I Am That Mother

Call me Mother of the Year.

I've been contemplating this for awhile now, and I'm still not sure I should write it. But I've been asked how things are going, and this is the best way I can describe my thoughts and feelings.

I AM THAT MOTHER
- who deals with temper tantrums in public.
- who endures your stares and comments rather than let my son see that you sit in judgement of his lack of control.
- who leaves every playdate early because my son is overstimulated.
- who cannot understand my son's lack of self-control.
- who cries with the knowledge that whatever I do is never enough.
- who fights with insecurity on a daily basis.

I AM THAT MOTHER
- who's husband supports me every day.
- who wakes up every morning to my son's hugs and kisses.
- who is grateful beyond words to family, friends, and Peanut's teacher.
- who knows this is but one step of a worthwhile journey.
- who sees my son's brilliance every day.
- who is finding my voice as my son's advocate.
- who will never give up on my son.

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Pros and Cons of Motherhood

Call me Mother of the Year.

After going to the doctor for a checkup last night (all is well, no worries) and discussing parenthood with my doctor, I realized that in no other time of my life has the good been so completely mixed with the annoying. I tried to point this out to Boomer, and, since I am much better with writing than speaking this, a blog was born.

PRO: Watching Peanut attack Easter Baskets. This was deeply entertaining for Boomer and I. Peanut's teacher suggested a game of hot & cold as we hid baskets, and Peanut loved this. We were laughing at my small son's joy, and a great time was had here. Plus, Peanut had the added joy of STUFF. New STUFF. And small amounts of candy. My thanks to various grandparents who took pity on me and left the sugar out of Easter.

CON: Easter grass. Seriously, who came up with this pile of nonsense? I noticed that those who have young children left this out of Peanut's basket, and I'm grateful. Those who didn't are forcing me to wonder what I did that was so heinous that caused them to think, "hmmm, she deserves to have wisps of brightly colored plastic strewn all over her house"? Granted, the dog looks much prettier with it in his paws, but he's a bit perturbed with his new look. As am I. I've been sweeping for two hours and I'm still finding this mess all over my house. My payback will be swift next year.

The best part of Easter was watching Boy Wonder attack the Easter egg hunt... and having Boomer take Peanut for this adventure. I got to relax with family and enjoy a few moments of quiet. Until Peanut came barreling in with his haul. I hope your Easter was as enjoyable as mine. Pros and cons mixed together.

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Next Step

Call me Mother of the Year.

At the end of a week that looks suspiciously like the roller coasters I'm doing my best to avoid, we finally have some good news. Peanut behaved wonderfully for his teachers today- no temper tantrums, no hitting, no time outs. And we've had a call from a specialist regarding Boy Wonder's Asperger treatment.

Those who know me by a different name know that I haven't had the best experience with doctors thus far. In fact, I ended up (politely, thank you) pointing out one psychologist's lack of communication to the point that she drove fifty miles out of her way to make things up to me. Therefore, I wasn't surprised to make calls yesterday and get a wrong department, hung up on, and finally, the right person's voice mail. I was, however, shocked to receive a call today from the doctor requesting my time for intake and getting Peanut set up for further evaluation. After only one day. I'm kind of in shock here. Kind of.

So I've been given a date and time to be at my phone and have Peanut otherwise occupied. Shouldn't be a problem. I know mostly what's going to be asked, and we can go from there. I'm rejoicing. And bundling up, because with good behavior comes a bike ride.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Winning and Losing

Call me Mother of the Year.

So Peanut and I have been enjoying his last official day of Spring Break, and we've been reading books and playing Candyland. Endless Candyland. And I've been attempting to teach my son a few important lessons in sportsmanship.

Not surprisingly, Peanut is a fiercely competitive little boy. He's figured out from Thomas the Tank Engine that everyone likes to win. Therefore, Boy Wonder must win every game he plays against Mommy (or really anyone, I think). Since life doesn't exactly work that way, I got treated to a few spectacular temper tantrums. At least he wasn't hitting.

It should be said that I don't allow cheating. Even though this game is boring to the point of tears, there's no way I'm going to allow myself to hurry it along. For one thing, I think that would give Peanut the wrong idea. For another, well, I'm reveling in my time with my son. Besides, seriously, how does one cheat at Candyland without getting caught?

I'm not sure how much of my explanation of why we can't always win sank in today. I know there's some adults who still haven't figured that out. Plus, I'm never sure how much Peanut actually listens before his attention goes elsewhere. But I tried. And I'm still trying. I want my son to understand that fair play should be treasured, that sore losers don't often get playing partners, and that winning really isn't everything. But he's four. And he's got a long way before that kind of understanding sinks in.

So for now, I'll keep reminding him that we don't always win when we want to. And that Mommy and Daddy love him no matter what. And screaming and kicking seriously scares Doggy Luke, so maybe if he stops, Doggy will come back and be petted.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Returning to the Face of the Earth

Call me Mother of the Year.

Okay, call me a recovering, penitent Mother of the Year. And thank you to my four loyal readers for not kicking my butt for blowing off my blog. Yes, I know that I have more than four readers, and I appreciate you all, but seriously, it's just me.

So, what's been going on?

Well, Peanut is on Spring Break, and I just told him that he's not going to school this week. I'm fending off temper tantrums with bribery. Yesterday it was Chuck E. Cheese, today Candyland and Play-Doh, and I'm figuring out the rest of the week as I go along. My diabolical plans of sending Boy Wonder outside and wearing him out have been thwarted by thunderstorms. Drat.

Preschool is going well, and there is much rejoicing. I'm already seeing progress in the lessening of temper tantrums and a new willingness to listen (occasionally). We're singing songs from school, talking about friends, and involving parents and grandparents in our new endeavor. Plus, he gets to bring Nana and Grammy to school for Grandparents' Day. That's going to be a whole new blog when it happens. I'll be there with video cameras, I promise. We also got to involve me in Peanut's First Attempt at Fundraising, where I learned that our family is a sucker for Peanut. His school now loves me.

I'm finally over Massive Sinus Infection, which laid me out cold for two weeks and required good drugs to yank me back to the land of the living. Oh yeah, and I'm kind of pregnant. Did I forget to mention that? Three months, all is going well, and Peanut has been informing all and sundry that he's "going to be a big brother!!!" He's requesting a little sister. I suspect Grammy may have put that in his head, but that could just be a rumor. Or an unwillingness to share trains. We'll see.

So yes, I'll be better about writing. After all, we have more adventures and twice the kids to talk about!

Call me Mother of the Year.

First Days

Call me Mother of the Year.

Last week began Peanut's school experience. There was much rejoicing (his) and a few tears (mine). Peanut is learning the hello and goodbye songs (okay, they're pretty cute) and also learning that there is no way his teacher, Boomer, and I are willing to let him ride the school bus. More on that in a bit.

Peanut's first day began with him sprinting out of the car toward his teacher, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, and falling flat on his hands and knees in excitement as I'm yelling at him to hold my hand. To her credit, his teacher made sure he was all right before chuckling and telling me "we're good! See you in a couple of hours!" She then took my son by the hand and walked him into school. I went home and pouted. For five minutes. Since when am I not needed to referee and explain my son? Oh, wait, yeah. She's a professional. And I really like her. And she really likes my kid. I'm good now.

Since then, it's gotten easier. Dropping Peanut off makes his day, the kids seem to get along with him, and we're working on the not-riding-the-bus-temper-tantrum. It would probably be easier if the kid would deign to sit still for longer than ten seconds, but we're working on that. Slowly.

In the meantime, there are magnifying glasses to use, blocks to build, and of course, trains and cars to play with. And not throw at me. Maybe school will be good for him after all. As for me, well, I could get used to the quiet. Eventually. But I'm glad when I can pick up my child. That's the way it should be. All independent until it's time to come home. For both of us.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Vacation Wrapup

Call me Mother of the Year.

Has it really been two weeks?

Two weeks... where Opa and Company were amazed at how big Peanut is... where my little man went from three to four... where new independence was gained... where speed records were broken (and the sound barrier, come to that)... where three generations skied, slid, and generally bonded over skis, snow, and a certain harness that I'm swiping as soon as we get home.

It's been amazing here in Steamboat Springs, and if you get the chance to come and play, I highly recommend it. It's been beautiful, and I have pictures and video to prove it. There will be many stories told over again, and Peanut has had the time of his life. Best of all, he's doing his best to convince Boomer that he can do this all by himself. Granted, letting a four-year-old alone on the slopes is a REALLY bad idea, but hey, at least he's not afraid. Or so I remind myself. Hour by hour.

However, we're on to a new adventure: finding all of our stuff and packing it. We leave tomorrow, and I'm sure Peanut will find new adventures in the airport as we wait for our plane. Plus, we have the added bonus of seeing Nana and Papa and telling them all about our trip. For now, though, I'm running through my arguments as to why Peanut will not be able to fly the plane home. Wish me luck.

Call me Mother of the Year.