Tips from the Trenches: A Guide to Practical Parenting

Gateway Pets

2011-10-07T13:54:00.002-04:00

When I was in high school, I took a very interesting course in drug education. It was very detailed and extensive. However, there is one thing they forgot to mention when dicussing gateway substances....and that is pets.

Last Spring, I made a daring move towards more responsibility and esxpanded our family by three, then twleve, cute little fluffy hamsters. Despite some setbacks, the little hammies grew on us and made us feel like invicible, smart, competent pet owners. Yeah, us.

I realize now that this thinking was flawed, perhaps dangerously so, when one June morning a few days after school let out for the Summer I found myself in a "meet and greet" room at the SPCA...with the kids....and a little, black puppy. Needless to say the rest, as they say, is history.

Now, three months later, my confidence level has hit bottom and I'm now in pet rehab. I don't have time for the standard Twelve Step. Frankly, I think many of the steps are just plain BS. I mean pretty much the only step that really matters is the first one "We admitted we were powerless over cute fluffy animals—that our lives had become unmanageable."

After that it is pretty much all about the return policy. The SPCA has a 30-day return policy. Unfortunately, I was in the grip of the addiction at that point and didn't believe that I my kids could live without Sherlock.

The SPCA, like any dealer, knows what it's doing really. They have figured out that most people don't realize they are in over their heads by the 30-day mark. At that point, they are still trying to convince themselves that it wasn't a mistake and that they can handle it or quit at any time. This let's the ~~dealer~~ SPCA off the hook guilt-free and the new ~~addict~~ owner dazed, confused, and being forced to live out their lives at Dog Lover's Obedience School (sorta like a jailhouse work program) until they get off....for good behavior.

Day Planner 2011: Or...You want me to do what with that dead squirrel?

2011-03-01T15:40:00.004-05:00

The past three weeks on my day planner where supposed to look something like this:

Week 1:

Go to class
Do home work
Coordinate playdates
Help kids with school work and projects
Provide home cooked nutritious meals for my family
Get nearly adequate sleep some nights
Clean house
Do laundry
Prepare for thrilling Girls Weekend Away in VEGAS!!!

Week 2:

Go to class
Do home work
Coordinate playdates
Help kids with school work and projects
Provide home cooked nutritious meals for my family
Get nearly adequate sleep some nights
Clean house
Do laundry
Attend thrilling Girls Weekend Away in VEGAS!!!

Week 3:

Go to class
Do home work
Coordinate playdates
Help kids with school work and projects
Provide home cooked nutritious meals for my family
Get nearly adequate sleep some nights
Clean house
Do laundry
Recover from thrilling Girls Weekend Away in VEGAS!!!

Week 4:

Go to class
Do home work
Coordinate playdates
Help kids with school work and projects
Provide home cooked nutritious meals for my family
Get nearly adequate sleep some nights
Clean house
Do laundry
Reflect upon and plan for next thrilling Girls Weekend Away in VEGAS!!!

This is what my day planner actually looked like:

Week 1:

Took Child #1 to ER for an apparent allergy to a new medicine (Doctor's appointment #1)
Dried beloved iPhone 3G off after it was submerged in apple juice
Took Child #2 to gastroenterologist for initial appointment (Doctor's appointment #2)
Held screaming Child #2 while unfriendly and inexperienced phlebotomist drew a total of 5 viles of blood from 4 botched locations and 2 non-botched locations on both arms
Discovered beloved iPhone 3G in bathroom sink with water dripping on it
Held funeral for aforementioned iPhone 3G.
Launched a murder investigation.
Determined I was eligible to spend $300 on a new iPhone (4, this time). Paced order and received shiny new fancy phone.
Took child #1 to follow-up appointment regarding medicine allergy (Doctor's appointment #3)
Strep in Child #2 (Doctor's appointment #4)
Missed class and rushed through school work
Became sick with flu like/strep-like symptoms myself
Did laundry, cooked, cleaned, parented

Week 2:

Secondary infection in Child #2 (Doctor's appointment #5)
Secondary infection for Mother #1 (Doctor's appointment #6)
Child #2 broke windshield wiper lever in the "on" position. Had to break it more to make it stop. ($300)
Early symptoms of respiratory illness in Child #1
Did laundry, cooked, and parented
Completed in-class presentation while periodically picking my lungs up off the floor and shoving them back where they belong
Completed extremely complicated organizational plans for child care for trip
Attended Thrilling Girls' Weekend Away in VEGAS!!!!! with mild, flu-like symptoms

Week 3:

Negotiated my return with American Airlines after initial flight home was cancelled
Recovered from Thrilling Girls' Weekend Away in VEGAS!!!! with mild flu-like symptoms and not-so-mild earache
Significant respiratory illness with high fever in Child #1 (running all week)
Exploratory GI diagnostics procedure for Child #2 (Doctor's appointment #7)
Attended class (barely)
Laundry, cooking, cleaning
Mother #1 still not recovered from secondary infection (Refer to doctor's appointment #6 for more information)

Week 4: (And it is only Tuesday!)

Secondary infection in Child #1 (Doctor's appointment #8, with follow-up appointment next week to rule out asthma)
Drop shiny new iPhone 4 in toilet at doctor's office while helping Child #2 to wipe her bottom
Determined that I am no longer eligible for a new iPhone, but I am eligible to pay $800 for a replacement
Attended the city council meeting that night for a presentation in class this week
Learned that the solution to dropping a shiny new iPhone 4 in the toilet is to submerge it in a bag of rice for 24-48 hours. (Oh, and strengthen my relationship with God.)
Buried squirrel that inconveniently dropped dead on my back porch only to be discovered on the way out to taking the kids to school which resulted in a long discussion of how decomposition is great for plants.
See dermatologist about suspicious, life-threatening mole (Doctor's appointment #9)
Influenza in Child #2

Upcoming later this week:

Doctor's appointment #10 for Mother #1 who is not getting better
Doctor's appointment #11 and #12 for Child #1
Potential doctor's appointment #13 for Child #2
Schedule endoscopy for Child #2
12 page paper due
5 page paper/group project due
Oral report on city council meeting

Bet you thought the squirrel part was going to be the weirdest part of this whole post, huh?

Rude Awakening #538,423

2011-02-26T07:17:00.001-05:00

Ah, peaceful slumber. Saturday morning. Cozy bed. Warm. Soft. Pillow. Best moment ever.

"Mommy! Rose (the hamster) is stiff! She isn't moving!"

Snort. Gulp. Too early for death.

"What? Is she alive?"
"Yes. She's just standing on the couch. Not moving. I think she heard something."

Let's hear it for cell phones

2011-02-24T15:22:00.000-05:00

My son is sick. He's been home from school for two days. Yesterday, when I took my daughter to preschool (5 minutes away), I decided to test leaving him at home by himself for a few minutes. See how it goes. I figured he's sick and not really motivated to make trouble. I was right, but...

Before I left, I wrote down my cell phone number, gave him the phone, and had him make a test call so he can see how it all works. He was confident that he would be fine. I agreed so off I went.

As I was buckling my daughter into the car, my phone rang. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to see if it works."
"OK, I'll be back in a few minutes. Bye."

As I was backing out of the parking space, my phone rang. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"I can see you haven't left yet."
"No, I haven't. What did you need?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to see if it still works."
"OK. See you in a few minutes. Bye."

As I was turning into the carpool line, my phone rang. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm at Emma's school."
"Oh."
"When will you be back?"
"About 5 minutes."
"OK."
"Bye."

As I was pulling in to the parking space at home, my phone rang. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"How much longer?"
"I'm nearly there."
"OK. I'm going to look out the window for you."
"OK. Bye."

As I was walking up to the back door, my phone rang. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"I can see you."
"Oh, good."
"Bye."

Once I got home, there was a brief reprieve. However, about 30 minutes later, my phone rang. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry to keep calling, but I'm too weak to come downstairs."
"What do you need?"
"I need a snack."

This went on all day. Even after I left the house to go to class.

This morning, I woke up to my cell phone ringing. It was Jack.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Are you still asleep?"
"No."
"Oh, OK. Just wanted to see if it still works."

Next time, I'm making up a phone number.

Albatross

2011-02-09T13:44:00.000-05:00

I'm just not quite ready to give up on this blog yet. It might be in it's death throes though. I think the main problem is that it is a well-beaten horse. The market is well covered and I don't have sharp enough elbows to bruise the competition.

Anyway, in case I decide to close down the shop, I wanted to make sure I give you some back-up resources, in case you have an emergency.

Product recommendations?: http://www.cracked.com/article_16475_20-baby-products-great-traumatizing-infants.html

Fashion advice?: http://www.amusingplanet.com/2009/05/why-you-shouldnt-let-dads-buy-t-shirts.html

Parent advice?: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_do_you_deal_with_ridiculous_parents

Baby naming advice?: http://www.stupidkidnames.com/all-the-stupid-names/

Handling Blu-Tack: http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2009/jun/19/blu-tack-goggles-health-safety

When the Hoff Gives Advice....

2010-12-13T07:26:00.002-05:00

Life changing advice, really. Where's his blog?

A Real Tip: On Demand

2010-12-09T08:01:00.000-05:00

This one is short and sweet, but VERY important to your family's ability to afford food....

Make sure that your children understand that OnDemand movies COST MONEY before they are old enough to find OnDemand on their own.

Now this one I should've seen coming

2010-12-07T07:44:00.000-05:00

Emma is a bad sleeper. Waking up multiple times a night is more common than sleeping through. She's been in a wake-up phase recently and usually once I'm "on to her" I can get some reprieve by telling her at bedtime I am nearby, but will not come unless it is important. I make her repeat that she will not call me if she wakes up. Usually, this makes a small amount of difference.

So last night, as I was kissing her good night, I reminded her that I wouldn't be coming in. She agreed and said "only if I'm sick." "That's right. I'll come if you got sick and needed me to give you medicine or something." "OK, Mommy. Night night."

Then, at 1:32 AM, I'm pulled from a rare deep sleep by Emma yelling "Mommy, I think I'm going to be sick!"

I leap out of bed before I'm even awake and rush to her room to find her all cozy in bed waiting for me.

She repeated herself and said, "Mommy, I think a drink would make me feel better."

In a daze, I handed her the cup that was FULL BESIDE HER BED, told her that she was naughty, and went back to bed where I tossed and turned for the next 2 hours until I finally passed out.

Looking back on it now, I should have spiked her drink.

Don't Let Pigeon Drive the Bus

2010-12-06T07:26:00.000-05:00

After several unreasonable early morning requests in lieu of sleep in my cozy bed, I lost my temper with Emma this morning and told her, "Don't drive me! I'm not a bus!"

I was worried that she wouldn't get the point. It was a somewhat abstract reference. My worry didn't last long because it was until about 10 minutes later when...

EMMA: Mommy, please can I be the boss?
ME: Of course, you can pretend to be the boss. You can play whatever you want.
EMMA: No! I want to be the real boss!

It's beginning to smell a lot like.....

2010-12-05T10:12:00.002-05:00

....an Air Freshener War.

Bet you are wondering what that is, aren't you?

Well, for your future reference, an Air Freshener War is when you are on the phone trying to work out a complicated technical problem with your hosting server (a problem which requires the technical support rep to use phrases, such as "we call this a hail mary attempt" and "when was the last time you did a database backup?") and your attention-deprived children who have become bored waiting for your undivided attention discover two room air fresheners. The war part is pretty self-explanatory.

The result is also self-explanatory.

The nausea is unexpected.

A cold snap

2010-12-01T16:18:00.002-05:00

Well, Hell just froze over and I'm officially an adult. All in one day! Middle-age-ish came to slap me hard in the face today when Jack's friend, I'll call him Waldo, came over to play after school.

When I sat down on the couch to take a breath and sit in peaceful cartoon bliss for a moment while the kids sucked on their Incredible Hulk Popsicles and chomped on their Swedish Fish (courtesy of Costco!), my big fat butt hit the "off" button on the remote and the TV was torn asunder. The complaining took mere seconds to errupt.

In the stress of the moment, I couldn't get the remote on the right setting to turn it back on. (We have one of these. Surely, it should be obvious why immediate gratification was a little delayed since I do not possess a PhD in remote science.) After taming my dismay with a few unhappy grunts, Waldo pipes up....

"It's ok. A lot of ladies have that problem when they get old."

The best part was that, when what he said finally sunk in, I told him I was going to tell his mother what he said. At which point, he said "No, don't! My mom will kill me!"

Well, you know what they say....payback's a bitch.

Deer Hunter

2010-11-27T18:13:00.001-05:00

When left to their own devices children will create their own functional microchosm. It took my kids less than an hour to come to this point.

After a busy Thanksgiving, I was taking a little time out in my bed reading and listening to the kids play. I knew my time was up when I hear the following conversation:

JACK: Hey, Emma. Let's go outside.
EMMA: OK.
JACK: We can play deer hunter. You are the deer and I am the hunter.
EMMA: OK.

Sounds of back door opening.

JACK: I'll shoot you. When you get hit, you lie down. OK?
EMMA: OK.
JACK: Now, run! Fast!

Isn't there some book about that? If not, I'm gonna write it.

Who needs Harry Potter?

2010-11-08T08:15:00.000-05:00

If you are new to my blog, this little story should clue you in to what I'm up against on a daily basis.

A few nights ago, I was reading to the kids from a series that I enjoyed when I was growing up, The Mr. Men series by Roger Hargreaves. Since I was a kid, the series has expanded quite a bit to include the "Little Miss" stories. Basically, each story has a simply drawn character called "Mr." or now "Little Miss" Something. The "something" describes a characteristic or personality trait, such as "Happy", "Mean", etc. and the stories tell about an experience each character has based on his/her character trait (or flaw, in some cases). These are low-end British classics that many of the Brits in my generation were read as children, but I digress.

So there we were reading Little Miss Magic which is about a character who has magic powers through which everything she wants to happen does. In the story, she uses the power for good and to accomplish some basic tasks, such as "toast" makes her bread toast or "boil" makes her kettle boil.

At the end of the story, Emma (4-years old) stood up and realized she couldn't go where she wanted to because my legs were in her way. She yelled, "Move!" and, in surprise, I moved my legs. (Normally, I would demand that she say "please" no matter how rude she is being. After all, I am perfect.)

Anyway, after quickly moving my legs, she announced, "That's magic!" and walked away.

Imagine the insight I got from that little encounter. God help me!

My future veterinarian

2010-10-25T07:50:00.000-04:00

As I stuck the meat thermometer in the london broil last night, Emma pops up and asks me what I'm doing. I explained that I was checking to see if the meat was hot enough to eat. To which Emma asked, "is he sick?"

Stupid is as stupid does

2010-09-28T19:26:00.001-04:00

One of the very best parts of being a parent is that you get to say all the cool things that you never thought you'd ever say. You get to mix up words that were never meant to occupy the same sentence and you might even get to have a laugh while you're at it.

Who wouldn't laugh if you could spend you whole day saying things like:

The rhinoceros can come, but the giraffee and the lion have to stay behind to have a bath.
Oh, hello Mr. Spiderman. Would you like to have some tea?
Get down from the roof before it collapses.
Not everyone wants to be shot at from a car. It wouldn't be fun for them unless they had a gun of their own. Right?
If Barbie was pregnant with hamsters, she would definitely make a great circus act.

This is all fine and good until it comes back to bite in the proverbial a%@. Like today, for example, when my 7-year old said, "Mommy, let's dial down the crazy for a minute. OK? I am trying to say something." I mean really, what can you say to that?

It's 3 AM somewhere.

2010-09-10T14:45:00.000-04:00

For those of you who think I'm too "soft" as a parent, this will help you reconsider.

3:00 AM Monday

EMMA: Mommeeeee!
ME: (Snort. Groan. Slobber.) What?
EMMA: Mommy, can you tickle my back?
ME: No.

See, I told you!

Hamster poop. It's what's for breakfast.

2010-08-23T07:31:00.001-04:00

ME: Where's Bubbles?
EMMA: Eating Goldfish.
ME: Where?
EMMA: In the bag?
ME: Don't put Bubbles in the Goldfish bag.
EMMA: Why?
ME: She might poop on them.
EMMA: I don't care.
ME: Well, do you want to eat goldfish covered in hamster poop?
EMMA: Maybe. I don't know.

Hamster Math

2010-08-08T13:16:00.000-04:00

Bubbles

After two spectacular weeks at the beach, we came home last night, relaxed, went to bed, and woke up this morning blissfully unaware of what the morning would bring. Lucky me was going to get the morning "off" because my husband is visiting and was going to take the kids to have breakfast at the ILs.

At least, that was what was supposed to happen. I was getting the kids dressed and ready to go when I went downstairs to the family room (where our 3 hamster cages are kept) looking for my daughter's shoes. I suspected they would be beside (and hopefully not in) the cages.

Unfortunately, the shoes were not beside (or in) the cages and, for that matter, neither were the hamsters. After spinning around to pin both children in my sights, I made the assessment that the only visible hamster present was "Bubbles" (the remaining baby hamster from our recent hamster stash). Bubbles was in the tender loving care of the kids, but the other two "grown-up" hamsters, Sugar and Rose, were nowhere to be seen.

The conversation went a little something like this:

ME: WHAT!?! WHERE ARE THE HAMSTERS?
SON: Um, I don't know.
DAUGHTER: Me either.

ME: DID YOU TAKE THEM OUT OF THEIR CAGES?

SON: Um, yeah. Sugar wanted to play in the fire truck.

ME: And, where is Sugar playing now?

SON: I don't know.

ME: And Rose?

SON: Well, she wanted to drive Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

ME: Where was the last place you saw Sugar?

SON: He was driving the fire truck.
ME: What about Rose?

SON: In my room. I think.

A that was the beginning of the Great Hamster Chase. We spent about 30 minutes looking for the little ~~critters~~ cuties, but to no avail. When it was clear that we were getting nowhere fast, my husband made the brilliant suggestion that he take the kids out and I can sit in each room with the power-off and listen for them. And there went my morning "off".

The kids were piled in to the car and I was left lurking around each room of the house looking for hamsters. The good news is Sugar was found mysteriously on top of the train table. The bad news is Rose is still MIA.

Come 'n' get it!

2010-07-17T17:23:00.000-04:00

I am so glad I chose tonight to start family dinners back at the kitchen table. I've missed the time with my kids. Just getting to enjoy their company and hear all the cool things they have to say.

On a related note, I got to use a garbage disposal for the first time in more than 3 years.

Damn Hamsters

2010-07-15T20:37:00.001-04:00

Honestly, even though I know I haven't updated my blog in FOREVER, I really can't believe it hasn't been longer. It has been so long, in fact, that my browser doesn't even autofill my blog when I start to type it out which makes me think I should really just rename the darn thing.

I'm starting to go through a "it's just too difficult to type phase" and a few times recently it's really irked me. Like the name "Lloyd", for example. Why, why, why, does it have to have 2 Ls? Then, that awkward "yd" construction at the end. I would be more tolerant of it if it was just spelled phonetically...Loyud. Loyud.....much better.

Which brings me to the very important, never to be ignored, parenting tip of the day: So, when naming your child spend a little extra time emphasizing phonetics and a little less time being fancy. Please. I beg of you, remember the type-factor.

Anyway, on to the update. Since we last met, life has exploded (or maybe vomited is more like it) all over the neighborhood. Right after the Wiggles...I mean, Barenaked Ladies concert, I was riding high. So what if my rented walls were crumbling asbestos dust and lead paint all over my pretty bamboo display and so what if my rented 80-year old garage door collapsed on my head or the 20 koi in my fish pond up and died in a dramatic, yet stinky, display one night. I was willing to suck it up. Never planning to move again. And, then...

Apparently I lost my mind, again, and decided to buy my animal-crazed kids (who are allergic to cats and dogs) an easy to care for pet. Hamsters. Two kids, of course, means two hamsters. And, like the sensible pet buyer, I made sure that I had two boy hamsters. (Looking back now, I think I should have just sprung for a box of animal crackers. Or two.)

Then, 3 short blissful weeks later, I am disturbed from my Facebook reverie by incessant squeaking. I ignored it for as long as I could, but finally decided that I was going to "put an end to all that racket". Upon peering in the cage, I see three pink fingers wiggling around in the cage. Once I double checked that I didn't lose a finger or three, I realized that they were, in fact, baby hamsters. What!?!?!

Today, 4 weeks later, I have finally got a final count on the actual number of hamsters we have bred. Nine! Nine little pooping, peeing, squeaking, fluffy little bundles of joy running around a cage made for one.

But back to the house...

After realizing that the house I was living in was about to collapse and that the homeowners were not interested in anything but the money they were getting for rent, I sort of, kind of entertained the idea of moving. Twenty-four hours later, I have a contract on a house. Huh?!?!? Damn hamsters.

Then, I thought, well, this would be a good time to the year long purge of my belongings. This bright idea ended up with me giving away-among other things-all of my books, winter clothes (all of them!), and winter bedding. As it is so hot right now, I can't imagine ever needing those things again. I'm now hoping for a long, hot winter.

After an elaborate moving plan, that involved hiring some teenagers, a friend who is a human dynamo, 2 trucks, and lots of plastic storage bins in a three-phase moving process, I was able to move everything to the new house with as little packing material as possible. Phases one and two was up to me (and my team of well-qualified 14 and 15-year olds...including the former governor of Virginia's lovely daughter) and phase three was up to the military.

It was going so well that I thought I might completely skip the phase of moving where I break out in to hives. Turns out, I only need to see a professional mover and smell just a whiff of a single moving box and it triggers the most horrendous allergic/stress response. Thank God I keep an excellent supply of Benedryl on hand for just about every occasion.

So we moved. Again. Two kids, 11 hamsters, myself, a case of Benedryl, and 10,000 lbs of my most important things. Damn hamsters.

Barenaked Wiggles

2010-06-05T08:30:00.002-04:00

Last night I went to see the Barenaked Ladies in REAL LIFE!!! I love BNL and have been waiting to see them for years since the last two attempts I made to see them flamed out in the execution phase.

It was a great show despite the 90+ degrees it was, but about halfway through the show I was distracted by a thought for about 10 minutes. The thought? Probably a question that many people as themselves when they see a concert..."What was the last concert I saw?"

I sat there racking my brain for the answer when it suddenly came in to focus. The last concert I saw was...The Wiggles when I was pregnant with Emma.

I was shocked (and slightly embarrassed)! The Wiggles? Really. Oh, how far I have fallen. The fact that I even list the Wiggles as a concert on my lengthy list of concert experiences seems a bit sad. That I enjoyed them, a bit pathetic. Even more sadly, I've seen them twice. (An honor shared only by George Thorogood, the Temptations, and Billy Joel.)

And when I realized that it really was The Wiggles, I found myself looking around to see if anyone could tell what I was thinking. Checked to make sure I was dancing and going-on as a grown adult at a concert. How could I ever be the same? Thank God, I apparently made a good real concert-poser and disguised my sordid past well.

I actually went through a mental "compare and contrast" process between BNL and the Wiggles. Turns out, in essence, the two weren't all that dissimilar. Both concerts were lively performances by skilled musicians who possess a level of musical intelligence of which I have only dreamed. The main difference was that the Wiggles started at 3 pm.

I wonder if they would ever consider doing a show together. BNL does have a really excellent children's album.

5 out of 6 parents surveyed agree, beauty is only skin deep

2010-04-27T08:20:00.005-04:00

Depressing, but true. Turns out I was WAY off on the sock poll. Substantially more participants surveyed (a shocking 83%) thought that it was more important for socks to be clean on the outside than on the inside.

Since I was the only person who voted for "clean on the inside", it appears I'm in the need of a major paradigm shift in my "beauty's only skin deep" philosophy. Crap...I guess it's time to start showering at the beginning of the day. (Or just make a bunch of new friends...that might be easier, actually.)

Quick Tip: 10 Off-Label Uses for Cooking Spray

2010-04-25T13:07:00.000-04:00

Forget WD40. Here are some ways to use your favorite cooking spray for more than cooking. I prefer PAM original flavor because the smell of the olive oil one is too strong.

To remove rust
To get gum out of hair
To untangle knots in hair
To lubricate stuck parts on disused tools, such as wrenches
To treat the hinge on a squeaky door
To remove wax (crayon) from smooth surfaces
To unstick items stuck in locks (both keys and food products, such as gum)
To soften extremely dry patches of skin or to prevent chapping
To remove stickers from windows
To remove Bandaids from skin

Let me know if you know any other off-label uses.

For the parent on the go

2010-04-21T11:47:00.000-04:00

As I was cruising the isles at Target the other day, I stumbled upon this little pearl of brilliance...

Small enough to pop in the diaper bag or glove box. Convenient enough for the stressed-out parents' quick fix...wine boxes. The only thing it doesn't come with is a straw! (Don't worry, I already e-mailed Target about that oversight. I think it will be fixed on the next production run.)

The other thing I don't understand was that I couldn't find it in the baby products isle.

Interesting question though, do you think the wine is packaged by Juicy Juice? Bet that was an interesting meeting to go to.

Guess who's coming to dinner?

2010-04-14T07:30:00.008-04:00

For a while now, I've been having this conversation regularly.

CHILD: Who's coming?
ME: No one. I can't hear you very well though. I'm vacuuming.

I finally had the conversation in enough details that I figured out what the heck is going on. (Yes, I'm a little slow.)

ME: I'm going to tidy up you room.
DAUGHTER: My animals?
ME: Yes.
DAUGHTER: My books?
ME: Yes.
DAUGHTER: My ponies?
ME: Yes.
DAUGHTER: Even the big ones?
ME: Yes.

Pause.

DAUGHTER: Who's coming?
ME: No one.
DAUGHTER: (disappointed) Oh.

(Insert the Ah-ha! moment here.)

ME: What!? Do you think that every time I clean someone is coming over?
DAUGHTER: Yes.

Some people can be so stupid.

Don't forget to vote in my sock poll on the right.

Tip Me, Baby

2010-04-13T15:01:00.003-04:00

The juice box is for scale.

Since I've been tossing tips left and right these days (well, at least once to the ~~left~~ ~~right~~ ~~left~~ ~~right~~ left), I thought I would delve in to a problem I alluded to on Facebook not so long ago. I really thought I might be able to get a straight answer for once, but not a single person took a stand to help me out. Shocking as that may be to most of you, I've decided to try again.

Due to the sheer quantity of laundry that I have to do, it should go without saying that I have no desire to make the job bigger than it already is. We all know how much I love the topic of laundry and I have an honest to God laundry dilemma. So here goes...it's about socks.

I hate the fact that socks are an item if clothing that only gets clean on one side. And that is at best, really, because most of the socks I wash are already balled up to such a degree that I'm pretty sure no water actually penetrates the dirty, stinky, knotted lump that is tossed with nary a care in to the machine. Socks are dirty from both the feet in them and the environment around them. Pretty disgusting really.

So what do I do? I want to wash my socks according to some reasonable standard that I can feel confident represents the average laundry aficionado's efforts. I don't want my kids to be any dirty (or any cleaner really 'cause that's just too much work) than the kids sitting next to them in class.

I will not wash them twice. Nor will I bleach them every time I put wash them. Half the time they are stuck down the leg of some one's jeans anyway.

What I want to know is...is it more important that socks are clean on the inside or on the outside?

To answer this question, I'm posting a poll and asking you to vote. If you have extra tips, you are also welcome to post them in the comments as always. At the end of the week, where the votes were cast and will (probably) just do that.

Please note that all votes are anonymous (unless you make a comment, of course). Let me know what you think. Go ahead, sock it to me...(sorry, couldn't resist).

Secret Mission

2010-03-27T11:27:00.000-04:00

CRASH!

SON: I'm ok.

BIGGER CRASH!!!

SON: I'm still ok.
ME: What are you going?
SON: Nothing.

Pause.

SON: Don't come in here.

Classism at Home: All in the Family

2010-03-26T20:59:00.002-04:00

Over the past couple of weeks, I picked up one of my periodic past times of climbing the proverbial family tree. I tend to get really wrapped up in it for a few weeks and then reach a wall through which I cannot break and give up for a while until I'm moved to pick it up again and the cycle continues. Every time I get a bit further or have a new piece of information to add.

This time has been no different and I'm preparing to put it all away again, but not before I had one last poke around Ancestry dot com. (Yeah, I just think it's funny that we're not starting to write out "dot com". Hee hee.) I stumbled upon a gimmick feature that allows people to search for "famous relatives" and I was sucked right in.

I thought the most efficient way to search the entire family tree for "famous relative" was to search for the "famous relatives" of my kids. So I clicked on my son and clicked "Find famous relatives". Of course, we come from a stellar line of genetic prowess and a lengthy (and eclectic) list of famous relatives spews forth onto the screen.

The list included:

2 prime ministers
1 first lady
3 presidents (including Nixon, unfortunately!)
a Mayflower passenger
a financier and banker
a physicist
the founder of General Motors
several inventors
"Wild Bill" Hickock
John Steinbeck
Robert Frost
John Glenn
Amelia Earhart
Samuel Morse (of Morse Code fame)
Elizabeth Browning
Aldous Huxley
Audrey Hepburn
A quite a few more

As you can probably imagine, I'm feeling pretty well-connected at this point. I'm pulling out the old address book and working on adding some new contacts. Then, I thought, hmmmm. I wonder which people belong to which side of the family.

So, I click on my name and click "Find famous relatives" and guess what? I'm not even related to the British people on the list. What?!?! Maybe I picked the wrong person, I thought to myself. So I clicked again. Again, nothing! None of them. I'm not related to anyone famous. In fact, the screen pointed this fact out with brutal honesty..."You have no famous relatives." Thanks a lot.

I guess this means that my husband married beneath him and my kids are just too good for me. In fact, I guess this means I've just polluted the family gene pool. Great. Just what I needed to hear.

The Little Sociopath at Church

2010-03-25T21:12:00.004-04:00

Generally, I think that most kids are ok. Some may take a step or two in the wrong direction at times, but for the most part, they mean well enough. Even mine.

Well, I've finally met the kid who has shifted my paradigm about 179 degrees from where it was. I don't think it will take me long for it to shift that last degree either.

It's a bit ironic since I posted recently about bullying, but my son has recently encountered the playground bully. He's not even in third grade! He's in first grade, like my son. That fancy "blacktop day" plan didn't work very well, did it? Big shock there!

Anyway, this charming little character kicked my son in the stomach while I watched a few weeks ago. My son, of course, completely collapsed in tears and I came to his aid. I took my son over to the other child and asked him why he just kicked my son in the stomach. The bully replied, "'Cause I felt like it." I asked the boy to apologize and he refused.

This wasn't the end of the conversation. I don't really feel like providing all the gory details, but I actually caught myself saying, "Young man, that is not an acceptable way to speak to an adult!" (Yes, I really said EXACTLY those words.)

This kid made me almost lose control of my rational behavior. I couldn't believe the things this little person was saying to me, a (sometimes) grown-up. After channeling my anger into a calm, but pointed discussion with the 7-year old's inattentive, adult babysitter, she ended-up taking him home thinking. We left and, although I was angry, I realized that I probably wouldn't recognize the kid if I saw him again.

As we were leaving, my 3-year old daughter reminded me that this is the same ~~punk~~ child that punched her over the winter one day after the school let out. I'd forgotten, but she is correct. It is the same ~~punk~~ child. Then I just got mad all over again.

I've never had that happen. Usually, when a kid gets caught and is confronted, they just apologize and that's the end of it.I'm not proud to say that I actually had an argument with this kid. I reminded my son what he needed to do if he had another problem with this kid and followed-up on it, but otherwise let it go until today.

I took the kids to my daughter's preschool's "Family Fun Night". The preschool is run out of the church I go to and it's a good place. There's was lots of noise and chaos. All in all, a "good" time. Then the cakewalk began and all the kids dashed to get in line.

The kids and I are standing in line waiting for our turn when I see my son pale suddenly. I thought he was going to be sick. I asked him if he was ok and he pointed to the kid that had just pushed him out his place in line.

When I glanced over, I saw it. It was the delinquent first grader again! We made eye contact and he recognized me right away, but instead of refocusing on something else (an indication that he might have felt chastized as a result of our previous encounters), he made a point of boring a hole in my brain with his eyeballs. A true sociopathic stare. Only once in my entire life have I met someone like that before and that person was a criminal of the worst kind. It was frightening.

What makes such a young boy be so fundamentally flawed? So depressing because the answers to that question can't be good.

Anyway, my goal here is mostly to tell a venting story. I don't really have a point at all. I was completely floored by the encounter and, to be quite honest, more than a little bit frightened by it. At least now I'm armed with the kid's name and a pretty good plan in place should other encounter occur....that should help, right?

GROWING UP SUCKS!

Potty Training in Retrograde

2010-03-21T19:22:00.000-04:00

After spending some time recently in the bliss of potty training paradise, I'm now back in Hell. As I thrillingly announced a few months ago, we ~~are~~ were finally done with diapers. Day and night under control. Now, not so much.

In fact, now I'm not even potty training a child, but a child who is acting like a puppy with an attitude problem. I'm sure it is related to the stress of a recent move, but still! Suddenly, I'm running around with a mop and bucket after a child who refuses to keep a diaper on. She even "forgot" that she had to "go potty" while sitting on her dear uncle's lap last night. He was very gracious, but it is definitely one for the family history books. "Remember the time when...."

And then, I get to read all about the parenting prowess of other kindly friends. Perfect. Apparently, I am not all that afterall. But I guess that is not really a big surprise. Sad that it takes a feral child to clear that up. WWTD? (What would Tarzan do?)

Music & Lyrics

2010-03-16T19:54:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite things to do these days is to listen to my budding three-year old lyricist working on her portfolio. While she's not quite the next Hal David, she does come up with some interesting stuff. Here's a sample of her next big hit.

Don't get splinters
In your eyes
Because it will hurt
A lot
And it's spring
Beautiful spring
The grass is green
The flowers are sweeeeeeeet
And you'll have to
Go to the doctor
The buterflies are everywhere
They fly on my head
The grass is green
The flowers are sweeeeeeet
And the doctor is not

Time Management: Springing Forward

2010-03-15T18:18:00.003-04:00

For the first time since 2004, I’m living in a place that observes a biannual time change and I am not happy about it. Not having to bother with the time change was such a luxury. It did mean that summer days were not quite as long, but with two small children, bedtime in daylight is not an event to savor anyway. (Even though I personally like long summer evenings.)

The part I’m dreading the most is Monday morning. Sleep is in short supply already ~~at my house~~ in my bedroom and when my body thinks it is 6:46 am and the clock says it is 7:46 am, it makes for a very bad Monday.

See, they try to trick you by changing the clocks on a Saturday night. Probably under the sage advice that a one-hour time change only requires a one-day grace period. (Same for jet lag…one day per house of jet lag.) But we all know we don’t have to really make the change until Monday morning so it is completely pointless.

This time around, my kids magically knew to wake-up an hour early. No time change lag for them which is not surprising since they don’t seem to get jet lag either. Then today (Monday), they slept late as if to taunt me. Turns out I was right. It made for a very bad Monday.

End of an Era

2010-03-15T12:51:00.001-04:00

In honor of my favorite bloggess, I wanted to bid a fond farewell to the one that got me started (Stories From Korea), by hooking you up with three of my favorite SFK posts.

Rasputin
My Life in Cats
True
A bonus post: Tap (this one is mostly my favorite because of the picture)

In the future, check out Anna's new blog, The Woman with a Dead Cat in Her Purse. I'm sure it will shake the blogging world to its cat loving core.

What do you mean "a real tip"?

2010-03-08T13:38:00.002-05:00

I can't remember the last time I actually attempted to offer up useful information, but let's give it a try. This one is about one of my favorite parenting topics....laundry.

Years ago, I read a tip in on of those "you would be organized if only you..." books. I liked it and immediately implemented it. It works great.

However, while I was overseas, I lost both my mind and my ability to get a grip on my laundry pile by temporarily forgetting to use this tip. I'm back on the wagon again and am soooooo glad I am.

After all the ramp up, it is actually really easy.

Step 1:

Buy three (optional 4) hampers for each person in the household who can manage to follow through. Small children's clothes can just be added to the adult hampers.

Step 2:

Label each hamper with the following labels in Sharpie:

1. White, Off-Whites, Pastels, Light Greys, Khaki
2. Darks, Navy, Green, Brown, Denim
3. Reds, Purples, Oranges, and Bright Yellows
4. (OPTIONAL) Bedding and towels

Now my husband, always asks about those colors in the "grey" area of the color spectrum. That is why you can't just label them white, dark, and brights. You have to specify each grey area or it will not work.

Step 3:

Then, all you have to do is explain to everyone who is going to use the system that they take off their clothes and place them in the correct hamper according to the color.

Step 4:

From here, how you do the laundry is optional, but I like to attack a color a day. So I can announce to everyone, "bring down your darks hamper and I will wash it today." Makes sorting easy going in to the washer and out of the dryer. And you will finally find you have enough hampers to handle all the clothes.

Hope this is helpful!

Fairies, Guilt, and the Glass Ceiling

2010-03-06T20:45:00.001-05:00

At first I thought I blew this one. Not a big surprise really when you consider my overall skill or lack thereof; then, upon reflection, I think I was just able to start an early lesson in feminist history. In the words of Monk, here's what happened...

I was rushing to get ready the other day when Emma came up to me and said, "When I grow-up, I'm going to be a fairy."

In a very atypical response, I said, "That would be fun, but you have to be born a fairy to be a fairy."

Emma burst into tears. I wanted to kick myself. Why would I disagree when I usually play along? Who knows?

Nice work, Mommy.

Then, as I always do when I devastate my children's dreams, I started thinking (read: "justifying") about my actions and I realized that it is important to know that everyone is different. Some people can fly around with disproportionately small wings, others can, well, not.

We can't all be fairies. Like it or not, there is a glass ceiling and it is never too soon to learn about how it works. At least half of the population will not break through this ceiling to become a real live fairy. And, if they do manage to break through, they will probably lose a lot of blood, get shoddy medical care, and die before their time. So really, I'm just saving my daughter from a fate worse than death and giving her a lesson in what it means to be a woman in this day and age. Go, me!

But it's elementary school!

2010-03-05T19:43:00.002-05:00

This morning on the way to school Jack, who is in first grade, announced that it was "black top day" today. Like a fool, I asked what that meant and he explained that black top day was when the first graders had to play on the playground black top so that the third graders could play on the playground equipment (slides, swings, etc.)

A little confused, I felt relief, at first. I was glad that someone had created a procedure to minimize bullying during recess. Then, upon reflection, I was just confused. Wait a second, I thought. We're talking about first and third graders here. What the....

When did elementary school become so risky and hard to manage that a few playground monitors can't keep up with the bad guys on the playground? What happened to hoping for the best and training them for the worst? (e.g Tell a teacher if someone does something you don't like.)

I don't want my child to be bullied or to bully someone else, but how are they ever going to learn to handle bullying if they don't have exposure to it while the bullying is on a first/third grade level. I don't want Jack's first encounter with a mean kids to be on the bus as the child pummels him to a pulp. I want him to get used to setting boundaries now!

Not only that, but isn't this also the time when children should be required to be together so that they can start taking care of each other? If we segregate them, aren't we giving the third graders more power? Aren't we just telling them, hey, look at how much we fear what you can do?

Come on, people! Let's be reasonable. Isn't there a better way to teach kids about life while also keeping them safe?

The Perks of Being a God

2010-02-28T07:47:00.002-05:00

Emma adores her big brother and he knows it. Jack spends far too much of his time recently expertly taking advantage of his god-like status with Emma. Usually, it goes something like this:

JACK: Emma, let's see if Tom and Jerry is on Cartoon Network.
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Oh, look it's not Tom and Jerry, but it is Chowder! Yeah! We love this show!

This is followed by Jack excitedly jumping around until Emma catches the wave herself and forgets that she really wanted to see Tom and Jerry in the first place.

Note the expert use of the word "We" and the fact that he roped her in to changing the channel by luring her with her favorite show.

Another conversation I hear regularly usually starts with hushed discussion in a nearby room.

JACK: Emma, do you want a Twix?
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Me, too. Go ask Mommy if we can have some.
EMMA: Ok...Mommy....

Another variant of this discussion is:

JACK: Emma, do you want to go to Toys R Us?
EMMA: Ok. Yeah!
JACK: Me, too. Go ask Mommy if we can.
EMMA: Ok...Mommy....

Emma can also be used as a courier service.

JACK: Emma, do you want a paci?
EMMA: Yes.
JACK: There's one on the floor in my room.
EMMA: Ok.
JACK: When you are in there, can you bring me Marmalade (Jack's lovey)?
EMMA: Sure!

I feel really sorry for Emma some times as she is clearly being used to serve Jack's Greater Plan. However, I think I feel more sorry for Jack when Emma finally figures it all out. I think I'd better get my earplugs ready for that day.

I think my sitter joined the union.

2010-02-27T22:00:00.004-05:00

Let me preface this by saying that I have (one of) the best babysitters. I've been quite lucky with sitters for my kids and my current one is not an exception. Thus far, she has never once been unavailable to sit. She is 18, has reliable transport, is CPR/First Aid trained and certified AND she also went through a background check prior to her name being referred to me. So all in all, I can't complain if she doesn't take the kids dinner plates to the sink after she puts them to bed.

Now, on to the real reason for this post.

Tonight I got invited out on a "girls night out" for dinner and drinks at a local pub. I was again lucky enough that it was Saturday and my sitter was available. She arrived promptly at 6:30 and the kids flocked to her sides. All was good.

I rushed off to get dressed and "put on my face" (I store it in formaldehyde in my bathroom medicine cabinet). I was ready to pop out the door, said an emotional "see ya" to the kids, and headed for my coat. Fifteen minutes later I was still looking for the damn thing and it isn't like I have many places to look. I knew that I had brought it in from the car with me earlier, but where the heck was it!?

Finally, I gave up, grabbed a non-coat alternative, and left. By this point, I was running late and dashed out in a hurry.

To make a short story even longer, I had a lovely parenting-free evening. Conversation flowed like conversation...of 4 tired mothers trying to make it until 9 o'clock. Breast feeding. Potty training. School. Husbands. All the great non-parenting-related stuff. I'd had a long day so I decided to call it a night and head home after a few hours.

I pulled up in the driveway only to find a homeless person asleep on my front lawn. In a big heap. A little surprised, I got out of the car and approached the homeless person...uh....heap of clothes....uh....my coat. On the ground for hours since I must have dropped it on the way in earlier.

In my defense, I did after all have 3 coats, one large mommy-sized handbag, 4 Target bags, 3 Chic-Fil-A bags, 4 empty juice boxes, and a bag of potting soil in my arms when I came in.So I can't possibly see how I didn't notice it falling by the wayside somewhere along the tromp up the hill to the front door. A normal person would never have let that happen, would they?

Anyway, I picked up the coat, dusted it off, and went inside to send the sitter home. When I came in I showed her the coat and said, "Guess where I found my coat!" She said, "Was it in the car?" I replied, "No. It was on the front lawn." "Oh," she said, "I saw that when I came in."

Questionable

2010-02-26T19:30:00.002-05:00

Oh, boy. I've been waiting nearly 7 years for this question. I've been reading, researching, and reflecting on this question so much that I could testify as an expert in any court in the country and today I was up to bat. Now, I bet I know to which question I am referring, but you would be wrong. Compared to this question, that question is a walk in the proverbial park.

We just finished our pleasant Friday afternoon diversion to Emma's ballet class and a swim at the pool followed by a trip through the McD's drive thru. As we're heading home, there is contemplative silence interrupted only by the snuffling and slurping sounds associated with Happy Meals. Suddenly, Jack pipes up.

"Mommy? Where does chicken come from?"
"Uh, um, chicken."
"Well, how do chickens lay chicken?"

Shit. All that research for nothing. I gave it my all and now what? Am I really going to have to explain where we get chicken? That we eat? Perhaps I can turn it into a "chicken or the egg" discussison. No, that would be wrong. Better that he learn it now and from me than in some other more shocking way....

"Uh, um, well, I can tell you, but I don't think you would like it?" And, I don't think you'd ever eat again.

Pause. More contemplative silence.

"Um, no. Never mind. I don't want to know." Damn. I chickened out. Can't believe I chickened out. Oh, well, maybe next time.
"Are you sure?" Please, please, please.
"Yes, I don't want to know."
"OK, well, let me know if you change your mind."

Whew! Dodged that bullet. Please, God, don't ask me where beef comes from.

What happens if...

2010-02-16T21:11:00.001-05:00

Conversations at my house right now are a bit like some new-fangled method of torture/resistance training. They go a little something like this....

JACK: Mommy, make sure you tell them I want a 6-piece nuggets Happy Meal, not a 4-piece.
ME: I will, Jack.
JACK: Mommy, what happens if they give me 8?

Or...

ME: Come on', guys, we're going to be late for school.
JACK: What happens if we are not late?

Or...the most common to be use in just about all situations where a parental demand is made, such as:

ME: Be careful not to get that Sharpie on the dining room table?
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?

Or...

ME: Don't hit Emma on the head with that.
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?

Or...

JACK: (sitting in the driver's seat of my car) Mommy, what does "D" mean?
ME: It means "Drive" and it you move the stick to "D" the car drives. Don't ever touch that stick.
JACK: What happens if I do it by accident?

You get the picture.

I've heard about these things, but until now have not really borne witness to the true "developmental phase" as advertised in the books. We've had the occasional annoying or weird phase, but they are not as complex or persistent. This one is like his brain turns off and the compulsion to ask the question wins out.

The frustrating thing is that there is no way to answer these questions because they just lead to more questions. Most of which begin with "what happens if". It is truly a vicious cycle. When I speak, I get this wrenching panic because I never know what will happen next. It's starting to wear me down. (And, I didn't have much further to go in the wearing down department really.)

The other thing is that I'm starting to become afraid that I'm not helping him develop whatever skill he is trying to develop because I'm so annoyed by it. What is I say the wrong thing and cripple his critical thinking skills forever? There goes college. There goes the high-paying job that will keep me in my retirement.

So now I'm wrecked with anxiety about the guilt of potential parental failure. Why does parenting have to be so damn complicated?

Grandpa's Words of Wisdom

2010-02-10T05:06:00.008-05:00

JACK: Mommeeee. I'm hungry.
ME: We're going home right now. We'll eat when we get there. (Note: Home is 1.5 miles away.)
JACK: But I can't wait!
ME: I don't have anything, Jack. You'll have to wait.
JACK: Do you have anything in you bag?
ME: Let me look.....yes! Pretzels.
JACK: Nuh-un.
ME: Oreos?
JACK: Noooooo-wuh.
ME: Goldfish?
JACK: I don't want Goldfish.
ME: Gum?
JACK: No.
ME: Fruit roll up?
JACK: No.
ME: Well, that's it.
JACK: But I'm hungry and I can't wait.
GRANDPA: Jack, Mommy is not a supermarket.

Boy, wish I'd heard that sooner. I just renewed my contracts with my suppliers.

An argument for child labor

2010-02-09T07:33:00.003-05:00

ME: Jack, don't forget you have to finish your homework before you go to school this morning.
JACK: But I don't want to.
ME: Well, you have to.
JACK: But I'm tired.
ME: Well, after you take a nap, you can finish it. Would you like me to tuck you in?
JACK: No! I don't want to.
ME: Jack, homework is part of your job. Just be thankful you don't have to work in a factory.

Candy. It's what's for breakfast.

2010-02-07T13:33:00.001-05:00

Or it might as well be in my house. My son has recently discovered Pop Tarts. (Especially the S'mores flavored ones.) Yuck! I'm not exactly sure how he discovered them, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he saw a commerical on either Nick or Cartoon Network.

Since we moved back from the relative English-language television dead zone of Korea, the kids have been exposed to "Real American" TV for the first time in their lives. (My son was young enough before we left that we only let him see Disney and PBS.) The commericals are killing me. Pop Tarts are just one of the horrible by-products of commericalized life.

It's one thing to be exposed consistently from a young age so that, by the time it matters, commericals are ignored (for the most part), but my kids are sucking it up like SpongeBob Squarepants-shaped sponges because commericals are like mini-tv shows to them. If I have to hear "Mommy! Look Zhu Zhu Pets!" or "Mommy, look they make a kid-sized Snuggies!" or "Mommy, you could really use that when brushing your teeth" or "Mommy, can we make some brownies?" or "Mommy, can I have some Lucky Charms?"one more time, I might be forced to do something reckless and buy it. And I don't want to go there.

You can bet they are NOT going to watch the Super Bowl? The Super Bowl commercials will probably lead me down the road to bankruptcy. My heart is strong, but my will is fading fast. Help me!!!

Nothing to see here.

2010-02-02T20:03:00.003-05:00

Somewhere, somehow, sometime in the past couple of months, I've completely lost my voice. My blogging voice, that is. Sadly for those who have to live with me, the actual voice is in rare form.

Part of the problem is that my beloved laptop was murdered (involuntary homicide) at the hands of my three-year old back in November and you would not believe how hard it is to get a new one these days.

My tech-savvy, genius brother helped me get one for an unbelievable deal. Then the mouse button (essential to computing these days) broke. Just the left one, not the right one. So I sent it back and dug out my VERY old Dell Insiprion 700m from 2005. Slow as the drip through my leaky roof, but it worked and I thought that it would work until my computer made it back to the company for the exchange. And it might have, except it took nearly two weeks to make it from Richmond to California; then, the transaction was placed in digital purgatory because they were sold out and were waiting for more to fill the order. Three weeks later, no computer and an unexplained refund. No advanced notice whatsoever.

That very same day, my old Dell spoke its last words ("Fatal Error; Dumping hard drive." on the blue screen of death) and breathed its last breath. Which is a good thing because after I heard its last words, all I wanted to do was haul it firmly across the room.

So, there I was, no computer, but I did have an iPhone. Do you have any idea how hard it is to buy a computer using the internet on an iPhone? It wasn't easy. At all. And I'm still not sure I've ordered the right thing. (Probably an Apple conspiracy. I bet if I were buying a Mac it would be easy-peasy.) But, that's ok, I said to myself. It'll be here in a couple of weeks and I have my iPhone to check my e-mail and maintain a healthy dose of Facebook.

Oh, I'm so naive. My computer was due to arrive in my humble abode by February 1st. On February 1st, I got an e-mail saying my shipment would be delayed. The new expected arrival date is the 8th. Now I'm just going to believe it when I see it.

By now you are probably wondering how I am blogging with no computer? Well, in a sheer act of desperation and a certain level of panic about what will happen if my children touch my new computer after what will be about three months of down-time, we bought a netbook that I can use until the new laptop arrives and the kids can fight over after that. Yeah, me! I'm online again.

The problem, you ask? Well, it turns out that I have nothing to say.

Resolution

2010-01-07T17:51:00.004-05:00

I just realized that I have not updated the blog since the new year! 2010 is here and I've not welcomed it officially. So, I shall do so now with some reflections on resolution.

Please be kind enough to excuse me for a rare moment of waxing (and probably wanning) philosophic. (I know you mostly stop by this channel to make yourself feel better about your own parenting and to give thanks that you are not my children. But, bear with me.)

Resolution is an interesting word. With the beginning of each new year, we make promises to ourselves (or others) that we will do something to improve ourselves and our lives, but I think that we also forget that resolution also brings closure. Also appropriate for year-end philosophizing.

To me, this year has been more about resolution in the latter sense than about resolution in the former. To start, this year has been one of the most difficult years I've had to live and I hope to never have to do it again, but despite that I have also found a huge amount of resolution as well. I've found that finding resolution is so important in finding peace in our lives and the ability to resolve to move on.

So, resolution to me, especially this year, is proving to be both an end and a beginning. And I resolve not to resolve anything yet.

Mission Complete

2009-12-30T08:10:00.002-05:00

After more than 6 years and $10,000, potty training is complete. Am I sad that my kids are growing up? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Grace

2009-12-22T09:15:00.002-05:00

There are times in my life when I reach in my bag to find a pen and I pull out five juice boxes, cookie crumbs, scratched sunglasses, and some receipts. Then, there are the times when I pull out the pen.

Dangerous and disrespectful. Fa-lalalala, lalalala.

2009-12-17T18:09:00.001-05:00

So, I was talking to my son's first grade room mother (no, it's not a legally binding relationship) about the upcoming class' Holiday-Mas party on the last day of school before the Winter-Mas Break (tomorrow at the time of this writing).

I was volunteering to do my part and in a flight of whimsy about classroom parties of my youth said, "it should be fun. At least, I hope they have more fun than the ~~Halloween~~ Fall party. Party days were so fun at school!"
To which she replied, "what do you mean?"
And I said, "well, they all just sat in their chairs and had to be quiet." (They had a sub that day, so I thought that was the reason why it was dull.)
To which she said, "They have to sit down or they will get in trouble."
Me: "Huh?"
She: "It would be dangerous and disrespectful for them to be out of their chairs. Someone would come and tell them to sit down."
Me: "Huh!? That's ridiculous. They should play some games. They are old enough to be told that they have to play at an appropriate level."
She: "Oh, no. They can't take that risk."

(A photo from the Falloween Party.)

Not only that, but there is nary a speck of sugar on the list of food items being brought in for the party!!!!!!

Getting Trashed

2009-12-14T19:46:00.001-05:00

Ah, I bet that word conjures up many a happy memory for most of my readers. And even if getting trashed didn't end up exactly like you planned one night, I bet it didn't end up like this (unless you are REALLY unlucky, that is):

Now this is not my first "messy house" post (see here, here, and here for some other examples) and it is unlikely to be my last (after all, it is fertile ground, you know); but you really have to appreciate the totality with which the distruction occurred in a mere 25 minutes.

How do I know you ask? I know because I finished tidying up and vaccuming, and then immediately ordered pizza. Then, I went in the kitchen to work on some Christmas cooking. Twenty-five minutes later (I checked my watch upon arrival) when the door bell rang for the delivery guy, I came out to this.

(Blogger is not showing this image the right way up, but sideways is nice, too.)

So, next time you get trashed, I really hope it is the good kind and not the bad kind. Overall, the moral of the story is to drink a lot more and it will all be all right.

New Blog Layout

2009-12-12T14:24:00.001-05:00

Just for you Anna. Hope this doesn't offend your aging eyes too much. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Tips for the Diabolical School Lunch

2009-12-11T08:15:00.002-05:00

School lunch is an interesting topic. I doubt too many people would agree that the nutritional value of school lunch is, at least at times, pretty questionable, but it is convenient and cheap. (Isn't that what the fast food giants say, too? Interesting.)

My son and I used to have daily debates about lunch that involved me checking the published menu and negotiating whether or not he would take lunch. By the time we brokered a deal, I'd spent more time on talking about lunch than I would have spent making it.

So, I started making it everyday only to find him coming home with the healthiest parts leftover in his lunch bag. Then, I would spend each day pointing out what he should be eating instead of what he was eating since they don't bother to teach nutrition in schools while it matters the most. (Hmmm, obesity problem? Why not educate them early and often? But that's another soap box.)

After two years of honing my methods, I realized that my lunch strategy was simple AND effective! Basically, my lunch tips come down to two issues outlined below with my suggested solutions. So here goes:

Problem 1: Child doesn't want to eat school lunch.
Solution A: Progressively make home made lunches less palatable.
Solution B: Hide the food so that every once in a while you can say "I don't have anything to give you. You'll have to eat at school today."

Problem 2: Child doesn't eat the most nutritional parts of the home made lunch. (Why do those pieces of fruit or the carrots always come home?)
Solution: Slightly underfeed the child so that he/she is hungry enough to eat everything. Works every time!

Be sure to offer a nutritional snack at pick-up or as soon as he/she gets home. See here for tips on providing healthy snacks.

Happy eating!

Love-heart guns

2009-12-11T07:49:00.001-05:00

DAUGHTER: I don't want guns on my airplane (see on left)
SON: But they are love-heart guns. See the hearts?
DAUGHTER: Oh, ok.

Dogs and Kids: Are they from the same gene pool?

2009-12-09T20:13:00.003-05:00

OK, I'm feeling a little peeved today. I've been saying this for years, but now that some "researchers" in TWO STUDIES have announced their "findings", everyone is taking it seriously. (I'll give you a minute to hop over to the article and get back to me......lalalalalalala....ho hum....oh, good, you're back.)

In 2005, when I said, "the way I see it, two year olds and dogs are operating on the same level" after observing my then-nearly-two-year-old son lying in a mud puddle next to his black lab pal, Tater, I got shock and awe. It was like I spit on the Bible or something.

Just the thought of likening a dog to a child was apparently inappropriate or something. Maybe it's the whole "Evolution? Pa-shaw" movement that's been hitting the news over the past few years. Unfortunately, my son wasn't lying in a mud puddle next to a chimp because, if he was, the proverbial poop may have hit the proverbial fan at record breaking velocity.

Anyway, I've been saying it ever since, including recently when I stood watching my three-year old daughter chasing her own "tail" next to a dog chasing his own tail. In fact, I say it so often that when I saw these studies, I had to look up the names of the authors to make sure they didn't overhear me say it! So far it all looks legit, but I have my suspicions.

It runs in the family

2009-12-06T18:08:00.002-05:00

Well, it has finally happened. "Mommy's baby, Daddy's maybe" has official proven herself genetically-related to her father. For years, I've been listening to my husband remake songs to suit his own agenda. Unfortunately, I cannot reproduce them on TftT because they are wildly inappropriate. (For example, "Venus in Blue Jeans" by Jimmy Clanton and "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel are two with some of the most obvious potential, but I digress.)

My 3-year old daughter is a fan of the Nick Jr. show Wonder Pets and, also, a fan of lying in the clean laundry pile that usually is one of the key interior design features of my living room. Oh, and the bedroom.

These two hobbies collided yesterday when she appeared from the clean laundry pile with a pair of underpants draped over her head like a mask singing what I thought was the Wonder Pets theme song (gotta love You Tube).

When I listened a little closer, I realized the lyrics were slightly altered as follows:

Underpants.
Underpants.
On my face.

I nearly cried with joy and quickly canceled the order for the DNA test.

Standards of Learning: "No parent left uncluttered"

2009-12-01T20:09:00.000-05:00

Why can't school projects be made of materials that rot so I know when to throw them away?

Excuses. Excuses.

2009-11-29T20:13:00.014-05:00

Oh, dear. What happened? Some time between now and 2 weeks ago, I dropped off the planet into a hyper-speed time warp. (I hope that is a reasonable fictional Sci-Fi reference. My IQ drops at least 50 points in the presence of SCI FI-ese.)

Anyway, it all started pleasantly enough when I took my 6-year old to the dentist. It was one of the proudest moments of my life. Then, I took him to school. Went home. Went back to pick him up. Found him with a mouth stuffed full of tissue paper trying to assuage the bleeding in his cheek.

Turns out he mutilated his cheek while it was numb. It is still unclear whether or not it was an act of defiance (the dentist warned him!), ignorance (did he not listen to the warning?), or just stupidity (did he choose to IGNORE the warning and big, fat do it anyway?); but either way, it was a major mess.

The good news, I think he'll think twice before refusing to brush his teeth. The bad news, 10 days of antibiotics (3X per day) and Tylenol with codeine, a face that I thought would never un-swell, and some pretty dramatic scaring on the inside of this cheek.

So, anyway, that was bad. Yes, but the fun continues.

The next trauma was watching the murder of my beloved laptop ("it was an accident"). I say murder, but really it was more like it slipped unknowingly (but firmly) into a coma from which it would awake.

Upon receiving an estimate (that cost me $120!) of $805 to fix it, I dug deep in my soul (read: wallet) to consider the hard questions in life. Ultimately, I decided that I believe in socialized medicine so I said a prayer and turned off life support. Rest in pieces, Pink Sony Vaio. You will be missed.

Fortunately, I also believe in reincarnation, capitalism, and the kindness of family. New Sony Vaio on the way! Thank you, Black Friday! (Oh, and my superbly talented, frugal, and technically savvy genius of a brother who located the right buy at the right time. Yeah!)

On the bright side, instead of wasting my time on Facebook, I read 6 books.

Wait, not done yet.

On Tuesday, I went to pick-up my son from school locking the door behind me. Upon returning 20 minutes later, I find that the lock has broken in the locked position. So, after calling the landlord who called the locksmith who called me back who came to drillout the lock, the kids and I stood around for about 2 hours waiting to get in to the house.

Because, it turns out, my door is 2 1/4" thick (not the standard, I guess) the owners need to either replace the front door OR order an expensive custom lock. So until that earth shattering decision is made, I'm left with a lock that only works from the outside. (So, I can get in, but once I'm in I can't lock it or get out if it is locked.) All I need now is a Lo Jack and I can start logging some house arrest time, just in case. (I believe in being efficient...should I ever need to do some time under house arrest.)

Oh, and then there was Thanksgiving. No more explanation required.

Finally, last night we promised the kids that we would take them to see the fantastic Christmas lights display at the local botanical gardens only to have my 3-year old daughter throw-up in my ear as she was being loaded in to the car to go. This resulted in the cancelation of the promised trip and a cross between enraged freakout and the silent treatment that only an experienced 6-year old can administer. Not to mention, a nasty mess to clean out of my ear which is quite a bit harder than it sounds.

Because I'm supposed to be offering tips or other handy parenting advice, here are the learnings from this crazy month:

Never take your child to the dentist. It is MUCH easier if you just let their rot and teeth fall out.
Don't be too quick to judge socialized medicine. It works!
Never lock your doors.
Always keep a supply of antibacterial gel (any brand) and Q-Tips (not the cheap, generic kind) in your car, bag, and/or pocket. Always.

Being 3 is soooooo good (for the 3 year old)

2009-11-16T16:58:00.000-05:00

My daughter is going through yet another "phase". It is a multi-faceted campaign designed at total parent annihilation.We are now in week 3 of the campaign and I think it might be working. The strategy is as follows:

From 7 am to 7 pm, make unreasonable demands such as hiding a pacifier and then asking Mommy to find it. An especially annoying variation is to hide the pacifier behind back while screaming for Mommy to "Find It!" Or, cry dramatically while asking for something unintelligibly.
From 7 pm to 7 am, wake up Mommy by screaming that I'm cold, can't find my paci, want my light on, or some other ridiculous ruse at a minimum rate of three times per night.
Throw tantrums at a minimum of every 36 hours. Day or night.
Refuse to eat. Period.
Refuse to bathe and, if made to bathe, have a tantrum over putting feet on bathmat.
Refuse to brush hair.
Refuse to cooperate for diaper changes, but refuse to wear underpants.
Perfect the pout, the scream, the "You're stupid", and the "I hate you, Mommy!"

The only thing I'm getting out of this is some good fodder for my getting paid-to-write job, but it is sooooo not worth it.

Proud as sugar-free, straw-dispensed, watered-down punch

2009-11-11T14:09:00.001-05:00

Today is another landmark day on my parenting skills calendar: the day my 6-year old sat patiently and in extremely good humor while the dentist filled cavities in his teeth.

After learning 2 weeks ago the he needed several cavities filled, I've been almost paralyzed by fear of his reaction to the process. He has not had a great amount of success with probing, specialist treatments even though he is always cooperative at the doctors for basic stuff. Add to that the potential for his first grade peers to tell him about their experiences. I knew I was in for trouble.

Let's overlook the negligent parenting involved in the development in the cavities in the first place for a minute and bask in the florescent glow of the dentist's bulb so that I can pass on my tips for prepping a child for the visit to the dentist.

While I didn't harp on the topic, I did spend the past two weeks prepping for the big day and I think it paid off, so here's what I did:

First, I made VERY clear that he should COMPLETELY IGNORE everything that anyone, especially his friends, told him about going to the dentist. I told him to call the person a liar, cover his ears, then to scream and run away
Then, I told him that it DIDN'T HURT, but that he would feel a pinch near his teeth and that this was only to make the fun stuff happen...the fat, sense-less lip.
I explained that the doctor would put something on his gums that would make his mouth feel stranger than he'd ever flelt before, that he would not be able to smile properly, and that he would talk with a really silly lisp. I told him, in theory, someone could punch him in the cheek and that he wouldn't feel a thing (until it wore off, of course.)
I imitated the screeching whir of the "cavity remover" (i.e. drill) and said that he shouldn't be worried about it as long as he didn't move.
I also reminded him to close his eyes so that the water didn't splash his eyes.

When the big day came, he said that he was a little, tiny bit nervous, but he approached the magic chair with poise and charisma. Forty-five minutes later, he walked out with a mouth full of fillings and a fat lip. I was so proud.

The last thing I told him as we were heading out the door was that I had to pay exorbitantly for him to have so much fun and that I couldn't afford to do it again with Novocaine so he needed to BRUSH HIS TEETH!!!!!

Seemed to work like a charm. Whew! Hope he doesn't come home with a peer-induced fat lip.

A Little Christian Hospitality: A Guest Post

2009-11-08T09:02:00.004-05:00

In the spirit of Bloggy Love and good Christian hospitality, TftT is thrilled to welcome an anonymous guest poster today. Please welcome her into your homes as you would your own house of prayer.

Hi! How was your Sunday? Oh, we haven't met? Sorry! I'm anonymous military spouse/disgruntled chapel-goer. Nice to meet you! I just know you're dying to hear all my thoughts on the chapel on base this fine Sunday morning, right?

I went down there this morning with my husband and two small children. We've tried all the English speaking churches around here and don't really like any of them. It didn't take long; there are only three. The chapel is really convenient, and roomy. There's all these families here now and they keep talking up how great it is for families now, lots of new housing, facilities and programs. I thought the chapel would be great, nice and welcoming, maybe with a nursery and/or Sunday school for the kids. Jesus loves the little children, right? There's even a song, for God's sake! I guess the chapel here didn't get the memo, because they obviously hate children and don't want them around at all.

There was no Sunday school or nursery at the service we went to, so we sat way in the back by ourselves. There weren't many people there, so we weren't bothering anyone. There is a little room in the back, intended for crying babies, but it appears to be full of musical equipment. Our two-year old isn't too good at going to church yet, so I took him out pretty quickly. At the end, I came back in to pick some tags off the Angel Tree so we can get some gifts for less fortunate children. While we were discussing why some kids need Angel Tree gifts, the almighty holy colonel in his shiny robe was making an enormous fuss in the back pew, calibrated precisely for our 'benefit': 'Cracker crumbs! Someone ate a cracker back here and there are crumbs all over!' Keep in mind there were less than ten people at the service and he knew exactly what he was doing.

Now, we try to pick up our crumbs wherever we go and don't make a habit of dropping cracker crumbs in church. Since I had taken the little one out while my husband stayed with the older one, we didn't notice the crumbs. Crackers were only eaten in church in the first place because there was no nursery. Is that really such a big deal? What is the chapel telling people when the boss man of the place acts like that? This is what it says to me:

Keep your grimy kids out of our church;
We don't care enough about our community to offer childcare or children's church so families can come;
The chapel floor is more important than a kid's feelings; and
Passive aggression is the way to go.

Is that what Jesus would do? I don't think so. He would definitely write a blog post about it, though.

Snacktime: You can get it or I will

2009-11-06T17:10:00.004-05:00

How many times a day do your children ask for a snack? Once, twice, three times, more? Well, with two kids it's double the fun. One snack is two. Two snacks is four. And on and on and on and on ad infinitum.

Well, I've recently figured out something that smarter parents probably figured out ages ago. A new level of conditioning in the Pavlovian experiment we call "parenting". Here's how it works.

Each time your child asks for a snack, tell him/her that he/she can get it or he/she can wait for you to get it. At first, this will seem like a no-brainer to the child who will usually decide to wait rather than interrupt his/her "project". (As long as he/she doesn't have to wait too long mind you. And, in this one instance, you should not make him/her wait.)

When you get the snack, provide the child with a small, ultra-nutritious snack. When the child complains, and he/she will, let him/her know that he/she can have another snack once the first snack is finished. At this point, the child should dutifully eat the snack.

When the child comes back for more, say the same thing. "You can get it yourself or I will in a minute." Repeat the process from the first snack. (Small, ultra-nutritious. Another snack may be had after the given snack is finished.)

Repeat as needed until the child is full or realizes that he/she can get a better snack if he/she does it him/herself.

Once you have established this fact, the second part of the plan is to make the junk food increasingly hard to reach so that when the child gets his/her own snack, the only option is the "healthy" stuff.

Congratulations! You have now gained yourself at least an hour a day back in your life. Don't you feel younger already?

Am I nuts or is it just you?

2009-11-04T09:46:00.000-05:00

Parents in captivity seem to lose their minds at a half-life of about one year per child. Factors that affect this rate of deterioration include parental ego, other parents' parenting practices, illness, availability of babysitters, spousal employment, and ease of access to a sense of humor.

Speaking in Tongues

2009-11-01T18:00:00.000-05:00

My son has suddenly started "spell speaking". Since he can't really spell yet it makes for some interesting comments. For example, he will spell a word and then ask me what the word is. So the conversation typically goes like this:

HIM: "Mommy, what does X-Y-O-N-A-N-F-H-W spell?"
ME: "Nothing."
HIM: "No! Tell me. What does it spell?"
ME: "Zee on anph hwa."
HIM: "Mommy, that's not a word."

The worst part is that my 3-year old tries to get in on the act as well. Same conversation. Different letters.

The other fun part is hearing the new colloquialisms re-tooled. Here are some of the more recent interpretations:

What the C?
I F-A-T you!
Oh, my G-O-B.

As you can see, it's time to clean up the household vernacular because one day soon, he's going to get it right.

Stupid Question of the Day

2009-11-01T08:10:00.001-05:00

ME: Good morning! What would you like for breakfast today?
BOTH: Candy.

Several Thousand Words

2009-10-30T12:52:00.000-04:00

Oh, Mommy! There you are.

This is so fun.

I'm the leader.

Look at me. So pretty.

Wait...a....minute....

You are all looking...at...me...

Mommmmmeeeeee....I neeeeeeddddd you....

"Come on...let's sing," says teacher.

No!

The End.

It's a good thing...

2009-10-24T20:52:00.003-04:00

Lovin' this blog.

My Morning Off

2009-10-23T11:45:00.002-04:00

Church bells ring.
Swish, swish, swish...leaves falling.
Scurry...scurry quickly squirrels. Winter's a comin'.
Birds chirping.
Pages turning.
Tea steaming. (Not cold and filmy.)
Blissful peace. Solitude. Zen.
Kapow! Reality back. "What's for lunch, Mommy?"

Separately or together?

2009-10-21T14:09:00.000-04:00

Kids to the dentist separately or together? Suggestions. They are 6 and 3.

Quick Tip: Tantrum Conversation

2009-10-20T13:08:00.003-04:00

Things never to say to a mother at the grocery store with a child having a tantrum:

If the mother pretends to leave the scene of the crime in the hopes the child will stop screaming, do not stop the mother to tell her that she forgot her child.
If the mother is carrying a screaming child to the check out, do not stop her to ask the child "what's the matter?"
If the mother is in the check out line with the aforementioned child, do not do a "price check" on a toothbrush. The mother would gladly pay $5 for the toothbrush if she had to.
If the mother is escorting her screaming child to the car, the bagger helping her to her car should not ask her, "How is your day today?"

Behold, the Power of Laundry

2009-10-18T21:37:00.001-04:00

I know I complain a lot about laundry; but at least there's this:

There are, however, a few major problems with this picture.

The person is alone. No kids bouncing around or pets interferring. (I know this person must have kids by the sheer quantity of towels present.)
It is daytime. My laundry never gets to this point in daylight hours. Usually, I'm stuck with laundry after the rest of the day's work is done.
The laundry is still warm. (At least, that's what I think. Why else would the person bother, really?)
The laundry is still clean. There is no child peeing on it or drink being spilled on it or food crumbs being dropped on it.
The person's bed is made. Who makes their bed anymore? I used to be such a good bed maker, but I'll save that for another day.
The person's socks are clean which means he/she also magically has time in his/her day to clean the floors, too.

Overall though, I think this picture might be my new symbol of parenting bliss.

Quick Tip: An Ounce of Prevention

2009-10-15T11:50:00.005-04:00

In cases where you are forced to throw toys in the inside trash because of inclement weather or similar, be sure to "top off" the trash can with a gooey, slimey mix of last night's dinner leftovers, used teabags or coffee filters, and perhaps something like jello, rotten bananas (unpeeled), or gravy. This will help repel the efforts of even the most ardent of resident dumpster divers.

You may also want to break any unbroken toys destined for the dumpster. This will give you additional argument for elimintating the toy should it be found. In some cases, just letting a younger sibling play with the toy will make it useless enough for the trash.

Zhu Zhu Pets get them here, now.

2009-10-13T18:33:00.001-04:00

Click here.

Listen up! Nobody wants your toilet brush.

2009-10-07T13:26:00.003-04:00

This post is a little off-theme for my "parenting" blog, but I'll try to bring it full circle by the end if I can. The purpose of this post is to educate the future home sellers/renters of the world about proper moving ettiquette. There's nothing worse than moving into a new home to find that the previous owners didn't properly close up shop before they left. When moving in, we don't want to pack up the rest of you belongings before finally getting to unpack our own.

Here are a list of do's and dont's that excited movers should consider as you prepare to cut your old abode loose:

No one wants your toilet brushes, indoor trash cans, and cleaning sponges. We will throw them away immediately and so will you in your new home.
Feel free to leave your cleaning supplies, including laundry detergent and dishwasher tabs. For most people, leaving toilet paper is acceptable. But do not leave BODY cleaning supplies, like used soap and sponges, etc.
No one wants your bathmats or non-slip shower/tub mats or decals. Throw them out.
No one expects a clean house (and they will clean it thoroughly before they do anything else, trust me), but don't leave the oven, bath, or toilets a nasty mess. There is no need. It is also nice if the bathroom floors are cleaned, especially if you have lots of little boys (or big ones) in residence. (Ah, there's my parenting link. Whew!)
Do not leave your questionable home maintenance detris in the garage or basement without asking first. Rusty tools, dull tree cutters, and rotten paint, even if it matches the walls painted 10 years ago, is not appreciated.
If you feel compelled to leave anything behind, have a yard sale and invite the new owners/renters. Throw everything not purchased away.
Do not leave food anywhere. Not in the freezer, not in cans on the shelf. Take it with you, give it to the neighbors, or trash it.
Do not leave clothes hangers. We have enough of the ones we like already.
Be sure to leave your oven's broiler pan in the drawer, but take all the other stuff out of the drawer. If you've moved one or more times, you already have plenty.
Feel free to leave lightbulbs, especially those needed for "weird" appliances or light fixtures.
Diaper Genies, potty chairs, baby toiletries or medicines...take them with you. IN fact, make sure the movers pack your medicine cabinets as they often get forgotten.
Do not leave your old furniture, especially mattresses, "just in case" the new owners need it. Get rid if it!
Do not leave pet supplies and equipment. The only exception to this is if you have a bird feeder and want to leave the bird seed behind.
Feel free to leave behind your snow shovel and deicer. That is actually quite helpful if you don't need it.

As a general rule, never err on the side of leaving something behind. We know you probably mean well (maybe), but we will never know what we didn't have and we will always remember having to decontaminate our hands after throwing away your toilet brush.

Parenting Word of the Day: Cajole

2009-10-03T15:37:00.003-04:00

Definition: To harass into submission.

Usage: Emma cajoled me in to buying her a robotic cat named Lulu.

Raised on the BBC

2009-10-01T09:11:00.008-04:00

I think this post may explain a lot. Maybe a lot more to me than anyone else, but that's not a bad thing.

A little background: I was born in England and moved to the US when I was between 8 and 9 years old. I am the child of British parents (not American military or anything like that). I was very young when I moved, but it turns out it has a much greater impact than one might think.

Consider this...

Imagine not having the following reference points in your life:

Sesame Street
Mr. Roger's
Mary Poppins
The Brady Bunch
The Electric Company
Saturday morning cartoons
Sid and Marty Krofft
School House Rock
Smurfs, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony, GI Joe, Hot Wheels

Now instead, imagine you have these references:

Blue Peter
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Monkey (Monkey Magic)
Fawlty Towers
Bagpuss
The Clangers
Noddy (The real one, not that weird version on Noggin.)
The Magic Roundabout
Play School
Jamie and the Magic Torch
Mr. Benn
Basil Brush
The Adventure Game
It's a Knockout
And I could go on...

There was some spillover:

Dukes of Hazzard
Dallas (I never really saw this, just the beginning as I was on my way to bed, but I do remember the "Who shot JR?" drama.)
Pink Panther
Tom and Jerry
Honk Kong Phooey
Top Cat
The Banana Splitz (with some British and some American cartoons)

Now imagine that everything you really knew about the US was encapsulated in these TV shows. Back then, the Brits really did feel that Americans were all Texans.

It really amazes me how much, even to this day, there is a disconnect between what I know and think and what American folk know and think, just because of this cultural mishmash. I cannot typically participate in conversations about US pop culture of this time which can be quite frustrating. Music, television, food (e.g. peanut butter and jelly....yuck!), clothes, school, my understanding of the news of the time (e.g. Not as much Vietnam as Falklan Islands. Rooting for the Brits during the Olympics.). Everything is different.

It even affects my parenting. For example, I never watched Sesame Street until I saw it with my kids and I really dislike it. It actually pains me to watch it. I just don't get all the hype. As a result, we hardly ever watch it which means my kids will suffer from a disconnect similar to mine unless I deliberately choose otherwise. Being culturally literate is so important, so I have to choose Sesame Street some times. But, interestingly enough, my kids don't have any interest in it either.

My favorite kids show for my children is Charlie and Lola because it speaks my language, literally. (Well, that and Tom and Jerry, of course.)

Anyway, this post wasn't really designed to go anywhere. Mostly just an observation and a trip through my BBC past. Just think about the impact your childhood cultural references have in your life and in how you parent. It is really amazing that it can be relevant even today.

Happy Birthday, TftT!: Unicorns, Schools, and the NRA

2009-09-28T13:04:00.007-04:00

As TftT passes it's landmark first year in operation, I decided to post a blog for one of my most ardent athletic supporters...Anna. She is my inspiration and a fellow parent (which is probably the only thing that really makes this post relevant for TftT). This may also be the last post since, in one solitary year, we seemed to have solved all the key parenting issues (and some of the non-key ones, too, dog-gone-it!)

Anyway, when I asked Anna for inspiration to lubricate a recent dry spell, she offered up some fodder that has taken shape below....

It's hard to be a male unicorn trying to poop, but not as hard as it is to be his wife:

On the way to school the other day the kids were shooting each other (and occasionally me) with the Nerf guns that my son got for his recent birthday. I was late for my PTA board meeting and still had to make sure that I was properly turned out for such an occasion. It was then that it stuck me (with about the same force as those pesky Nerf gun bullets) that being a woman is really a man's job.

Not only was I recovering from my recent encounter with the Swine Flu, spelling tests (this week it's "an" words. Yippie!), vomiting 3-year old, counting to 100 projects, facilitating an activity filled morning with 20 first graders, and preparing an absolutely gripping PTA newsletter, but I also had to think about writing responsible advice and general information for parents for my new job, research whether my Nerf gun toting children qualify for NRA membership, and get a balanced, healthy meal on the table (or floor) up to 3 times per day. All that before I can even really think about showering (and drying), cleaning up unicorn poop, and, of course, all the unicorn's toys.

After taking a quick look at my watch (which I couldn't read due to the thin layer of some dried out substance that may have been yogurt), I decided that I just needed to man up and realize that the only person who could really do my job well is a man. After all, the only way to really approach this day is to eliminate things methodically and linearly from from my cerebral list without asking for any directions.

Where it's at: Let me check my vision

2009-09-21T21:40:00.008-04:00

Things are looking up on the school front this week. All the spelling words relate to the word "at"...cat, rat, fat, pat, etc. Thank God for small favors 'cause I was really dreading having to google "how many times can you repeat first grade if your mother can't teach you to spell".

On the downside, the kid who can't yet spell "said" has to write a personal vision statement. I just want to know if he can also do mine at the same time.

Googling My Way Through Life

2009-09-18T22:21:00.002-04:00

What a strange couple of weeks it has been. I know I'm badly behind in updating my blog, but life has swept me away again in its undertow and the life raft just caught up with me. (Too bad the life preserver hit me in the head before I caught it.)

On the bright side, school and preschool have started and I've got myself a cute little writing job writing (responsibly) about parenting for Examiner.

On the dark side, school and preschool have started and I've got myself a surprisingly time consuming little job writing (responsibly) about parenting for Examiner.

Some other random thoughts about the past two weeks....

My son's first grade teacher is a mathaholic. I am not. When the homework sheet announced "test on ordinal numbers on Friday", I had to google "ordinal numbers" to find out what they were.

My son's teacher doesn't seem to like to give detailed directions and suggestions for how to complete homework. Given the fact that I am a newbie elementary school parent with a Master of Education in Language Arts, I have no idea how to teach a tired, albeit smart, 6-year old how to learn to spell 10 words in 4 days. When he gets tested, I am, too. First grade should not be nearly so stressful for me.

My beautiful little girl turns 3 in 36 hours and when I reflect I am astounded at how much life has been lived in these past 3 years. I should have known I was in for it when, after 5 fun-filled days in labor, my little bundle of joy shot into this world without enough warning to get an epidural (despite the 5 days of notice, that is). Didn't know you could get PTSD from having a baby, did ya? Well, just remember that next time you go in to the hospital at 42 weeks with labor pains and a "slow leak" and they send you home saying you are fine! Five days and three hospital visits later, I thought I was having a nervous breakdown (and so did the nurses). Yes, I know, I tell this story too much. I feel like I really earned this one though. And, yes, I'm still bitter, but I digress....

Having said all that, my little one is amazing. She knows what she wants and she settles for no less. She is independent, smart, funny, and has VERY high standards, even at 2 am. I try to remember, when my will is being tested, that these things will make her a force to be reckoned with. I try to remember that this is the woman I want her to be when it is her turn to be 36 and I am probably dead from lack of sleep. I know in my heart that when I google "woman", I want to see her picture on the wiki-page that comes up. When I remember that I know I will survive.

Oh, did I mention. Somehow I ended up joining the PTA board. Huh? I resisted the urge to google "PTA". It was more fun to think of all the possibilities.

Easy Charity Work

2009-09-10T22:23:00.002-04:00

Check me out here. You click. I get paid!

Pain: Conversations with a 3-Year Old

2009-09-10T10:05:00.002-04:00

EMMA: Mommy, my foot hurts.
ME: Really? Do you have a bug bite? Is it itchy?
EMMA: No, not a bug bite! My skeleton hurts.

A New Parent Training Revolution!

2009-09-05T09:46:00.003-04:00

Would you like to be part of a new parent training revolution?

Would you like to learn some skills to help you manage the worst elements of parenting?

Tips from the Trenches

is proud to introduce

PARENTING POW TRAINING CAMP

Enroll now and you will learn:

A solid foundation of parenting survival skills and knowledge.
Instruction will include our seven priorities of survival:
positive mental attitude

parenting first aid

shelter

fire craft

signaling

water

food
Proper knots and lashings will be taught and practiced on site.
Submission tactics
Thought control methods
Stress management techniques
Emergency management procedures
Covert operational strategies
101 uses for duct tape
How to build your own Parenting POW survival kit
As a bonus, students will become very proficient in fire craft.
Optional, but recommended: Evasion and Escape Primer. For an additional fee, you can attend a four-hour seminar on how to evade and escape most parenting conundrums. Taught by Tips from the Trenches' own specialists.

For the first 10 registrants, you will get our introductory Buy 1, Get 1 Free offer. (Purchase one 2-day Parenting POW Training course and bring a friend for free.)

Free childcare will be provided by reservation only. Be sure to mention your childcare needs to our call center resprentatives.

Phone lines are open! Call now!

Gone in 60 Seconds

2009-08-31T19:22:00.001-04:00

To explain my day today, I'm going to take what scientists (and many other like-minded professionals) call a "cross section". A 60-second cross-section, in fact. It took me a while to figure out exactly which 60 seconds would best represent my day, but I think I chose well. Please, indulge me for a minute. (Ha ha ha.)

BOY: Mommy, I'm hungry.
ME: I'm cooking dinner right now.
BOY: Mommy, please put my Lego together.
ME: Please take the bowl of ice to the kitchen and dump it in the sink.
GIRL: Mommy, I need my paci and my drink.
ME: I'll get your drink. Your paci is under the couch by your feet.
EMMA: Please get it.
ME: No. You get it.
EMMA: But I can't.
JACK: (screaming) MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMEEEEE!!!!!!
ME: What? What is it?
EMMA: Mommy, my paci!
JACK: (waving arm in air and screaming) My finger. I cut it on a piece of ice (e.g. broken glass). It's bloody.
ME: Stop waving it around. You're flinging blood everywhere.
EMMA: Mommy, my paci and my drink! Jack, you're too loud!
ME: (handing Jack a clean rag) Stand still. Hold your arm up and press this on it.
JACK: (screaming louder) But it hurts.
ME: Jack, it's already stopping bleeding. Look.
JACK: Don't make me look at it. I can't look at it.
EMMA: Mommy, I'm hungry. Please find my paci.
JACK: Mommy, I need a Band Aid.
EMMA: (holding nose) Ewww...I don't like that smell.
ME: What smell?
JACK: Mommy! Look! Smoke!
ME: %$*#! (rushing in to the kitchen)
JACK: Mommy, my Band Aid.
EMMA: Juice box!
JACK: (to ME) Who are you calling?
ME: The pizza guy.
JACK & EMMA: Yeah!

The Cure for Boredom

2009-08-30T17:41:00.004-04:00

It has been a very long day at our house. Instead of going out, I opted to stay home and get some things done. This is a very rare occurrence in our house, so around 2 o'clock this afternoon, everyone was getting completely stir crazy. The problem was that I didn't want to leave. I was in the tidying zone and that doesn't happen often.

By 3 o'clock, I was subjected to a nearly constant stream of "Mommy, I bored" or "Mommy, this is not fun." Hearing this once is bad enough, but a full on assault every few minutes quickly made me wish I were a violent person. Who was it that said the best cure for boredom is ~~Mommy~~ boredom? I think they are so wrong. So wrong, in fact, that I'm thinking of taking out an ad in all the major parenting mags to let everyone know that he/she is a liar.

I was completely baffled by how to address this problem. My frustration was quickly stumping my creativity. On principle, I didn't want to give in and take them out. I also didn't want to have to turn into the family entertainer.

So now I'm looking for advice. How do you respond to this scenario? Are you as flummoxed as me or do you have a fail safe response? I have a feeling that this will not be the first time I am confronted with this and I want to fill up my parenting toolbox with as many chainsaws and power drills as possible.

No. I want that: Conversations with a 3-year old.

2009-08-29T20:41:00.000-04:00

Tonight my daughter and I had the following conversation:

ME: Emma, shall we read "No, David" tonight?
EMMA: No.
ME: Well, what do you want, then.
EMMA: "No, David"
ME: You just said you didn't want "No, David." Do you me to read it then?
EMMA: No. I want "No, David".

Right. Moving on...

Efficiency & Inspiration on the Porcelain Goddess

2009-08-25T20:09:00.006-04:00

I'm going to take a giant leap in logic here and hypothesize that most of the people who find themselves at Tips from the Trenches are, in fact, parents or are likely to soon become parents.

Because Tips makes every effort to be both compelling and useful, I thought I would take a few precious minutes out of my busy schedule to bestow upon my reader(s) some wisdom regarding efficiency.

Today, while I was multi-tasking on the porcelain goddess, it occurred to me that it might be useful for us to share some things that we do to be more efficient. Some of these things are pretty benign, but others are just pure parenting genius.

Here are some things I've a learned through trial and (lots of) error:

Never go anywhere without something in your hands that needs to go where you are going. Empty hands=wasted trip.
Never just sit on the potty. Get dressed. Brush your teeth. Remove nail polish. Clean out your handbag. Pay some bills. Send e-mail (but be forewarned that any multi-tasking around water with electronics is particularly risky). Also, it is not preferrable to talk on the phone, but I guess that is up for debate.
Never ask your kids to do something that you may as well just do yourself. (Remember, we are talking about efficiency here. Not overall parenting prowess.)
Never take the kids with you. Anywhere.
The pool is considered both fun and a bath.
Never vaccuum under anything. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Never manually wash your own car. The kids will only want to "help" and a trip through the automatic car wash can be an excellent disciplinary tool.
While dropping fully clothed children in the tub may seem like an efficient way to get clothes and kids clean simultaneously, it isn't. Been there. Done that. (The problem is that laundry powder is not suitable for their "tender" skin. Blah. Blah. Blah.)
Instead of ironing wrinkled items, it is more efficient to throw them in the dryer while you get on with something else, such as, well, just about anything is better than ironing really.
Buy uncomfortable furniture. The less they want to sit, the better chance you have of finding a place without wasting time on arguing about it.
Always wear a bra or panties with strong elastic. Strong elastic can hold a surprisingly large amount of stuff. Since we didn't grow and extra arm when we were pregnant, this is a great way to get a third hand.
Never carry something when you can throw it.
Tidy up only once a day. After bed time. I know this probably sends shivers down the baby soft skin of many of your souls, but really. Efficiency is important. How else will you get time for Facebook?

OK, I'm spent. Please, please, please, share your efficiency tips. Think of it as your "green" act for today. Efficiency is very ecologically friendly....did you know?

My Fascinating To Do List

2009-08-25T15:52:00.000-04:00

Just thought I'd knock a few things of my list:

~~Fill up car~~
~~Doctor's appointment~~
~~Shoes for school~~
~~Lunch~~
~~Unpack more boxes~~
~~Update blog~~

Emergency Management & Risk Assessment

2009-08-16T14:50:00.008-04:00

For those of you who know me, you have probably figured out that I don't predict results particularly well. I'm habitually clumsy and am often surprised when disaster rears its ugly, vicious, fire breathing head. I've even, through extensive research, scientifically determined that in an emergency, I most likely would go out in a panicked blaze of unpreparedness.

Which brings me to a "quiet" morning (about 6 weeks ago) at the top of my stairs. I was listening to the kids peacefully discuss whose fault it was that the walls got accidentally painted in green Crayola paint while thinking about a lovely dream I'd had the night before where I was on a plane crashing in to the North Pole (must be thinking about Christmas shopping already). I'd just arranged to drop my kids with my MIL so I could get some errands done at lightening speed in preparation for our 2-week beach vacation in three days which also happen to coincide with my son's sixth birthday. (The numbers alone are staggering.)

It was then that I started my tenth leisurely stroll that morning down the stairs. I didn't think I was unusually distracted, but that's what I get for thinking, I guess. The next thing I remember was a nasty popping, cracking sound accompanied by a wrenching, ripping, popping sensation and MEGA PAIN! I was lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs calmly reviewing my emergency preparedness plan while screaming some of my long lost-to-parenting favorite words.

It took a couple of seconds before I realized that my kids were standing in the doorway looking a little worried. The problem was I was alone with 2 young children and I was totally out of my mind in pain.

Lucky me, I'd fallen near my handbag. I was able to extract my newly acquired iPhone and began to call by EMT brother for advice. I was pretty sure I'd broken my leg in half, but I very reasonably wanted to check with him first. (I was very calm, you see.) When he didn't answer, I called just about everyone else in my phone. No one was answering. I was starting to sweat because of the pain. The only thing I could think of was that I didn't want to call my sister-in-law because she just started her job and it would not be good if she had to leave unexpectedly.

After not being able to reach my husband who was a 2-hour drive away, I decided that calling my SIL was the only option. Of course, she answered on the first ring. And, of course, immediately came to help. She was able to get in touch with my EMT brother who told me to call an ambulance. Which I did.

Then, I realized it was time for a little damage control. I smiled bewitchingly at my children, explained that I had fallen down the stairs (duh!), that I thought I'd broken my leg (duh!), and that they were not to worry because I'd called an ambulance and both Uncle Hugh and "Tato" were coming to help. I also slipped in a mention that they were not to repeat any of the new words they might have learned that morning.

It was at this point that I realized my front door is both locked and ridiculously hard for me to open. All at once, I knew that I couldn't do it and it would be almost impossible for my son. I was imagining the fire department showing up and breaking down the door to get to me lying gracelessly at the bottom of the stairs surrounded in packing materials from our move a few days earlier.

Fortunately, my son understood the importance of what he needed to do. (After I explained it, of course, in response to the "but I can't" complaints.) Just in time, he was able to turn the key and yank the door open as the ambulance, my brother, and his wife pulled up.

It turned out that the paramedics didn't think it was majorly broken and they were able to wheel me down the front steps to my brother's car in an odd wheel chair contraption so he could take me to the ER and they could get on with helping people who really needed it. After a surprisingly quick ER trip, I was booted, crutched, and returned to the ever patient hands of my children who were none the worse for wear. (Except a near paralyzing fear of the stairs, that is.)

To make a short story even longer, here's the moral. Plan a little. Even a teeny, tiny bit. Many of us, especially if you are a military spouse, spend enormous amounts of time alone for extended periods (days, weeks, even months). Prepare yourself and your kids for when something "out of the ordinary" happens. Explain what they would have to do if an ambulance arrived at your house one day. Let them know that an "official" (Child and Family Services) might be responsible for getting them to a family member safely if you cannot drive them there yourself. Show them where the phone is. Discuss your emergency plan with people upon whom you expect to rely for help. And, above all, remind them that they should always wear clean underwear and mind their manners.

Vacation Bible School Hangover

2009-08-11T19:47:00.007-04:00

My 6-year old son started his first session of Vacation Bible School yesterday. Since we don't actually spend that much time in church and I'm completely out of my depth when the subject of religion comes up, I was both surprised and flummoxed when he bounced out of his room before going to VBS on the first morning to engage me in the following conversation.

HIM: Mommy, you know something? I know God is real.
ME: Huh?
HIM: I said, I know God is real.
ME: Oh, really? Wow.
HIM: Yes. My friend, Stephen, isn't so sure, but after we talked about it, he said he might change his mind.

Next time, I'll get my caffeine before I leave my room.

Parenting Tip: Fruit Flies on Vacation

2009-08-04T08:00:00.003-04:00

Never, ever, ever, ever go on vacation for 2 weeks without first making sure your 2-year old didn't place a half-eaten banana in the trash can after you took the last batch of trash out.

Fruit flies don't need much food to survive, they don't live long, and the fornicate like, well, like fruit flies.

Now, please, submit your tips for ridding of them.

Feelin' Hot Hot Hot: The Dark Side of Potty Training

2009-08-03T20:49:00.000-04:00

The good news: My daughter is just about done with potty training.

The bad news: She's discovered a passion for flushing the toilet. Over and over and over again. Too bad she doesn't think of it unless I'm in the shower and she's come in to talk. Worse than that is when I tell her that flushing the toilet uses all the cold water and makes the shower too hot, she giggles and flushes.

The Bagina Dialogues (or My Morning on an Alligator Hunt)

2009-07-30T20:48:00.003-04:00

One morning this week, it was too stormy to go to the beach (yes, we're on vacation) and so we opted to drive to a nearby state park (Myakka River State Park) to take a boat ride/tour on an alligator infested lake. It was hot, muggy, and storming (off and on) and we had to wait a while for the boat to get moving. After the first 10 or 15 alligators, the kids were also getting hot and antsy.

I was under the impression that no food or drinks we allowed on the boat and, to ensure that I didn't promptly become a target for a hungry alligator, I was a good girl and left the goodies behind in the car. About 25 minutes in to a 1 hour tour, my son starting complaining that he was hungry. (Turns out the mommy in the row behind us wasn't such a law abiding citizen and had brought a Ziploc bag full of candy. Of course, Jack eyed this bag and mysteriously became ravenously hungry.)

Fortunately, the mommy behind us was also a generous (if horrifyingly lawless) mommy because she offered to share the lollipops she brought with the kids. I gratefully accepted and everyone was happily sucking away until the sugar kicked in.

My son realized that the boy behind us was only a few months younger that he is and they started goofing around in the way that 6-year old boys do. It was fine for a while because the play consisted only of targeting innocent wildlife with invisible weaponry. Not too bad. Then, they started whispering and giggling and I knew trouble was brewing.

As the boat captain turned off the engine (read: white noise), my son yells at the top of his voice "It's a bagina!"

As bad as it was, we all could have just ignored it and moved on, but no. The other boys grandmother gasps "Oh, no! That's a potty mouth. Time out!" No of us knew what to do. Not only was she shocked, but she also took it upon herself to discipline my child in my presence. So I hung my head. Grabbed my unusually speechless son by the hand and got off the boat faster than you can say, "But it's VAGINA! Not Bagina."

I know that no one wants to here talk about baginas especially on an alligator scenic tour, but come on! I can think of many worse things that he could have said (and probably knows how to). Not only that, but at least it was anatomically correct. At least he didn't say, "It's a bajayjay."

Out of the Office

2009-07-24T08:43:00.001-04:00

Will return when the Fat Lady sings. Probably some time in the next few days.

Vacation Lessons: Day 5-It's over long before the fat lady sings....

2009-07-03T19:09:00.002-04:00

Vacation. So quick. Non-vacation. So sloooooowwwwwwwwwwww.....

Vacation Lessons: Day 4-Co-sleeping is Not for Sissies

2009-07-02T15:04:00.008-04:00

I have to confess that I always though people who chose to "co-sleep" with their kids were doing it because it was the easiest thing to do. Saved all the hassle of trying to keep the kids quiet in their cribs. Parenting can be done while lying down all cozy in the parent's own bed. I was shocked at the lack of aforesight about what they would do when they didn't want the kids in their bed anymore.

After sharing a bed with my nearly 6-year old son for 4 nights now, I'm rethinking my position. It is torture. First, there is no actual sleeping going on. Second, the acrobatics is enough to drive me insane. Four nights of kicking, thrashing, snuggling, breathing....all while I'm trying to get one peaceful night's sleep. Third, parenting while cozy in bed is unrealistic as there is more than just you kicking the covers off each night.

Now I know, all those co-sleeping parents aren't actually sleeping. They are parenting. They are tired warriors trying to do the best they can for their kids and they are largely sacrificing their own sleep and peace in the process. Hail to the patient! Co-sleeping is NOT for sissies.

Vacation Lessons: Day 3-Why I love adult swim

2009-07-01T21:30:00.004-04:00

I remember long, painful minutes of torture that began once the lifeguard blew his whistle and hopped down from his all-seeing perch above the pool. Slowly I would get out of the pool and sit on the side with the other kids discussing how much longer it was going to be and trying to talk one of the innocent younger kids into going to ask the lifeguard how much longer it would be. A completely unfair way to treat the pool's main occupants, we thought.

Today, though, I finally got the other side of the picture. We are staying at a "family resort" where the children abound. The pool is madness and swimming really just consists of keeping out of the way of the kids leaping through the air and swimming between your legs. So when the blessed whistle blew today, I actually felt relief. Pure joy. Peace. And, finally, yes, relaxation.

I didn't even mind flaunting my new found space in front of the jealous eyes of 40 7-year olds. I swam and floated and rolled around like a seal released into the ocean. It was sublime. I dunked myself under the water every time one of the kids opened their mouths to speak. I swam with a joy long-forgotten. I even talked about how nice the water felt with the other Adult Swimmers.

But, as with all good things, the whistle blew and we were engulfed in a tidal wave of 40 kids simultaneously plunging into the water. Within 10 seconds, the Adult Swimmers were out of the pool and the noise was earth shattering once again.

The only question I had was for the lifeguard..."how long until the next adult swim?"

Vacation Lessons: Day 2-Your Mother is Never Right

2009-07-01T02:19:00.005-04:00

Conversation with my nearly 6-year old son...

ME: You can't put the end of the snorkel tube under the water. Water will get in and you could choke on it.
HIM: Austin knows all about this and he said you can.
ME: Who do you think knows more...me or Austin?
HIM: (Pause for thinking) I don't know.

And he's not even a teenager yet!

Vacation Lessons: Day 1-I Know Where all the Pretty People Go

2009-06-28T22:19:00.007-04:00

...And it isn't the kiddie pool.

After playing on the beach for a while, we decided to check out the pool on the way back to our room. We saw it on our way out and knew exactly where to go as it was beautifully exposed to the entire hotel populous. Full of people greased-up and cooking like fresh vegetables on a hot, fat-free olive oil Pam-sprayed skillet.

Like a good hotel guest, I read the "Rules of Entry" sign and noted rule number 1 was "No One Under 18 Allowed!" Huh!? I gasped. After pointing this out rule out to my husband who was queuing (with my son and daughter) to get in, an "Over 18 Guest" pointed "over there" to a thick grove of trees. "The family pool is over there. The kids will love it." Uh-oh, I thought.

So off we trekked back in the direction from whence we came. We burrowed around the hedges and thickly fauna-ed "wall" to locate a long line of "We may be over 18, but our kids aren't" folks waiting to get wrist bands to gain access to the pool that was deemed hidden or remote enough for them.

At first, I was insulted. What's wrong with us?, I considered. (Or at least, what's wrong with us that is so obvious that would prevent us access from the other pool.) Then, I looked around. Hey! I thought. This is where my peeps have been hiding. Apparently, the "Over 18 Pool" was code for "The Pretty People Pool" because all of a sudden I was at home in a veritable sea of imperfection! Hurray!

I guess once you have kids running your life, you no longer have time to look pretty sunning by the pool In fact, for 10 minutes, I simply counted mismatched swim suits: 31! Incredible. These people were so overwrought with their parenting responsibilities that they couldn't even match a bikini/tankini/T-shirt/sun cover-up top with an appropriate and similarly coordinating bottom.
Not only that, but those who were greased-up were cooking like Thanksgiving turkey with all the fixings. And, those who weren't laughed freely at my "Rock Lobster" jokes.

The kiddie pool is a beautiful thing!

Fathers: The Other Half of the Parenting Equation

2009-06-19T01:48:00.004-04:00

Since I'm not a father, but claim to be one who doles out parenting advice, I thought I'd honor Father's Day with something specially for fathers. In tribute, I offer up this.

"I make my own decisions!": A (Nearly) 6-Year Old's Struggle for Autonomy

2009-06-16T04:57:00.013-04:00

Over the past few weeks one phrase has become very popular at our house. My nearly 6-year old son believes that he is now equipped to make all decisions for himself. He thinks that the end to all arguments is to say, "I make my own decisions!" and storm off in a sulky huff (with the recent addition of firmly shutting his bedroom door behind him). I thought I would have at least another 6 or 7 years before this became a serious concern in my daily life.

On top of this, my son and 2 3/4-year old daughter just can't seem to give each other a break. Lately, we've been in a power struggle, particularly over property rights, and I'm starting to get worried about witnessing Cain & Abel take place on my Cheerio-covered living room floor.

Everything is "Mine! Mine! No, mine!" all day long, it seems. What makes it worse is that now my son yells out (at the peak of every argument), "It's mine! I make my own decisions!" To which my response is "Actually, it's mine! And I make ALL the decisions." Today, that caused both kids to storm off in a huff to their own rooms which turned out to be fine because I got some quality Facebook time in peace.

Anyway, I know this response isn't helpful (unless I want to spend all day on Facebook, of course). My only defense is that I'm driven to it. I don't really think I do make all the decisions. Not only that, but I don't want to make them. Decisions = work. And I have enough of that already.

Not only that, but this puts me, as a parent, in a very tricky spot. After all, the consequences of dealing with this situation could affect whether or not I have a 35-year old, jobless, son living at home with me. I do want him to make his own decisions. And, yes, I even want to give him room to make some bad ones. After all, one day I won't be there to make all his decisions for him. But, I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Even if he is.

Always Prepared

2009-06-14T15:09:00.007-04:00

I don't often pat myself on the back, especially for things such as organization prowess or parenting skill, but today I think I really deserve some kudos.

I have a habit of carrying around random items in my bag or in the stroller "just in case". Items include things like the standard parenting items, such as wipes, Bandaids, crayons, pad of paper, and leash; and often some less than traditional items, such as super glue, magic erasers, light bulbs, powdered water, etc. One day I even acquired a small, super absorbent towel that professional swimmers use to dry off.

While the standards get used frequently, it is not too common that I get to use the more creative or insightful objects that I pack. Until today....

It started simply enough with a trip to the BX. Emma in the stroller, for a while. Running down the sidewalk for the rest of the time. She was wearing my most-hated child (and adult) clothing item...Crocs. (I like to call them portable death traps.) Anyway, she tripped, fell, and grazed her knee. Out came the wipes, the anti-bacterial ointment (on my key chain no less), and the Bandaids.

Once I cleaned her up, we stopped to get the mail at which point the bug she had picked up on the last leg of the walk bit her hand. Out came the wipes, the Benedryl spray, and another Bandaid.

Then, it was on to the BX for some stuff. Diapers. Play Doh. Toilet paper. Workout clothes. The usual stuff. While I was looking for the right sized diapers, Emma pulled on a plastic shelf-thingy and snapped it. (Don't worry. It wasn't for sale. Just part of a display rack.) Oops! Out came the Super Glue.

On to the food court for lunch. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, Emma located the crayons in my bag and took them into the play area. While I was contentedly enjoying some "peace" (suspiciously quiet, with 20/20 hindsight) and eating my lunch, Emma was creating some beautiful artwork on one of the walls concealed by the climbing apparatus. Crayons in trash. Out came the magic eraser and, finally, the cleaning wet wipes (for all surfaces!).

At this point, at you can probably imagine, we felt compelled to leave. So we loaded up the stroller, topped-off our drinks, and began our trip home. Since you can't go anywhere here without seeing people you know, and it was the busy part of the lunch rush, I immediately ran in to a line of people I know waiting to place their orders at Pizza Hut. I, being the super social person that I am, stopped to engage in some skillful small talk.

Now this is where it gets really good! This is the action that put me in line for my "Prepared Mother of the Year" badge.

Emma turned abruptly knocking her full drink on to the floor. Sweetened iced tea everywhere. But no worries! With nary a pause in the conversation and under the eye of some parenting-inexperienced young military men and some parenting-experienced mommies, I whipped out my super small swim towel and lay it over the mess. Absorbed the tea. Picked up the ice. And with a smile, moved on.

Really, I expected applause, but the shock on the nearest young airman's face was enough. It was, perhaps, the most graceful parenting move I've ever made, I don't mind saying. Unfortunately, I expect it will be the last, so I will revel in the glow of my finest achievement for at least another 24 hours. Don't worry if you see me and I'm floating on Cloud Nine. Just congratulate me and get back to what you are doing.

Now, where's my badge?

Ain't No Cure for the Summertime Blues

2009-06-14T02:44:00.002-04:00

School's been out for less than 48 hours and I'm already in a state of parental henpecked madness. Clearly, I realize, I need a plan. I think it will involve the following components:

Earplugs
SPF 70+ sunscreen
A whistle or bullhorn
Airplane-sized (purse-sized) bottles of gin
Benedryl
A lasso
At least 3 combination locks
Duct tape

Let me know if I've missed anything.