Call me Mother of the Year.
I'm confused. Granted, this isn't an uncommon emotion, but I find myself in need of more experienced mommies. My son has caused a parenting conundrum that I've no idea how to get through.
Like many of his age, Peanut has a literal mind and a small short-term memory. Thus, whatever is happening at this second is the truth and the actions of two seconds ago is ancient history. Case in point: Peanut knows that he is to avoid roaring at the top of his voice in close proximity to friends' ears. He tells me this rule as we head to the park. After thirty minutes, this rule goes out of his head.
Me: "Peanut, why are you roaring?" (Dumbest question of motherhood, but must be asked. It's in the rule book.)
Peanut: (Looking wounded) "Because I'm not!"
The entire park heard my kid. Yet, because he stopped when I outshouted him, the roaring never happened.
Therein lies my dilemma. How does one teach a four-year-old why lying is bad when said four-year-old has no concept of truth?
Boomer and I are still figuring this one out, and I'll keep you updated. Meanwhile, I'm off to explain to Peanut why "because" is not a reason and referring to the baby as "The Thing", while funny, isn't a good habit to be in. Wish me luck.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Peanut Grows Up (And So Does Mommy)
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the weekend for Boy Wonder. On Saturday, we went to a local festival and decided that we did not need to be the only gluttons for punishment. So all the grandparents came along. And there was much rejoicing. Peanut discovered the carnival, complete with rides his size. And there was even more rejoicing.
Peanut blew through a roller coaster (at least twice), airplanes, motorcycles, a "giant slide" (keep in mind, we're dealing with preschoolers here), a merry-go-round, and racecars before finally allowing himself lunch. Thus fortified, he went for the motherload: the Ferris Wheel. And Boomer, who was his companion on this adventure. I was happy to allow this, considering I have both a medical condition (pregnancy) and a phobia (fear of heights) that does not let me do well with these things.
Peanut was quite happy to hang out with Daddy while in line, and then clutched Boomer for dear life once he realized just how high this thing was going. He survived, and so did I.
Today was another delightful experience. Mommy Cohorts gather for lunch and water slides. And Peanut behaved beautifully. No temper tantrums, only one warning, and one minor fuss when it was time to leave. Great job from Boy Wonder.
It hit me on the way home that my hypervigilance is no longer necessary. Peanut gets what good behavior means. My habits die hard, however, because I still smart at the looks and comments I dealt with before his transformation. So now it's time for a new change: mine. My kid needs all the credit I can give him, and it's time to start.
So now we're hanging out, bonding over vanilla Oreos, air conditioning, and PBS Kids.
It's a great day here, and I'm basking in our mutual non-frustration.
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the weekend for Boy Wonder. On Saturday, we went to a local festival and decided that we did not need to be the only gluttons for punishment. So all the grandparents came along. And there was much rejoicing. Peanut discovered the carnival, complete with rides his size. And there was even more rejoicing.
Peanut blew through a roller coaster (at least twice), airplanes, motorcycles, a "giant slide" (keep in mind, we're dealing with preschoolers here), a merry-go-round, and racecars before finally allowing himself lunch. Thus fortified, he went for the motherload: the Ferris Wheel. And Boomer, who was his companion on this adventure. I was happy to allow this, considering I have both a medical condition (pregnancy) and a phobia (fear of heights) that does not let me do well with these things.
Peanut was quite happy to hang out with Daddy while in line, and then clutched Boomer for dear life once he realized just how high this thing was going. He survived, and so did I.
Today was another delightful experience. Mommy Cohorts gather for lunch and water slides. And Peanut behaved beautifully. No temper tantrums, only one warning, and one minor fuss when it was time to leave. Great job from Boy Wonder.
It hit me on the way home that my hypervigilance is no longer necessary. Peanut gets what good behavior means. My habits die hard, however, because I still smart at the looks and comments I dealt with before his transformation. So now it's time for a new change: mine. My kid needs all the credit I can give him, and it's time to start.
So now we're hanging out, bonding over vanilla Oreos, air conditioning, and PBS Kids.
It's a great day here, and I'm basking in our mutual non-frustration.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
When Daddy Laughs
Call me Mother of the Year.
To the amusement of most of my cohorts, I'm finally showing that yes, thank you, I'm pregnant. It's become a bit more obvious because every time I sit down and relax, one can see my stomach moving with the baby. Kinda like Alien on speed. My guys are fascinated by this, which makes my day. Peanut's still a bit confused, but we're working on that.
Last night, Boomer and I were hanging out lamenting over the Cubs/Sox rainout, and the baby started getting its groove on. This invariably happens when I'm feeling like sleep is a good idea. Mommy doesn't need sleep, I need to party! Payback will be swift in the teenage years. So Boomer, being an excited daddy, reaches for my belly.
Boomer: "Holy crap! Your stomach is vibrating!"
Me: "Yeah, this is pretty normal."
Boomer: "I sired the Tasmanian Devil!"
Me: "Duh. How else do you explain Peanut?"
Boomer: Uncontrollable laughter. I'm amazed Peanut slept through it.
At this point, I have no clue if it's a boy or a girl. And I still don't care. Based on the movement, I'd say boy. Based on gestational size, girl. Flip a coin, kids.
In the meantime, Boy Wonder is requiring a bike ride. It's finally decent! And there was much rejoicing.
Call me Mother of the Year.
To the amusement of most of my cohorts, I'm finally showing that yes, thank you, I'm pregnant. It's become a bit more obvious because every time I sit down and relax, one can see my stomach moving with the baby. Kinda like Alien on speed. My guys are fascinated by this, which makes my day. Peanut's still a bit confused, but we're working on that.
Last night, Boomer and I were hanging out lamenting over the Cubs/Sox rainout, and the baby started getting its groove on. This invariably happens when I'm feeling like sleep is a good idea. Mommy doesn't need sleep, I need to party! Payback will be swift in the teenage years. So Boomer, being an excited daddy, reaches for my belly.
Boomer: "Holy crap! Your stomach is vibrating!"
Me: "Yeah, this is pretty normal."
Boomer: "I sired the Tasmanian Devil!"
Me: "Duh. How else do you explain Peanut?"
Boomer: Uncontrollable laughter. I'm amazed Peanut slept through it.
At this point, I have no clue if it's a boy or a girl. And I still don't care. Based on the movement, I'd say boy. Based on gestational size, girl. Flip a coin, kids.
In the meantime, Boy Wonder is requiring a bike ride. It's finally decent! And there was much rejoicing.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Confusion
Call me Mother of the Year.
So far, the first couple of weeks of summer have gone well. Compared to this time last year, there is a distinct lack of temper tantrums and hitting. There is also a major disdain of Pull-Ups. Long may both of these last. We've been investigating new strawberries (once again, Peanut is chief Tester of Yumminess), riding our big boy bike, and attacking crayons.
I'm noticing a new questioning bent in my small son. "Why?" and "But Mommy" are heard rather frequently these days. No subject is safe, but one is particularly interesting and funny.
My belly is moving. And try as I might, I cannot explain this sufficently to Peanut.
Peanut (and his preschool teacher, family and various strangers) is aware that he is about to be a big brother. He has a standing invitation to feel the baby moving, and I've tried to talk about how the baby is growing without completely confusing or scarring my son. Right now, Peanut has one concern.
"But Mommy, I can't HEAR the baby!"
Now I'm confused. Hear the baby? Why are we concerned with that? If this one is anything like it's mother, I guarantee hearing the baby will be the least of my concerns. Then I put myself in my four-year-old's shoes. The babies Peanut hangs out with now are, well, outside of their mommies' tummies. You can touch them, see them, hear them. Peanut can do none of these things yet, and is perceptive enough to be worried.
My son is brilliant.
So I'm doing my level best to explain to Peanut that while we can't hear the baby now, we will in a few months. Meanwhile, we can tell the baby we love it. And feel it beating the daylights out of Mommy's insides. If this doesn't work, I'm calling for backup. Maybe Boomer has some ideas.
Call me Mother of the Year.
So far, the first couple of weeks of summer have gone well. Compared to this time last year, there is a distinct lack of temper tantrums and hitting. There is also a major disdain of Pull-Ups. Long may both of these last. We've been investigating new strawberries (once again, Peanut is chief Tester of Yumminess), riding our big boy bike, and attacking crayons.
I'm noticing a new questioning bent in my small son. "Why?" and "But Mommy" are heard rather frequently these days. No subject is safe, but one is particularly interesting and funny.
My belly is moving. And try as I might, I cannot explain this sufficently to Peanut.
Peanut (and his preschool teacher, family and various strangers) is aware that he is about to be a big brother. He has a standing invitation to feel the baby moving, and I've tried to talk about how the baby is growing without completely confusing or scarring my son. Right now, Peanut has one concern.
"But Mommy, I can't HEAR the baby!"
Now I'm confused. Hear the baby? Why are we concerned with that? If this one is anything like it's mother, I guarantee hearing the baby will be the least of my concerns. Then I put myself in my four-year-old's shoes. The babies Peanut hangs out with now are, well, outside of their mommies' tummies. You can touch them, see them, hear them. Peanut can do none of these things yet, and is perceptive enough to be worried.
My son is brilliant.
So I'm doing my level best to explain to Peanut that while we can't hear the baby now, we will in a few months. Meanwhile, we can tell the baby we love it. And feel it beating the daylights out of Mommy's insides. If this doesn't work, I'm calling for backup. Maybe Boomer has some ideas.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Bikes and Dentists and Fun Fairs, Oh My!
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the week for Peanut. Last Saturday, he became the proud owner of his first "big boy" bike... complete with training wheels, bike helmet, and elbow and knee pads. Mommy may be foolish, but not completely stupid. Peanut has had a fine time figuring out just how fast he can go and how long he can make the skid marks when he stops. He is his father's child.
On Thursday, we had Boy Wonder Goes to the Dentist. I realize that there are children (and let's face it, adults) who dread this. Considering our dentist is the father of the other half of the Dastardly Duo, it's not a problem. Getting Peanut to quit the doughboys that our dentist taught him (thanks!) has been more difficult, but I'm not complaining as Boy Wonder had no cavities. And there was much rejoicing.
Then came Friday. As we pulled into school, Peanut saw not one but two jump castles. Best day ever. Beloved Teacher explained that he had 11 minutes in the jumpy and let me know that Peanut's sacred schedule was shot for the day. Would there be any problems?
There would not. Peanut came home tired and happy with his bag full of prizes. We are still hearing about how much fun he had. On to this week: The Last Day of School. How will I survive? Only time will tell.
Call me Mother of the Year.
It has been quite the week for Peanut. Last Saturday, he became the proud owner of his first "big boy" bike... complete with training wheels, bike helmet, and elbow and knee pads. Mommy may be foolish, but not completely stupid. Peanut has had a fine time figuring out just how fast he can go and how long he can make the skid marks when he stops. He is his father's child.
On Thursday, we had Boy Wonder Goes to the Dentist. I realize that there are children (and let's face it, adults) who dread this. Considering our dentist is the father of the other half of the Dastardly Duo, it's not a problem. Getting Peanut to quit the doughboys that our dentist taught him (thanks!) has been more difficult, but I'm not complaining as Boy Wonder had no cavities. And there was much rejoicing.
Then came Friday. As we pulled into school, Peanut saw not one but two jump castles. Best day ever. Beloved Teacher explained that he had 11 minutes in the jumpy and let me know that Peanut's sacred schedule was shot for the day. Would there be any problems?
There would not. Peanut came home tired and happy with his bag full of prizes. We are still hearing about how much fun he had. On to this week: The Last Day of School. How will I survive? Only time will tell.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Solutions
Call me Mother of the Year.
Like many of the four-year-old set, Peanut has a mighty fear of loud noises. Particularly train whistles that sound in the middle of the night and thunder. It should be noted that Doggy Luke shares these fears, so nighttime and thunderstorms can be fairly interesting. If you're not me.
Peanut, to Boomer's and my dismay, has an alarming habit of showing up in our room multiple times between 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning, pointing out his fears and requesting our assistance in going back to bed. Preferably our bed. This won't work for a couple reasons. First, Boomer is not the smallest man in the universe and has a habit of taking over an entire queen-size bed. Second, Peanut is his father's son, with the added bonus of kicking all and sundry in his sleep. We've come up with a compromise: Peanut can come to our doorway, state his fear, and go back to bed, and Boomer and I can go to sleep in peace. In the event that we don't hear him, Peanut makes a nest of throw pillows and crashes until one of us realizes what he's up to.
Today being full of thunderstorms, both Peanut and Doggy Luke have been concerned. Okay, Peanut's concerned and Doggy is scared out of his mind. So they're both cowering around me. Peanut's on my lap, and Doggy Luke is trying to fit there too. Not happening. I tell Peanut that thunder, like train whistles, is just a noise that can't hurt him. Peanut's solution: "well, we can just share the fruit!" And we're off to the next subject. And then Boomer came home. And all is well.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Like many of the four-year-old set, Peanut has a mighty fear of loud noises. Particularly train whistles that sound in the middle of the night and thunder. It should be noted that Doggy Luke shares these fears, so nighttime and thunderstorms can be fairly interesting. If you're not me.
Peanut, to Boomer's and my dismay, has an alarming habit of showing up in our room multiple times between 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning, pointing out his fears and requesting our assistance in going back to bed. Preferably our bed. This won't work for a couple reasons. First, Boomer is not the smallest man in the universe and has a habit of taking over an entire queen-size bed. Second, Peanut is his father's son, with the added bonus of kicking all and sundry in his sleep. We've come up with a compromise: Peanut can come to our doorway, state his fear, and go back to bed, and Boomer and I can go to sleep in peace. In the event that we don't hear him, Peanut makes a nest of throw pillows and crashes until one of us realizes what he's up to.
Today being full of thunderstorms, both Peanut and Doggy Luke have been concerned. Okay, Peanut's concerned and Doggy is scared out of his mind. So they're both cowering around me. Peanut's on my lap, and Doggy Luke is trying to fit there too. Not happening. I tell Peanut that thunder, like train whistles, is just a noise that can't hurt him. Peanut's solution: "well, we can just share the fruit!" And we're off to the next subject. And then Boomer came home. And all is well.
Call me Mother of the Year.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Artful Dodger
Call me Mother of the Year.
I have come to the conclusion that baking can be hazardous to my mental health.
Allow me to explain. On Saturday, I was busily baking for our church's fellowship hour and Peanut was doing his level best to "help". Sadly for me, his idea of helping involved helping himself to the goodies. This was discouraged, and he moved outside. Yesterday, I was baking again to thank his teacher and aids because, well, they deserve goodies. They just do. And it's Teacher Appreciation Week.
So Peanut came home from school to a house smelling delightfully of lemon bars. And knowing that Mommy had peanut butter cookies somewhere. And deciding he was hungry. Having been thwarted in his attempts for a fourth snack in under an hour, he was ready to take matters in his own hands.
As I was getting ready for our Big Wheels ride/power walking experience, I noticed that Peanut's mouth was moving. Actually, he was chewing.
You guessed it. The kid had figured out how to get into the cookies.
So after the ensuing cancel-bike-ride-and-time-out-for-temper-tantrum episode, I explain this to Boomer... who snarfs the remaining lemon bars when Peanut's back is turned. And thus gets to deal with Peanut's disappointment. Boomer was properly remorseful, and I now refer to him as Father of the Year.
So now I'm up to baking again to console both my guys: The Artful Dodger and the Artful Codger.
Call me Mother of the Year.
I have come to the conclusion that baking can be hazardous to my mental health.
Allow me to explain. On Saturday, I was busily baking for our church's fellowship hour and Peanut was doing his level best to "help". Sadly for me, his idea of helping involved helping himself to the goodies. This was discouraged, and he moved outside. Yesterday, I was baking again to thank his teacher and aids because, well, they deserve goodies. They just do. And it's Teacher Appreciation Week.
So Peanut came home from school to a house smelling delightfully of lemon bars. And knowing that Mommy had peanut butter cookies somewhere. And deciding he was hungry. Having been thwarted in his attempts for a fourth snack in under an hour, he was ready to take matters in his own hands.
As I was getting ready for our Big Wheels ride/power walking experience, I noticed that Peanut's mouth was moving. Actually, he was chewing.
You guessed it. The kid had figured out how to get into the cookies.
So after the ensuing cancel-bike-ride-and-time-out-for-temper-tantrum episode, I explain this to Boomer... who snarfs the remaining lemon bars when Peanut's back is turned. And thus gets to deal with Peanut's disappointment. Boomer was properly remorseful, and I now refer to him as Father of the Year.
So now I'm up to baking again to console both my guys: The Artful Dodger and the Artful Codger.
Call me Mother of the Year.
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