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.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
In Sickness and In Health
Call me Mother of the Year.
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Mea Maximus Culpa
Call me Mother of the Year.
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Starring Tula
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.
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.
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.
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