more rejoicing. I now have a picture of my small son holding his mouth mid-bounce as one of his teeth fell out. The second one fell out the next day. Good thing this was after Christmas- Papa instantly broke into "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth". He only shut up when I pointed out that it's no longer Christmas.<br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />Tula's latest obsession is Pattycake. I'm good with this because it's a surefire way to keep her from screaming. She fusses, I start the chant, she giggles. She's also quite fond of wrapping her hands around my thumbs and going through the motions with me. As we were driving home, I looked in the rear view mirror to see my baby roll her hands, mark them, and throw them in the air just like Mommy. Yes, I totally melted. Until the light turned green.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-20019842816883048902010-12-06T11:49:00.000-08:002010-12-06T12:07:23.593-08:00The Great Shoe DebateCall Me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"You're gonna slip and fall flat on your face!"<br />"I haven't yet."<br />"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.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-71615623041874001502010-11-30T07:03:00.000-08:002010-11-30T07:19:38.242-08:00Massive UpdateCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />Really? Two months? SORRY. Blame the kids... okay, blame me for not writing.<br /><br />I'm doing this in chronological order.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Coffee.<br /><br />Yeah, you read that correctly. My Kindergartner is on a two-cups-a-day habit.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />In the meantime, kids, I need to explain to Tula that Orajel is not a good substitute for finger paint. Let the adventures continue!<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-18335901119517883502010-10-18T13:15:00.000-07:002010-10-18T13:31:18.896-07:00The Object of Her AffectionCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Turns out I wasn't wrong.<br /><br />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!"<br /><br />I lost it. Bent double with laughter. And looked up at my friend at said, "They're so getting married. Get ready."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />He did not mention the little girl. At all.<br /><br />Heaven help him, my son is oblivious.<br /><br />If he figures this out in time, maybe they'll go trick-or-treating together. Isn't that what five-year-old couples do?<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-79346495781681544822010-10-16T06:31:00.000-07:002010-10-16T06:45:47.186-07:00Judgement DayCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-20569023372642715412010-09-09T06:31:00.000-07:002010-09-09T06:40:54.180-07:00Happy Birthday, Tula!Call me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />My Darling Tula,<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Happy First Birthday, beloved Tula.<br /><br />Love,<br />Mommy<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-88298064745551664082010-08-23T13:22:00.000-07:002010-08-23T13:34:15.650-07:00He's Not in Preschool AnymoreCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />I let him go today.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I let him go today.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I let him go today. And that hurt.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I let him go today. We both survived.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-58776769117953688202010-08-04T16:20:00.000-07:002010-08-04T16:33:21.035-07:00Mommies Say The Weirdest ThingsCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />"We do not fling the cat!"<br /><br />"I don't care how cute you are, the dog is not to be used as target practice."<br /><br />"Sure, bacon's a good secret ingredient to trail mix." (Don't ask. Seriously.)<br /><br />"Fingers are not food. Neither are feet."<br /><br />"We do not take toys that aren't ours."<br /><br />"Get the shoelace out of your mouth. Get the dog's tail out of your mouth."<br /><br />"When taking a shower, it helps to get under the water."<br /><br />"Dog food is not your food."<br /><br />"I'll tell you when it's Kindergarten Day!"<br /><br />"The changing table is not a jungle gym."<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-80276422200934869762010-08-02T10:26:00.000-07:002010-08-02T10:39:03.080-07:00The Countdown Is OnCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!).<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />And now, not-so-small-one, it's time to cross off another day. Eighteen days to go. Bring it on.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-62153701097944866762010-07-12T10:34:00.000-07:002010-07-12T10:46:14.862-07:00There's An App For ThatCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />iTeething Ring: The iPhone is slobberproof and perfect for the teething child!<br /><br />iPunt: Want to keep your toddler busy? Instead of Kick the Can, Kick the Phone!<br /><br />iAnswer: Program your iPhone to automatically answer every "Why" marathon!<br /><br />iLullaby: You've heard of iTunes? Our soothing songs will get the kids to nap quickly!<br /><br />iFeed: Too many kids? Not enough time? It'll put dinner on the table!<br /><br />iNap: What busy moms do when their wee ones are occupied by the iPhone!<br /><br />I've got to figure out how to market this. And if you've any ideas, I'm open to them.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-80098588331771619972010-06-10T10:53:00.000-07:002010-06-10T11:13:07.141-07:00Adventures With BabyCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-64175483468481179722010-05-21T07:28:00.000-07:002010-05-21T07:39:31.716-07:00The Ending of an Era, The Turning of a PageCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />There's a lot in there.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />Thanks, Beloved Teacher. For everything.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-28818773317660764002010-05-14T15:19:00.000-07:002010-05-14T15:29:06.461-07:00Tula the ManipulatorCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-38948819303604562472010-05-12T17:03:00.000-07:002010-05-12T17:17:57.194-07:00Blogging HiatusCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315273584062369415.post-42695525125711465312010-03-04T11:26:00.000-08:002010-03-04T12:23:06.600-08:00What They Don't Tell YouCall me Mother of the Year.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />This won't be that post. It'll come later.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Then came this morning.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Maybe there is a happy ending after all.<br /><br />Call me Mother of the Year.Mother of the Yearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15887104013569391995noreply@blogger.com0