School Shopping

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My daughter is starting PreK in a month.

I have never been so stressed in my life.

And its not because of the potty training issue (she's not), or the cost (we're praying for a money tree), or the timing (only two days a week).

It's because of the 2010-2011 Preschool Supply List.

Here it part of the list:

Please bring all items in a large bag with your child's name clearly written on the outside of the bag to the parent meeting.

*2 rolls of paper towels
*1 box of Kleenex tissue (any brand)
*3 boxes of baby wipes
*1 box gallon size ziploc bags
*1 large tub of Lysol or Clorox disinfecting wipes
*1 box markers (8 count or larger)
*4 glue sticks
*2 fine point Sharpie permanent markers (black or color)
*3 packages Party favors (each pkg. should contain 8 or more)

This is my first school supply list -- well, the first one that I have had to do the shopping for. And I am agonizing over it.

I took the kids to the 99 Cent Store to knock off most of the items on the list. But once we were there, I started to worry. After all, the 99 Cent Store does not always have name brands. Will my daughter's teachers think I'm cheap for shopping there? Is it okay to not have name brands? How large is large when it asks for disinfecting wipes? Is a roll of 20 okay or should I go to Costco and get a roll of 25,000? Same issue with the boxes of baby wipes - how many wipes should come in a box? And, lets face it, the cheaper brand of wipes are kinda crappy. Is that okay? How many bags do they want in the box of Ziploc bags? Because the 99 Cent Store carried two brands - one with a box of 10 and another with a box of 11. Is that enough, or should I get two boxes? If I get two boxes will her teachers think I'm kissing up? Or should I get 3 boxes??

And then I got to the party favor aisle. I seriously spent about half an hour there, fretting over the party favors. They had to be just right - I didn't want my daughter to get labeled uncool in PreK. Those kind of labels can stick with you your entire life, right? But I could only find 1 package of party favors that had 8 or more. So I bought 4 packages of 4. And then I had to agonize over the characters. Princesses or Mickey Mouse? Cars or Winnie the Pooh? Or should I go with generic so her teachers don't have to deal with kids fighting over characters? Will the teachers hate my daughter if I mess up this list? Or, even worse, will they kick her out of the class?!?!?!?

At this rate, I'm not going to be able to handle Kindergarten.

Today's Conversation

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Okay, I'll admit it. Sometimes I talk to myself (in my head, so I'm only a little crazy, right?). I've convinced myself that this is perfectly acceptable; after all, now that I'm home with my kids, sometimes I have to talk to myself in order to have a grown up conversation.

Here's today's conversation.... it took place (in my head) this morning while I was doing the dishes and my kids were watching Sesame Street.

Dreamer Me: Thanks goodness, the kids are playing quietly so I can get the kitchen clean and enjoy a cup of coffee.

Devil's Advocate Me: They're too quiet.

Dreamer Me: No, they aren't.

Devil's Advocate Me: Yes, they are.

DM: Come on, Shannon, there is nothing they can get into trouble in the living room. It's perfectly baby proofed.

DAM: Oh, right. Just your husband's computer. And the art supplies. And the key basket. And the wireless booster. And...

DM: (smugly) Point taken! Which is why I blocked off my husband's computer, put the wireless booster and key basket on the top shelf of the desk, and the art supplies are on top of the entertainment center.

DAM: (stubbornly) I'm telling you, they are too quiet. You need to go check. Remember, Boyo likes to climb, and Girlie is an instigator. You can't just sit here and enjoy yourself.

DM: (indignantly) I'm not enjoying myself! I'm doing the dishes. (Sigh) But I suppose you're right. I'll go check.

My daughter (interrupting my thoughts): Momma! Can I paint the table? 'Cuz Brother all ready did!

DM and DAM: Oh, bloody everlasting hell.

Beach Trip

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I took my kids down to Mother's Beach today. It was Boyo's first beach trip and Girlie's fourth -- pretty pathetic since we live in Southern California.

Still, we all learned something.

My son learned that the beach is fun and is not a scary place (as he originally thought).

My daughter learned that splashing Momma's very expensive camera is a bad idea.

And I learned that my daughter will have no problem restraining suspects if she decides law enforcement is a valid career choice.

Fresh and New and Perfect

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I felt a little pang yesterday when I realized that my co-workers had gone back to work.

They were in front of classroom, starting a brand new year, talking and joking with students. This is the best part of the school year, when everything is fresh and new and PERFECT. Faculty meetings are over for a month. You aren't burnt out. You don't have 21 nasty parent emails in your inbox to deal with. You don't have a student in tears because you caught her cheating. Your principal hasn't grabbed you (yet) to ask you to do just one more small, little thing that won't take you much time at all but it ends up taking up the entire year and you aren't getting paid for it. (Sorry, went off on a tangent there.)

And I wanted that - I wanted that feeling of fresh and new and perfect. So I was a little sad. And then I received an email from a friend and former colleague who told me that my presence was missed. And that made me more sad.

But then I realized that if I was at work, I would have missed this time with my kids:

Here's my fresh.

And my new.

And my perfect.

Contest Queen

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I am becoming a bit of a contest junkie.

I have a list of current contests book marked on my computer. You know, those: "Enter Daily for a Chance to Win!" And every morning I allot the five minutes to enter these 15 or so contests.

Yes, I know it's pathetic.

But if you had a chance to win $20,000 by entering a contest daily, I bet you would do it too. After all, my chances are better to win an Internet contest than they are to win the lottery. Not by much, mind you, but enough. And I would tell you where these contests are, but I really don't need the competition.

Still, I enter daily for 20 grand, a new living room, a $5000 shopping spree, and a new water heater, to name a few. There are also some daily giveaways that I sign up for.

But the best contest prize that I have seen so far? (Yes, even better than the $20 grand). This:

ONE WHOLE YEAR FREE MAID SERVICE!!!!

Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please let me win.

Oddest prize I've seen so far? This:

Cook 'N Carry Charcoal Smoker/Grill

Use this grill for smoking brisket or chicken or for grilling hamburgers and kabobs. It has a single grilling grate with a double latch lid and a wood handle for easy transportation. Ideal for carrying to the campgrounds or the park.

Why in the name of God would I want a Cook 'N Carry Charcoal Smoker/Grill? Smokers and grills are nonmoveable objects in my book.

I entered the contest anyway.

If I win I can give it to someone as a Christmas present, right?

New Role

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I did it.

Day one as a SAHM - I'm surprised at how well it went.

Not because my children were perfect angels (they weren't), or because I was well rested (I wasn't), or because my house is clean (it isn't), or because I made a healthy dinner (I didn't - Hamburger Helper, baby).

It went well because I felt comfortable in the role.

And I was productive today - got up an hour before the kids and got ready for the day. I even gave myself a pedicure and ate breakfast. I was enjoying a quiet cup of coffee on my patio when I heard my daughter stirring.

I'm proud to say we only watched 2 TV shows (per kid, but 2 TV shows sounds better when I don't add that part). We ate breakfast, went for a walk, and had a dance off. At that point, it was only 9 am, and I was scrambling for ideas of what to do. So off we went to the library and to run some errands. We came home and had arts and craft time. We ate lunch. They took naps and I debated - dishes, laundry, or bills? I watched a TV show and read instead. When they woke up, we went to the movies, and then came home to hang out with Daddy.

Somewhere in there, I was able to do 3 loads of laundry, a load of dishes, clean my bathroom, and clean out my car (okay, so all the crap from my car is sitting in a laundry basket, waiting to be sorted through. And the 3 loads of laundry still have to be folded. And there is another load of dishes to be done). I also got sweet talked by my husband into making 5 dozen cookies. But I stayed on top of it all.

I have a feeling that today is going to be an exception, rather than the rule, in terms of productivity.

Still, all that worrying was for nothing?

SAHM-Day Eve

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The time has come. SAHM-Day is upon me. My husband goes back to work tomorrow and it's finally, really, totally official: I'm a Stay At Home Mommy.

I've known this day was coming. I've known it was coming even as I desperately spent the summer searching for jobs while my husband played with the kids outside. I've mentally prepared myself for SAHM Day by joining another MOMS Club, signing up for new museum passes, and renewing my zoo passes. I've financially prepared myself by finding freelance work - substituting, tutoring, writing, editing. I've emotionally prepared myself through discussions with a wonderful friend, who has been great at letting me whine, cry, and redefine my sense of self.

And I'm still a little nervous.

Not nervous that I can't handle my children - I can do that, even when they are screaming, hyperactive, fighting monsters. (Okay, so I'm a little nervous that I can't handle my children.)

I'm nervous that I'm going to be home with a stubborn little girl who refuses to be potty trained and thinks it's hilarious to pee outside like the dog.

I'm nervous that I'm going to have to deal with hours upon hours of my son screaming just so he can hear the sound of his own voice.

I'm nervous that I'll cave tomorrow at 8 am and turn on the TV (all day).

I'm nervous that nothing will get done - that the house will be a mess, dinner won't get made, I won't get a shower.

I'm nervous that I'll be bored.

I'm terrified that I'll be bad at this.

Mothering My Boy

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Mothering my boy means that I will always have a "PLEASE be careful," on my lips.

Mothering my boy means that I will rarely say it, reminding myself instead, "I don't want to teach him to be afraid of everything."

Mothering my boy means that I have a semi-permanent wince on my face as I watch him play, certain that he is about to maim himself in someway.

Mothering my boy means learning to trust him so that he can do some of the things that he thinks he can do.

Mothering my boy means that I spend all of my time on high alert, never to sit down and catch my breath, the way I could with his sister.

Mothering my boy means looking at everything critically, wondering how a windowsill, couch, table, stairs, pillow, dog, cup, book, house, anything, can hurt him, since he has no fear.

Mothering my boy means getting used to dirt, bugs, snot, or whatever disgusting substance he seems to find and either smear all over himself or bring to me as a gift.

Mothering my boy means that I now have a higher tolerance for tantrums, as his temper has a tendency to roll through the room in a split second, in a way that I never experienced with his sister.

Mothering my boy means ceasing to be surprised at how much he can eat when he feels like it.

Mothering my boy means stretching my imagination to new lengths as I try to come up with new activities and games to play since he's never happy with one for long.

Mothering my boy means feeling a mother's love for her son, which is very different than a mother's love for her daughter, but is just as awesome.

Unexpected Blessings

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Have you ever noticed, that when you are at what you think is your absolute lowest, there is always someone there to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time? You just have to be paying attention...

I had one of those moments today. I was talking to my mother on the phone, crying my eyes out because of the mess I have made of my life.

Here's the thing - I'm rarely a crier. I'm more of a scream into a pillow, go to a butt kicking aerobic class, or a punching a boxing bag kind of girl. But in the last two months, I have done more crying than I care to admit to. And the fact that I was crying to my mother (who taught me to be that scream into a pillow, go to a butt kicking aerobic class, or punch a boxing bag kind of girl) is RARE. In fact, the last time I did, I think I was 15.

And my mom reminded me of something, something that until that moment, I wasn't even aware she realized.

"Shannon," she told me in a soothing voice that I don't remember from my childhood. (How could I have missed it?) "You are so lucky -- you have two children who love you and you get to be their mom. You have more than some people will ever have. You have the right priorities -- everything else will work out. You just have to give it time."

And then she said the clincher, the one thing that was guaranteed to make me cry harder. "You are my first born. I hate to see you so upset. If I could fix it, I would. But I know you'll get through this; you're strong."

She reminded me of something that I sometimes take for granted: I have two great kids and a family that loves me.

Sometimes, I really want to be my mom when I grow up.

Young Love

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I think my son has a crush on Abby Cadabby from Sesame Street. You know who I'm talking about... the pink fairy with purple hair?


Every day, he brings me the Abby in Wonderland DVD first thing in the morning, holding the DVD case up like an offering. "Abby?" he asks sweetly, his brown eyes shining with hope and love. "Abby? Elmo?"

And every other day, when I cave and let him watch it, he bounces in his Elmo chair, clapping his hands and yelling, "YAY!" He waves hello to her, pointing and crying "Abby! Abby! Abby!" when she makes an appearance. When the movie is over, he says "Bye Abby!" and waves goodbye.

But what really clinches it for me? I caught him kissing the TV screen the other day when he was watching his beloved Abby DVD. Oh yeah, he is crushing hard.

And he's only 20 months old.

Isn't that a bit young? How worried should I be about the fairy floozy?

Potty Training, Part II

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I believe I have mentioned that I am in the process of potty training my daughter. Here. And here. And here.

One of my friends pointed out that potty training is a process. Another one told me that it is a battle that I MUST WIN. Personally, I think it's a journey. An epic journey -- I am not sure who is playing the hero and villain roles, or who has been cast in the position of spiritual mentor, but I know this is an epic journey that is kicking my a@#.

My daughter will only use the toilet once she has started to pee and cannot fight any more as I rush her to the bathroom. She doesn't even try anymore to use the toilet. She tells me daily "Peepee and poopoo go in the potty. I've gotta keep my panties dry. If I put my peepee and poopoo in the potty, I can go to Disneyland!" But then, when she tells me she has to pee, she becomes hysterical when I suggest using the toilet. Absolutely hysterical. Sobbing, hitting, wailing.... when she does this when we are out in public, I am terrified someone is going to call child protective services.

I have tried everything. I have tried saying "Let's practice." I have tried to play the big sister card, telling her that she can show her brother what to do. I have tried bribery. I have taken things away. I have pretended indifference. I have begged. I'm out of ideas.

And what kills me is that SHE KNOWS. She knows what to do. She has done it in the past. I don't know what has traumatized her so that she won't any more. Was it my going away for a week? Was it expecting her to use the potty in new places? Was it the fact that the day we try ends in "Y"? I don't know how to help her make the connection that what she knows can be what she does.

Still, I stubbornly persist. No more diapers. No more pull ups. I must ask about 20,000 times a day "Do you want to go potty?" The answer is always no. Okay, no pressure -- she gets to make the call. I am doing about 2 loads of laundry a day -- on a good day. My son is almost potty trained because of this freaking "epic journey" -- but not my daughter.

I asked my daughter why she doesn't like to use the toilet anymore the other day when we were at the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco. It's a great museum with a fabulous aquarium -- and I mostly saw the bathroom, since I was sitting on the floor of a handicapped stall with my daughter who kept telling me that "The peepee is coming, Momma. I can feel it." [Keep in mind, she can do this for hours. No lie.] Of course, I was counting my blessings that she told me she wanted to sit on the toilet at all.

"Jelly Bean, why don't you like to use the toilet?" I asked her.

"Because I scared," she told me.

That one took me aback. I knew I had to tread very very carefully here - after all, I didn't want to scar her for life.

"Hmm," I said, stalling for time. "You know you are my brave girl, and I love you. Sometimes it's scary to do new things, huh? What scares you? What are you afraid of?"

"Because I have to do it lots every day!"

I was speechless. What do you say to that -- she's afraid that she's going to have to use the bathroom for the rest of her life? How do I even address that fear? I mean, I could have gotten philosophical and waxed poetic about growing up. Or I could have been reasonable, and pointed out that everyone uses the bathroom for the rest of their lives. Or I could have made a joke. But how do I put any of this at a 3 year old's level?

I was saved from having to answer because just then the woman in the stall next to us used the facilities. When she was done, my daughter turned to me and said, "Don't get excited, Momma, that wasn't me."