Wordless Wednesday

This rainbow has been created for you by Girlie.

Potpourri

~
My son walked into the kitchen as naked as can be, grabbed a dish towel, wrapped it around his neck, and looked up at me. "I hewo, MomME," he told me.

"No you aren't," my daughter shot back. "You're naked."

~
Discussing swim lessons with my daughter:

"And you will learn to swim with a teacher; Mommy won't get in the water this year."

Girlie: "I don't want a teacher. I want Daddy to teach me to swim."

Daddy: "I'll teach you to swim. You probably won't like it, but you'll be water safe."

Me: "Or she'll be afraid of the water and Mommy will be P-I-S-S-E-D."

Daddy: "Either way, she's still water safe."

~
I caught my daughter sucking her peas off of her plate. "What on earth are you doing?" I asked her.

"Pretending to be a fork," she told me matter of factly.

~
My husband asked me the other night if we were done having kids after the baby is born. We had always said we wanted four, but now we are really tired.

"I don't know," I said with exhaustion. "Can we get through this pregnancy and the first year before we decide?"

"I suppose that is fair," he replied.

"I would sign on for one more if you could guarantee it would be a boy," I told him.

"I'm afraid I can only give you 50-50 odds," he shot back.

~
I woke up to my son screaming, "MomME, I need you!" at 3 in the morning the other day. I stumbled into his room and patted his back.

"What do you need, bug?" I asked sleepily.

"Watch Hewcules now!"

~
I watched my son begin stomping my daughter's back while they were lying on my bed. Since she was giggling, I didn't want to get involved... still, it looked painful.

"What's going on guys?" I asked.

Girlie giggled: "Brother's giving me stomping kisses!"

~
My husband tends to snore when he sleeps on his back. So I gently tapped him the other night at two in the morning. "Honey," I said sleepily. "Roll over. You're snoring."

"SNARCK - snore," was my response.

"Honey," I said, shaking him firmly. "You are snoring. ROLL OVER!"

"SNARCK - snore," was my response.

"Honey," I snapped, elbowing him in the side. "You are SNORING. ROLL OVER!"

"SNARCK - snore, 'kay" was my response.

I kicked him in the shin. "WILL YOU ROLL OVER?" I whisper-yelled.

"SNARCK - snore," was my response.

But then he rolled over. So he was facing me. And proceeded to cuddle me, effectively pinning to me to the bed. And as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard: "SNARCK - snore," in my ear.

Son of a bi@#%

~
Here's my parenting tip for the day: You know how all the experts/other mothers/doctors/strangers on the street tell you to "pick your own battles"?

Well, when your 2 year old son wants to put the ketchup on his plate all by himself, that is a battle you want to pick.

Ketchup will end up in his hair. And on the table. And on the yellow kitchen walls. And on his sister. And on you.

Gardening Day!

~
Gardening Day came to our house last weekend. Since my husband decided to plant vegetables this year, he was in charge, as I know nothing about veggies. (And have a bit of a black thumb.)

He and Girlie planted the seeds:

Boyo watered them:

And I took pictures.

My favorite part, after listening to my husband patiently explain to the kiddos the scientific process of the seeds were going to grow into a plant, was my daughter chiming in, "And then the fairies are going to come and make them all grow!"

To which my son replied, "Uh-huh! Faiwies!"

Wordless Wednesday

My Life As A "Middle Mom"

~
A friend asked me the other day about my job. I work from home as a virtual teacher. "Come on," he said, laughing. "What do you really do all day? I mean, how can you teach from home?"

You want to know what I do all day? I kick a@#.

See, I'm a "middle mom" - that means I'm one of the very lucky few women who gets to work at home so can be with my kids. (Or, depending on your point of view, one of the very few unlucky women...)

Every hour of my day is scheduled. Some days, every minute (no, I'm not being melodramatic).

Some days, I get up at 5 with my husband. While he gets ready to go to work, I turn on my computer and begin grading. Or creating lessons. Or dealing with attendance issues. Or withdrawals. Or any of the other hundred little tasks, that if I was at a brick and mortar school, I would be lucky enough to have a school secretary, registrar, VP, principal, department head, and dean of discipline handle.

If I'm ahead of my work, I get to reward myself by sleeping in until 6. I work every morning until 7 when I stop, get ready for my day, and put my "Mom" hat on - waking up the kids, getting breakfast, cuddling, and starting our day.

My kids eat breakfast and watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while I respond to email until 9 o'clock, when the TV and computer go off, whether I'm done working or not. (Or whether the kids are done watching TV or not.)

And we are off - Disneyland, park, museum, zoo, library, play dates with friends. Preschool, grocery shopping, running errands, or dealing with the thousand other piles of little things that have to get done.

We are home by 12:30 for lunch and one more show before the kiddos are packed into bed for naps and I boot my computer back up. For the next two hours, I hit work hard. Phone calls begging for attendance to be entered, following up on grades, dealing with colleagues. Emails that do the same thing. And grading -- oh dear God, the grading. Wednesdays, I teach. Yes, I teach live lessons. No, my students cannot see me (thank God).

My kids wake up, and the computer goes off again. We play. We go for walks. We make different arts and crafts. My husband comes home from work and I closet myself into my bedroom (I mean, my home office) to work until dinner time.

Is it easy? Nope.

There have been times that I have handled parent phone calls while I am corralling my screaming son at the park. I have let important calls go to voice mail because I am snuggling my daughter on the couch. My house is always a mess (although, that was true when I wasn't working), dinner is normally out of a box or a bag three nights a week, and I have fallen into bed exhausted at 7:30 at night - half an hour before my children go to bed.

It takes discipline. And organization. And creativity. And TV. (After all, how else am I supposed to keep my kids quiet when I have to have an important conference call?)

And some days, it takes throwing the routine out the window and praying that I can get it all done.

Do I have it all? Not even close. (But then again, does anyone?) Alone time has to be scheduled - and it's often when I'm multitasking, by taking my kids to the babysitting room at the gym. Where I could once read a book a day, I now take three or four. I have about 30 hours of TV tivo'd for "later." Nap time for some SAHMs is sacred - its the time when Mommy gets to breathe. Nap time is when I work. And it breaks my heart some days when my daughter wraps her arms around my neck and nap time and asks me to lie with her "just for a little bit," and I have to say no because a parent is calling in 5 minutes.

I feel like I can't complain about how hard it is because I'm one of the "lucky ones" who gets to work at home. But I don't really fit into either role - working mommy or SAHM. Some of my SAHM friends don't understand why my kids and I can't always join them for a playdate - after all, I "work at home. Can't I work whenever I want?" Not always. Or my working mommy friends say with envy, "God, your life must be so easy." Yeah, not so much.

I'm exhausted, stressed, and completely and totally in love with my kids and what I do for a living. I just have to compartmentalize a bit. Okay, a lot.

"A Mother's Prayer for Her Child" by Tina Fey

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, for childhood is short – a Tiger Flower Blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long, and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”

-Tina Fey

(Pick up Tina Fey’s book Bossypants for more. It's awesome.)

UGH!

~
My kids and I were having a good morning the other day.

We went out for breakfast.

We saw the Easter Bunny.

We did some clothes shopping.

And then we went to the Disney Store.

We stumbled into a Minnie Mouse Party - looking almost afraid to hope, my daughter asked if we could stay. Once I verified that there was no charge and we didn't need a reservation, I said sure.

So she skipped off, happy as a clam, to watch a Minnie Mouse show, color pictures, decorate princess crowns, and basically get to do what she called "grown up girl things" while I chased her brother around the store.

And for a while, that was okay. He and I played with the toy airplanes, shopped for pajamas, and looked around for ideas for Girlie's birthday. I tried to get him interested in the show and Minnie Mouse party, but he wasn't having any of it.

And then he found the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

I hate the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

He took one out, studied it, and as the "Don't you dare --" was leaving my mouth, he chucked it across the store, screaming "Catch!"

I caught that bad boy like an outfielder for the Giants, deposited it back into the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls, and took my son's hand: "NO!" I said firmly. "No throwing balls inside! If you do that again, you are going in the penalty box!"

My son glared at me so I decided to move him away from the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

Five minutes later, as I was paying, he skirted around me, grabbed a ball (which were convienently set up right next to the cash register), and threw it on the ground to watch it bounce.

"That's it," I said firmly, grabbing his arm, "You are going into the penalty box."

"NOOOOOOOO!" he screamed, throwing himself on the floor, kicking and screaming.

Guess what he kicked over?

Uh-huh. The free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

It was madness. Balls were everywhere. My son was screaming his head off. I didn't know whether or not to scoop up the balls, scold my son, or hide in the dressing room.

Disney store employees offered to pick up the balls while I dealt with the demon who was my son. I got right in his face and angrily whispered: "You will stop this right now! We are going home! I have had enough!"

He seemed to realize that he was lucky there were witnesses around and morphed back into my sweet, loving child.

However, I had said we were going home, so home we had to go. I grabbed him by the hand and turned to get my daughter.

"Sweetie," I told her. "We have to go."

"No."

That was it. Just no. Like she was in charge.

"Yes," I said firmly. Well, it would have been firmly if I wasn't struggling to hold onto my son who was fighting to get out of my grasp. "It's time to go. I'm sorry we can't stay longer, but Brother is misbehaving and we have to leave."

I know, I know, I know I shouldn't have said that last bit. I know I shouldn't have blamed her brother. But the words slipped out before I could stop them.

The Disney Store employees were super nice. They gave her the prize for coming and a sticker for being so brave and listening to her mom.

She didn't really notice though, because she was busy wailing that it. wasn't. fair. And that she wanted to stay.

I finally got both kids out of the store and headed to the car. One was still screaming because her fun party got ruined by a misbehaving little brother. And the little brother was suddenly listening to me and being as sweet as can be because he knows he had better be good or angry mommy was going to make another appearance.

And I was fighting back tears because I felt awful - for my daughter because her activity was spoiled, for my son because I was blaming him, and, lastly, for myself.

I was almost crying because I felt like an awful parent. I couldn't control one child so I lost it with both of them. And because I couldn't control my son, my daughter was punished.

How do people have more than one child?

10 Ways Living With A Toddler Is Like Being At A Frat Party

I wish I could take credit for this awesome list, but it was emailed to me... thanks again, Friend. I simply had to share!

10. There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.

9. There's always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.

8. It's best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.

7. You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone's going to start banging on the door.

6. Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.

5. You've got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.

4. There's definitely going to be a fight.

3. You're not sure whether anything you're doing is right, you just hope it won't get you arrested.

2. There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.

1. You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.

Wordless Wednesday: REALLY, Dad?!?

Alone Time

~

Last Tuesday, Girlie is at school. And Boyo, who normally gets me all too himself on Tuesdays and Thursdays, gets an extra surprise today - Daddy was home for Spring Break.

I've never seen my son this happy. He was giggling and playing, crawling all over me and Daddy. And it made me realize - that while we are so careful to give Girlie one on one time with us since she lost that when her brother was born, we overlooked Boyo. And he needs that alone time just as much as she does. Perhaps he needs it more, because he didn't have 18 months of just baby-parent time, as Girlie did.

Sure, we do date nights, where we will take each child out alone, but how often does each child get both parents all to him- or herself?

Musical Munchkins, Part II

~
I've mentioned before how much my kids love music.

Still, that has changed slightly in a year... Boyo still loves music and playing all sorts of instruments. But mostly, he's fascinated with his Daddy's guitar. He wants to bang on it, pluck it, and will watch and clap when his daddy plays. So when I was at Ross the other day and saw a child's guitar for only $20, I picked it up. After looking it over and tuning it, my husband said it would do for a little kid guitar. He's all ready teaching Boyo simple chords to play:

Now, Girlie's interested has shifted from music to art in the past year. Still, I couldn't get her brother a guitar without getting her something. I asked if she wanted an art set. Nope. She wanted a pink princess guitar. And she wanted to play it her way: